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One of Grace’s proudest moments was when he finally completed his PHD.
So many sleepless nights, so many double shot espresso drinks, and in the end it was all worth it. Maybe.
Because now, when he introduced himself, he could say ‘hello, my name is Doctor Ryland Grace.’ How cool was that?
And as a doctor, Grace is very familiar with biology. There are some fascinating species out there, including his own. Humans have some very interesting habits. Habits that are totally normal, absolutely reasonable and definitely okay to do.
Like masturbation, for instance.
Grace groans, the sound muffled against the fabric of the shirt he has pressed to his nose. On his next inhale, his sinuses are flooded with the scent of sweat and musk and Simon, and… yeah, maybe this wasn’t totally normal.
It had been well over a year since Grace and Simon made first contact. While they had gotten off to a rocky start (ha), Grace would say they were in a fairly good place. Erid was peaceful, and their days were largely uneventful, tucked away in their biodome.
He can’t pinpoint the exact time his feelings for Simon had started warping from a fond friendship to something… more.
Though, one such instance comes to mind.
It wasn’t like he hadn’t already seen Simon’s body. When they pulled him from that submarine, unconscious and covered in blood, Grace had been the one to undress and clean him so the bots in the dorm could operate. Back then, he was panicking, and paying attention to Simon’s equipment had been the least of his worries.
There were times after that, too. Simon apparently had grown up in an environment that cared little for privacy, and had breezed past Grace on more than one occasion with little-to-no clothing on, fresh out of or heading into a shower.
But seeing him on his knees with his muscular thighs spread apart, scarred hand wrapped around the base of his aching cock, while he held the edge of his shirt up clenched between his teeth was… different. It was very different, okay?
Grace hadn’t meant to walk in on him, honest. The pebbles had been antsy that day, and so he ended class a little early, heading back home and thinking about watching the next episode of Golden Girls. He had never put much thought into what Simon got up to while he was teaching, but… yeah, he supposed it made sense. Most humans need release, once in a while.
Except for Grace. Most of the time.
Once he had grown out of that horrific teenage phase of gangly limbs and all-over-the-place hormones, it wasn’t something he often thought about. Especially not after being jettisoned into space against his will, then sharing his small living quarters with an alien who could see through walls.
It seemed Simon was taking advantage of their newfound privacy, at least.
Grace moans again as he strokes himself root to tip, the precum weeping from his dick aiding in the slide. He’s sitting back on the bed, legs spread as he works himself. He knows it’s utterly depraved, but he can’t stop thinking about it.
The Incident (as he had started mentally referring to it) was well over a week ago now, but Simon hadn’t brought it up. Grace wasn’t sure if it was because of his lack of shame surrounding his body, or if perhaps he somehow didn’t know Grace had seen him.
The scene floods Grace’s mind again. Simon’s teeth clenched hard around his shirt, his dark eyes fixed directly on Grace before he turned on his heel and bolted.
Yeah, no, he definitely saw him.
They just hadn’t talked about it. And maybe it was better that way. But Grace hadn’t stopped thinking about it.
Which resulted in his most shameful act yet—swiping one of Simon’s shirts directly from the dirty laundry.
He had to have been outside in it, either tending the garden or working out. The smell so strong and so deliciously human that Grace couldn’t get enough. He presses it harder against his face, working his cock faster as he chases that peak, the dam break that will release a flood of dopamine into his body.
“Simon,” he moans into the shirt.
Geez, okay, now we’re really cranking it up to ten.
Grace’s cock twitches as he thinks about dark eyes roving over his body, taking in every inch of it. He thinks about Simon’s mouth on him, hot and wet as he trails kisses down his abdomen. He thinks about the noises Simon would make as he swallows around Ryland’s length.
“Fuck,” he breathes, his eyes squeezed shut, still clutching the shirt as he curls his toes. He’s close, so close. It’s been so long, he’s not sure if his body remembers what to do. He feels like he’s about to burst, teetering on the edge near the point of overstimulation.
A faint noise, like a whoosh of air, has him opening his eyes.
Simon. It’s Simon. Standing in the doorframe, his lips parted, watching.
Watching.
Oh, my god.
Grace makes an undignified sound in the back of his throat as he scrambles to cover himself with the quilt. Mortification bubbles in his gut and he’s sure his face is even more red than it was just moments ago, hand around his cock, moaning the name of the man who was now standing right in front of him, gaze unblinking.
“Christmas eve,” Grace splutters, his chest heaving as he fights off the panic. This cannot be happening right now, it just can’t be.
Simon crosses the room in slow, measured steps. He smells like the garden, like soil and leaves and a hint of sweat. There’s a smudge of dirt on his left cheek. “Don’t stop on my account,” he says.
Grace nearly chokes on nothing. “What?” he asks, voice strangled, cracking embarrasingly.
“Keep going,” Simon says, his voice a low rumble, eyes flashing with something dangerous. “I was enjoying the show.”
Jesusfuckingchrist—
For a moment, Grace doesn’t move. Simon’s eyes trail lower, and even though the blanket is covering him now, Grace still feels wholly exposed under his gaze. He inclines his head, as if saying ‘Well? Go on, then.’
The silence stretches between them, and Grace must be insane because when his traitorous dick twitches from where it's confined, he palms himself over the quilt, sucking in a hissing breath through his teeth.
Simon’s nostrils flare. He frowns a bit as he watches Grace touch himself. “Grace,” he murmurs.
The sound of his name on Simon’s lips is like a shot of dopamine straight to his brain. Grace can’t bite back the groan he makes as he squeezes the base of his shaft over the blanket covering.
Simon’s right at the edge of the bed, looking but not touching. His hand stays dutifully at his side, clenched into a fist, his knuckles white. “That’s not fair,” he huffs.
“What?” Grace hisses at the sensation of the fabric on his sensitive cock. He’s embarrassed, though the shame seems to be ramping his arousal higher. He’ll have to unpack that later.
Simon gestures to the blanket with a jerk of his chin. “The blanket is in the way.”
Grace thinks that maybe he died. Perhaps his body was so shocked that he was masturbating for the first time in a decade that his heart stopped, and now he’s in some kind of personal hell, where he’ll be boiling in shame under the stare of his unfairly hot roommate for the rest of eternity. He closes his eyes again, like maybe it would all just go away. Maybe he’s just hallucinating.
“Simon, I-I can’t–” Grace stutters, unable to even form the words for something like this. Even if he sat here and tried to think of everything that’s ever happened to him that kept him up at night in shame, he wouldn’t find anything that even came close to this.
“Please.” The word comes almost as a whine, Simon’s voice strained. Grace opens his eyes again and looks at Simon, really looks at him. He’s trembling, his face flushed, and Grace notices with a sharp intake of breath that there’s a noticeable tent at the front of his borrowed shorts.
This knowledge makes him feel the slightest bit better. Simon’s not making fun of him, or angry, he’s into this.
Grace makes a whimpering sound that he might have been ashamed of if it were not for how riled up he is at this very moment. With shaking fingers, he pushes the quilt down, exposing the overheated, flushed length of his dick to the cool air.
Simon licks his lips. He licks his fudging lips. Grace huffs out a breath, still in utter disbelief that any of this is actually happening. He’s frozen, hand still on the edge of the quilt, as they stare at each other. Simon shifts from one foot the other. Impatient?
“Ryland.” Oh, his first name. Simon so rarely calls him that. His dick twitches, interested. Simon’s fingers flex, and he grips the quilt at the edge of the bed, pulling it until it’s out of Grace’s grasp. Now he’s fully exposed under Simon’s watchful gaze. “I…” he trails off, biting his lip, and Grace wants to be the one to do that next. “I want to see you touch yourself.”
Ohh-kay, that’s… yeah, wow.
Grace wraps his hand around the base of his cock, stroking himself slowly from root to tip. Simon’s eyes track the movement, and he swallows. “I think it’s only right,” he adds, his voice rough. “Since you watched me.”
“Didn’t mean to,” Grace says breathlessly, his head dropping back against the pillows as he works himself slowly. “I really didn’t.”
“Mmm,” Simon hums. “Doesn’t matter. What’s fair is fair."
Eye for an eye. Dick for a dick? Something along those lines.
Grace knows that Simon comes from a world where everything is transactional, so his words made sense. And honestly, whatever reasoning Simon wanted to use was good enough justification for Grace. At this point, he’s so far in that he doesn’t want to stop, his body practically begging for release.
Simon moves, closer to Grace’s head. He reaches out and his fingers caress softly over Grace’s cheek, the column of his throat. Then he stops, the touch suddenly departing from Grace’s skin, and he grabs at something near Grace’s head.
Grace doesn’t realize until he’s holding it closer, inspecting the fabric. He’s grabbed his shirt.
“Th-that’s…” Grace can’t even begin to try and explain. He wonders what would happen if he spontaneously combusted right now.
“You…” Simon starts, but he doesn’t seem to be able to speak either. He groans, leaning over the bed. Grace watches as he palms the front of his shorts, squeezing. “You’re making this really hard for me.”
“Making what hard?” Grace asks, ignoring the perfect joke to be made.
Simon looks up, his pupils blown so wide his eyes look black. “Holding back.”
“From what?” Grace blurts. His head is spinning, Simon’s holding back, he’s been fantasizing about this man doing all kinds of filthy things to him for months, and he’s holding back?
Instead of answering the question, Simon sighs. Grace feels the breath ghost over his cheeks, and he shivers, squeezing his dick again as it twitches in his hand. “Tell me what you were thinking about,” Simon says, his hand reaching out to touch Grace again, lightly exploring his collarbone. “Before I came in.”
Geez, as if this couldn’t get any more embarrassing. “Uhm,” he breathes, his breath hitching at Simon’s touch.
“I’ll tell you what I was thinking about,” Simon continues, eyes tracing his finger’s movement as it circles Grace’s nipple. “I was thinking about what you would look like while I was sucking you off.”
Grace whines, the image flashing into his head, crystal clear. Laying in bed, like this, with Simon in between his legs, taking Grace all the way into his throat. “Oh my god,” he moans as he presses his thumb into his slit.
“Now you,” Simon encourages, gently rolling one of Grace’s nipples in between his fingers. The sensation sends a shockwave down Grace’s stomach, and he bites back another moan.
“Ngh,” Grace grunts. “Was thinking…” he shuts his eyes again, as if it would work the third time. He had no idea what Simon wanted from him, what he was okay with.
“Please tell me,” Simon murmurs, his voice so full of barely restrained want.
Fuck it. “I was thinking about you tasting me,” he admits, his face heating impossibly further. “About you opening me up with your tongue, bringing me to the edge with just your fingers and mouth, then…” he makes a whining sound, unable to stop the word-vomit once it’s started. Not just laying all of his cards on the table, no, but putting them up on a big neon sign. God, this is mortifying, and he’s so into it. “Fucking me,” he blurts. “I want you to fuck me, Simon.”
Simon’s hand stills where it’s still roaming over Grace’s chest. He breathes out a shaky exhale, and when Grace opens his eyes, he’s met with such a hungry look on Simon’s face he nearly cums then and there.
He opens his mouth to–to what? To continue, to backpedal, to apologize, something, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t get the chance, however, because before he can speak Simon is grabbing his jaw and mashing their mouths together.
Grace makes a surprised noise, but his free hand flies up to Simon’s face, brushing through his beard before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him closer. Simon groans as he pushes Grace into the bed with the bulk of his body, the mattress dipping with his weight. His tongue swipes over Grace’s bottom lip and Grace opens his mouth immediately, allowing him in. It’s wet and hot, and he can’t recall the last time he had somebody’s tongue in his mouth. College, maybe?
“Keep touching yourself,” Simon instructs.
He still has a hand on his dick, he remembers belatedly. He makes a breathy sound into Simon’s mouth as he starts working himself again, precum dribbling down his fingers. “God, Simon,” he whispers when Simon leans back to take a breath.
“Angel,” Simon says reverently, leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses to Grace’s neck. He shifts, straddling Grace, his muscular thighs holding the schoolteacher in place. The swell of his ass bumps against Grace’s oversensitive cock, and he sees stars.
“Fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Grace chants, and he can feel Simon’s smirk against his neck.
“I wish you would have told me sooner,” Simon says as he leans back, looking Grace in the eyes. “Been thinking about this for so long.”
“Hindsight is twenty-twenty,” Grace mumbles as Simon shifts backwards, leaning in to continue kissing down his chest. When his mouth latches onto Grace’s left nipple, he arches off the bed, abandoning his weeping cock in favor of burying into Simon’s hair. “Shit!” he cries, fisting the silky strands to try and keep himself grounded. Simon’s nails scratch lightly down Grace’s side, leaving fire in their wake.
“Have to make up for lost time, now,” Simon murmurs.
Grace lets go of Simon’s hair with one hand to instead cover his face, his chest rising and falling. Simon shifts forward, his hand abandoning its path downward to grab Grace’s wrist, pulling it away. “Don’t,” he says. “Want to see you.”
Obeying, Grace returns his hand to Simon’s hair, trying not to think about what a mess he looked like right now. Flushed, legs spread open, dick leaking and begging for release. He watches Simon as he continues exploring Grace’s skin with his mouth, sliding one leg between Grace's as he slowly makes his way lower. Grace keeps his hands in Simon’s hair as he does so, carding his fingers through it and occasionally giving a soft tug. He can feel Simon’s hard cock pressing against his leg, and every now and then he rolls his hips into Grace.
By the time he makes it down to Grace’s dick, the scientist is on the verge of tears. The sensations are all so overwhelming, he can’t quite control it. It’s good, so good, he doesn’t want it to ever stop. He chokes on a silent shout as Simon takes the head of his cock into his mouth.
“Jeeeeesus Christ, Simon, oh my god,” Grace pants as Simon’s tongue slides along the underside. The dark-haired man hums, pressing in closer and letting Grace’s cock slide over his soft tongue, deeper into the wet, welcoming heat of his mouth. Grace lets his head fall back against the pillows again, his hands tightening in Simon’s hair. His hips twitch, and Simon splays his fingers out over the swell of one, keeping him pinned in place. He begins bobbing his head in earnest, and jeez, he’s got some experience here, doesn’t he?
When Grace’s cock hits the back of Simon’s throat, he expects Simon to stop, but the man swallows, pushing forward until his nose is buried in the thatch of hair at the base, and Grace can feel the muscles of his throat twitching around the intrusion. He lets out a cry, another strange sound that he’s too far gone to care about, now.
Simon’s hand shifts, once again using his blunt nails to scratch at Grace’s skin as he trails downward, one finger circling the rim of Grace’s entrance. “Oh, please, please, please,” he whines, clenching around nothing as Simon teases him. Simon hums in response, the vibration sending a wave of pleasure up Grace’s spine.
His finger is gentle, his touch light but insistent as it rubs him, and Simon continues bobbing his head. Grace can feel the saliva dripping down the underside of his shaft, the wet, obscene squelch of it. Simon doesn’t seem to care, eyes going half-lidded as he works. He pulls off just enough to get his hand around the base of Grace’s cock and squeezes lightly before it slips back down to his hole, fingers now spit-slicked and pressing in.
Grace lets out a low whine as the first finger slips inside, meeting resistance. Simon pulls off of his dick fully, the appendage flopping on to his pelvis with a wet slap. “Relax for me, angel,” Simon rasps. He leans in and presses a kiss to the base of Grace’s shaft, his balls, before removing his finger and replacing it with his tongue.
Hips bucking off the bed once more, Grace yelps, his hands tightening like a vice in Simon’s hair. “Simon!” he shouts, and he feels the answering muffle of a throaty growl vibrate through his lower half.
Simon eagerly laps at Grace’s hole, taking him apart with his tongue as his hand wraps gingerly around his cock and pumps slowly. It’s unclear to Grace whether he’s just preternaturally gifted at this, or if it’s a combination of his own dry spell and Simon’s enthusiasm that’s causing it to be as mind-blowing as it is. Whatever the reason, he starts to talk, an unfiltered stream of consciousness flowing from his mouth in between panting breaths.
“Feels so good, want you so bad, want to come, Simon, please—“
He breaks off on a moan as Simon pulls his mouth off of him and presses against his rim once more, this time with two fingers. They slip in much more easily this time around, and Grace thinks that if he isn’t dead already, he’s sure as hell about to be.
“Never knew that mouth of yours could be so filthy,” Simon teases. Grace glares down his nose at him indignantly, but it’s hard to find any sort of response when Simon’s fingers lightly brush the perfect spot inside of him.
He jerks again, but Simon is ready this time, holding him down with the stump of his left arm. “Can’t stay still, can you?” he says with a chuckle that produces enough air to make Grace’s hole react, clenching around Simon’s fingers.
“Oh, my god, stop,” Grace protests, covering his face again.
“Oh? You want me to stop?” Simon echoes, pulling his fingers out so quickly that Grace can’t help the gasp that’s torn from his throat.
“No!” Grace shouts. “I didn’t mean it literally!” He props himself up on his elbows so he can get a better look at Simon.
The motherfucker is smiling, looking up at Grace with just as much mirth in his eyes as lust. His chin is slick with saliva, lips red. His hair is a mess from where Grace was pulling on it. God, he’s like one of Grace’s fantasies come to life. Maybe he is dead after all?
“I was just teasing,” Simon assured him, stroking his cock slowly, swiping his thumb over the top to collect a bead of precum. “No way I’d stop now.”
Grace shivers under his touch, his intense gaze. His dick twitches in Simon’s hand, angry red and so sensitive he feels as though he might pass out. Simon presses a soft kiss to Grace’s thigh before diving back in, his tongue darting out to circle Grace’s rim once more.
Letting out a moan, Grace grips Simon’s hair again, pulling him against his hole, chasing the euphoric feeling. Simon obliges, his tongue dipping inside of Grace as his hand begins to work him faster. After a moment, he detaches his mouth again, letting out a frustrated growl. “Wish I had my other hand,” he grumbles. He lets go of Grace’s cock, his fingers brushing down his taint and teasingly circling his hole. “Jack yourself,” he demands.
“Yes, sir,” Grace responds on instinct. He flushes, embarrassed, but Simon’s eyes widen slightly as he lets out a gruff moan through clenched teeth.
“Good boy,” he replies darkly before latching his mouth back onto Grace.
“Unnngh,” Grace mumbles, overcome by the sensations. He grips himself with one shaking hand as Simon’s fingers plunge back inside his entrance, followed by his tongue lapping at the rim. “Can’t—“
“God, you taste so good, Ryland,” Simon moans, his breath hot against Grace’s skin. “Could do this all day, fuck,” he punctuates his words by biting Grace’s thigh, and Grace cries out in surprise.
It’s not hard enough to hurt, not really, but Simon’s teeth are sharp, and Grace wasn't expecting it. In truth, he kind of likes it when Simon gets rough, especially when Simon sucks hard, his tongue brushing over the area. “Oh, Simon, that’s so—“ he mumbles, biting his tongue so hard he’s worried he might draw blood. Simon doesn’t do well at the sight of blood, and the last thing he wants to do is freak him out while he’s buried two fingers deep in his ass. “So good. So so good.”
He groans in response, preening at the praise. “Want to put my cock in you,” Simon murmurs against his thigh. He presses his hips into the bed, as if to demonstrate. “Want to fuck you.”
“Please,” Grace begs. A few tears slip from his eyes. Shit.
Simon watches with rapt attention. “Next time,” he promises. He trails a few kisses along Grace’s thigh and then bites down again, pumping his fingers in and out as he does so. “Since you want it so badly.”
Grace lets out a choked sound as he matches Simon’s rhythm, stroking himself and whining freely. He doesn’t know how much longer he can go on, the pleasure veering into too much territory, but it’s like his body won’t release.
In his frustration, he must make a sound closer to pain, because Simon’s fingers stop, buried halfway inside. “You okay?”
“Yes. I.. I just, I’m…”
“What do you need?” Simon asks earnestly, pulling his fingers out slowly.
Well, they’re way past the point of no return now.
“I need you to… tell me how good I’m doing,” Grace says to his bedroom ceiling, shame licking white-hot up his insides.
Simon shifts, the bed creaking as he crawls up to put them on eye level. He holds himself up by one hand, his dark hair framing his face. Grace sucks in a breath as he leans forward and kisses his cheeks, tongue darting out to lick at a stray tear. “Keep goin’,” he instructs, nodding down towards Grace’s spread legs.
“Yes, sir,” Grace breathes, starting to stroke himself again. He lets out a shuddering exhale at the slide. His cock is slick with precum and Simon’s saliva, and he’s so close.
Simon makes a rumbling sound, kissing down the side of Grace’s jaw to his neck, nibbling softly. “You look so good like this.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Making those sweet noises for me,” Simon continues, his tongue lapping at Grace’s jugular as he ruts his hips into Grace’s thigh. “Following directions like a good boy.”
Grace makes perhaps his most undignified sound yet. His face feels like it’s on fire.
Simon makes his way back up, kissing Grace’s jaw, the side of his mouth. “Wanna see how pretty you look when you cum for me.”
“Please Simon, please please please,” Grace begs, rutting his hips up into his own hand, desperate for release.
“Go on, then,” he growls. “Cum for me, pretty boy, let me see it. Please, I need to see it—“
Grace obeys. He paints his own chest with white-hot spurts of cum, sobbing through his release. Tears stream freely down his face and Simon leans in to lick them, murmuring against Grace’s flushed skin.
“Fuck, angel—you’re perfect—that’s it—so good for me.”
By the time Grace starts to come back into his body, he feels absolutely wrecked. His thigh throbs where Simon bit it, his throat scratchy and raw from overuse. He licks his lips, and they’re dry.
Simon presses a kiss to his sweaty temple. “Let me get you a glass of water,” he says.
Once he’s out of the room, Grace deflates, boneless, sinking into the mattress. He’s utterly spent, and the shame he was expecting to creep up his throat is nowhere to be found. Instead, he finds his mind is uncharacteristically, pleasantly empty.
Simon returns with a glass of water, as promised, and Grace sits up to drink it, still naked with his spend drying tacky on his chest, but he doesn’t have the energy to care.
“Give me a few minutes, and I can return the favor,” he offers after he catches his breath from downing nearly all of it in one go.
“Er…” Simon scratches the back of his neck. “You don’t need to. I kind of… already…”
That’s when Grace notices Simon’s wearing sweatpants, the shorts he had been donning previously nowhere to be seen. He had changed when he stepped out of the room to get the water.
Simon looks sheepish, but Grace’s dick stirs with interest. That’s hot.
“Oh!” he exclaims, unable to stop the grin that breaks out on his face. “Wow!”
“I’ll have to build up my stamina before I can properly fuck you,” Simon continues, deadpan serious.
“What does that mean?” Grace asks, fighting back the urge to laugh. “Are you going to jerk off every day while I’m at class?”
“I already do that,” Simon replies, so nonchalant it’s as though he’s discussing the weather. “l’m going to have to start doing it twice.”
Grace just leans forward and kisses him.