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I hate this. I hate this. Oh fuck. Why couldn’t I have just died in the sub? You wanted to live. Come on, Simon. You know you want to live. Ryland will be nice about it. He’ll probably ask a bunch of questions, but- “Oh, fuck this.” Simon turns away from the door he’d been pacing in front of for at least 10 minutes, changing his mind and deciding that maybe just ignoring the changes would be better than having to talk about it.
“Simon?” And fuck.
He spins back around on his heels, throwing an awkward finger gun at Ryland, and god damn the other man for teaching him that. “Heeeeyyyyyy.” I hate myself. He thought.
“What’s…. Are you okay?” Ryland looks concerned. Well, of course he did. He’d probably heard Simon pacing outside his office and then found him acting decidedly un-Simon-like.
“All good!” Simon wraps a curl of his own hair around his finger and tugs anxiously.
“Okay, no. What’s wrong?” Ryland was frowning; Simon almost wanted to reach up and smooth the crease from between his brows.
“Nothing! Nothing at all! I’m just gonna-“ He turns and moves as if to make a break for it, a long-fingered hand wrapping around his forearm stopping him in his tracks.
“Seriously, Si, you’re worrying me now. What’s going on?”
Simon lets out a breath he hadn’t quite realised he’d been holding, shrinking in on himself. “It’s nothing, seriously. It doesn’t matter-“
“Clearly it does, Si. What’s got you so wound up, huh?” And oh no. Simon can feel tears pricking at the corners of his eyes; he hates it (loves it) when Ryland speaks to him like that, all soft and sweet. The hand still wrapped around his arm isn’t helping, especially with the soft circles being rubbed into his scarred skin.
He gives in. “Do you- is there any way I can- Fuck!” He groans.
“What do you need?” He says it in such a kind way, like he’d give Simon anything. He probably would.
“I need- I need testosterone.” Simon’s voice comes out as barely a whisper- it was easier, back on Eden. Everyone already knew, of course they did. They’d all watched him grow up. And more importantly, he always had something to trade. Extra rations, fixing up broken items, beating someone up. Something. Then… for all of the COI’s faults, they gave even convicts like himself decent enough medical care. Here, it was more complicated. He figured the aliens probably knew something or other; they could hear the shape of his body, even through his clothes, but they never mentioned it. Ryland… well, he’d not told Ryland. And he hadn’t said anything, which he would have, because he couldn’t keep his mouth closed- it was one of the things Simon loved about him, how open he was.
Ryland frowns again. “Why do you need testosterone?”
Simon cringes in on himself, contemplating how easy it’d be to slip away from Ryland’s hold and take off running- not that he really had anywhere to run to. The biodome was big, but it was still a biodome.
“Si?”
Simon closes his eyes. “I just- I need it, okay?”
“Simon.” Ryland has on his concerned teacher voice, the one that firmly demanded attention, and Simon looks up at him. “I can get you testosterone, I just need to know why, and what dose.”
“You can?”
“Of course I can- what do you-?” He shakes his head.
“I-“ Simon steeled himself. Be brave. “I’m trans. And I haven’t had any testosterone since you rescued me, and it’s fine, but I’m noticing changes, and I don’t-“ He wonders if this was how Ryland felt when he went off on one of his rambling tangents, wishing he could shut himself up.
“You’re- Oh, Simon, you-“ Ryland shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t- if I’d’ve known, I would have made sure you had some earlier. Why didn’t you ask before? You’ve been here for months.” He looks vaguely horrified.
“I dunno.” Simon scuffs his foot against the floor, feeling like a chastised child. “Embarrassing, I guess.”
“Embarra- Simon. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Do you know what dose you need?”
“I- uh. I mean. No? Not really. Whatever’s fine, I guess.”
“Whatever- whatever is not fine!” Ryland huffs, finally letting go of Simon’s arm. “Come with me.” Simon gives him a look. “To the medbay. So I can work out what dosage you need.”
“Oh. Uh. Okay?” Simon follows him further down the hallway.
“Okay, so first-“ Ryland claps, making Simon flinch. “Sorry. Blood tests! Sit down, let me just-“ He turns away as Simon drops into one of the wheeled chairs, busying himself collecting all of the equipment he needs. He washes his hands at the little sink and fetches over his collected items, most of them tucked under his arm as he snaps on a pair of disposable gloves. “Arm out for me, please.” He smiles at Simon as he does as he’s told, clipping the tourniquet around his bicep and tightening it. Simon looks away as Ryland takes his blood- he now hates the sight of blood, or worse, the smell. He doesn’t look back until he feels a cotton ball being pressed into the crook of his elbow and taped down, the tourniquet being unclasped at the same time. “There we go, good job. Come on, I’ll take these back to the lab and have a look-see, and while I do that, you can tell me how you’ve managed to not know what dose you’re supposed to be on.” He gives him a stern look.
Simon sighs long-sufferingly but follows obediently. As soon as they get to the lab, Ryland begins preparing a slide and hunches down over his microscope; Simon slouches in the corner armchair. “I don’t know, Ryland. On Eden, I just…. Took whatever I could get, I guess? Had to barter for it, and shit was… scarce, y’know? So I wasn’t always able to get it, so I just made do. Then in prison the medical staff dealt with all that. Don’t think they ever bothered actually doing tests like whatever you’re doing, either. Probably just gave me the lowest dose possible, enough to shut me up, or whatever.” He shrugs. He assumes he’d probably been on the lowest possible dose to avoid wasting precious resources.
Ryland looks over at him, stricken. “Simon. No. That’s not- that is not how it should be. Let me run a few more tests, and I’ll work out what dose you should be on. We’ll probably have to restart you on the lower end, maybe 50 milligrams a week? I’ll keep checking your blood-work and we can adjust as needed, going forward. Alright?” Ryland doesn’t wait for an answer, and Simon doesn’t give him one, simply sitting and watching as Ryland faffs around with his blood doing god-knows what. “Okay, yeah. Everything looks good, I think 50 milligrams should work okay. As I said, I’ll check again in a couple of weeks and see if we need to up your dose. Okay, sorry, but back to the medbay we go.” He stands up, linking his fingers behind his back and stretching as he stands.
“Why? Don’t we have to wait for some to be… I dunno, synthesised, or whatever?” He knows the Eridians are the ones who actually make all of the medicine for them.
“What? No, of course not.” Simon frowns. “I mean, yes, they’re the ones who have to make it, but you can just have some of mine. I have plenty.”
“Yours?” Simon screws his face up in confusion.
Ryland looks at him strangely for a moment before smacking himself in the forehead. “Oh, fudge. Of course. Sorry, I- Simon. I’m trans, too. I’ve been on testosterone since I was 17, and I had enough left on the Mary to last until we…. You know, got here. Rocky and I, I mean. So the Eridians were able to synthesise it pretty easily for me, so there’s plenty in the medbay. I genuinely forgot that you wouldn’t know- I’m sorry. But yes, nothing to worry about! Testosterone for all!” Ryland laughed awkwardly.
“Wait. You’re-“ Simon is…. Surprised. He knows he passes pretty well, objectively speaking, but Ryland- it would have never occurred to him.
“Trans. Yeah. Sorry, I should have mentioned it earlier. I literally forgot that you wouldn’t know.”
“I don’t- you didn’t have to tell me at all.”
Ryland laughs at that. “I don’t care, Si. It’s fine. Now, do you want to do the injection yourself, or do you want me to do it? Or Armando?” He jokes- Simon hates that fucking robot.
“I can do it.” Simon says defensively.
“Of course you can. That’s not- that’s not what I meant.” Ryland rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just- I really don’t like the way it sounds like things were done back on your space stations. If they weren’t even making sure you had the right dose, who knows what else was missing? Cleaning? Alcohol wipes? Did they use separate needles for drawing and injecting?”
Simon furrows his brow. “Uh. Well. I mean. We had alcohol. Definitely used that, sometimes. But what’s the point of using two needles for one jab? It’s only going in my leg.”
Ryland rubs his eyes, knocking his glasses loose until they’re hanging from one ear down by his chin. “Oh boy. So, using the same needle for both drawing and injecting can actually be pretty dangerous; drawing can damage the needle tip, plus using two separate needles vastly reduces the risk of contamination. Drawing needles are actually made slightly differently to injecting needles, too- they’re generally larger, so it’d hurt more to inject with one of those than with a proper injecting needle. You technically can use one needle for both, but you shouldn’t. How’s about you let me do your first shot, and watch what I do, then next week you can do it yourself? If not, you can-“
“Okay.”
Ryland blinks at him. “Okay?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. I mean. Why not? I don’t care. Have at it, doc.” He waves his hand over his legs with a flourish.
“Okay! Great! I’ll get the stuff, you just- take off your sweatpants-“ They were Ryland’s, actually. The Eridians were working on making Simon his own clothes, but for now he was wearing Ryland’s. “And hop up onto the bed so I can sit in the chair.”
Simple enough- Simon is really damned glad that he was wearing boxer shorts today. The concept was still a bit foreign to him- why waste resources on tiny shorts underneath your clothing?- So he didn’t always bother. The boxers were black and a bit tight on him, since his hips and thighs were much wider than Ryland’s, but they fit okay enough. He got himself sat on the edge of the bed, swinging his feet a little.
Ryland washes his hands again- his hands are definitely way cleaner than anyone on Eden or the COI Prison ships had been- and snaps on another pair of gloves, using his knee to nudge one of the chairs- the one pumped up to be taller than a normal chair- into position in front of Simon.
“Alright, so. First things first, this is a fresh bottle. I’ve labelled it for you, see the little S?” Ryland tilts the small glass vial towards Simon, who indeed can see a tiny black S scrawled on the side in marker. “But I’m still gonna give it a quick wipe down with one of these-“ He shakes a little packet. Putting down the bottle, syringe and 2 needles on the xenonite side table, he tears the packet open and pulls out a folded white wipe that smells strongly enough of alcohol that Simon can smell it from 3 feet away. He quickly wipes down the top before handing the wipe to Simon. “I’m assuming you know where to inject?” Simon nods. “You can use that to wipe down the area, then.” While he does so, Ryland grabs one of the needles and screws it onto the tip of the syringe, uncapping it. “This one is the drawing needle, it’s a bit thicker than the injecting needle and a little longer too.” He pokes it into the cap of the little vial, tipping it over and carefully drawing out a little over a millilitre of liquid into the syringe. Once full, he re-caps the needle and screws it off of the syringe, instead screwing on the other one. “And this is the injection needle.” He uncaps it. “See how it’s thinner and a bit smaller?” Simon can see that clearly. Ryland points the needle up to the ceiling and flicks the side of the syringe a few times before depressing the plunger slightly. A little bit of liquid shoots out of the tip, and Simon can see that there’s now exactly 1 millilitre of liquid in there. “Always draw just a tiny bit extra, because we have to make sure there’s no air bubbles. Give your thigh another quick wipe-“ Simon does so, the wipe still damp between his fingers. “Good boy.” He feels his face flame, heating up further as Ryland nudges his thighs apart slightly and rolls his chair forward until his waist is between Simon’s knees. “Ready?”
“Y-yeah.” His voice breaks.
“Okidoke. Sharp scratch-“ Ryland presses the needle into the meat of the outside Simon’s upper thigh and depresses the plunger slowly, holding for just a second before pulling the needle back out. He presses a clean cotton ball to the injection site for a second before pulling it away. “See? Simple.” He grins up at Simon, who squirms slightly in place. He’s almost glad he’s been off of testosterone for a while, because his dick is hard enough at the sight and thought of Ryland between his legs without the additional embarrassment that would come with it being visible, which he knows that in such tight underwear, were he still being impacted completely by his testosterone, it would be.
“Simple.” Simon says faintly.
Simon was losing his mind. It’d been 3 weeks since Ryland had done his first shot for him, and somehow the following ones were just as bad as the first. Sure, Simon was doing them himself. Sure, Ryland wasn’t sitting between his legs now. But he was still hovering, standing a little too close to be exactly comfortable for Simon to be sat in his boxers, and the testosterone…. Well, it was working, alright. It was almost like starting puberty all over again, his dick sensitive and hardening at the slightest touch, which was a problem when Ryland would stand over him and ramble on about something or other while he watched him do his shot, sat in his boxers and a slightly longer shirt that the Eridians had made for him and he’d essentially dubbed his literal t-shirt, given that it was long enough to cover his lap and therefore the inevitable hardness poking through his underwear. Well, still Ryland’s underwear, technically. He’d essentially handed over all of his black boxer shorts to Simon after the Eridians had fetched him plenty of clothing but no underwear, and as little as he cared about wearing underwear on a day-to-day basis, it had become crucial for his jab days given that Ryland had apparently taken it upon himself to supervise Simon each week.
Simon was laid on his back on the sofa in just his boxers, knowing that Ryland was busy teaching and tapping his bare foot against the arm as the memory of the conversation after the previous week’s shot played in his mind.
Ryland had looked… nervous. His cheeks were pink and he was fidgeting with a small pot of… something.
“What is it, man?” Simon had asked him after a long moment.
Ryland had sighed. “Look, you can say no- you don’t have to use this or anything! I just thought… I figured it’d only be right to offer it to you, y’know? I used it for a year back on Earth, so I asked Adrian to make some just in case you wanted it, but you really don’t have to use it! I just wanted to be prepared in case you said yes.”
“I- Ryland. I need you to tell me what it is, then.” Simon had wondered why Ryland was being so weird about whatever the cream was in the little xenonite jar.
“It’s topical DHT- Dihydrotestosterone. I don’t know- I- fu-fudge.” Simon had raised his brow at the way Grace had almost actually sworn for once. “If you want to, you can use it…. Down there-“ Ryland’s face had reddened further with his every word. “To help with… growth. Like I said, you don’t have to! I just-“ He’d handed the little jar over to Simon, who had turned it over in his palm a couple of times.
“You used this?” Simon’s own face had flushed almost as red as Grace’s.
“Uhm. Yes. Yeah, I used it before my metoidioplasty.”
“I… don’t know what that is.”
Ryland had practically jumped at that admission. “Oh! It’s a form of bottom surgery!”
“Bottom…. Surgery? Like, surgery on your dick? Not just-” He gestured at his own chest.
“Well, yeah. There are a few different options; for trans men, there’s phallo- that’s where they take skin from, like, your arm, or something, and use it to basically make you a dick? It’s more aesthetic than functional, but that’s not to say it’s not functional, of course it is, just less sensitive, but, well-“
“Grace. Okay. Phallo. I get it. And what’s the medito- whatever the fuck?”
“Metoidioplasty. It’s where the ligaments holding the clitoris in place are cut to kind of release it, and that creates a neo-phallus with the pre-existing tissues after testosterone. It’s objectively a much simpler procedure than phallo, and it- well, it retains more sensitivity that way.” Grace’s face had been as red as a tomato. “It’s pretty common to combine it with other surgeries, though, like a urethroplasty- that’s where they move your urethra into the phallus to allow you to stand to, you know, urinate, and stuff. And then there’s the vaginectomy, which closes up the vagina, and some people get a scrotoplasty, which obviously means making a scrotum, usually with implants. I didn’t bother with any of that, because- well, I have my reasons. But yeah! Lots of options!”
“You- right. Okay.” Simon’s voice had come out a bit scratchy at that, his brain unfortunately focused on the thought of Ryland’s dick. He’d wondered how big it was, whether it was big enough for penetration, how it might feel in his mouth-
“Okay! I’m just gonna-“ Ryland had bolted out of the room in embarrassment, leaving Simon behind.
Simon was thinking about Ryland’s dick again. He’d been using the cream, but obviously he hadn’t noticed any changes yet, at least not beyond the hypersensitivity he was already experiencing. He’d looked it up on the laptop, too, the metoidioplasty thing, but all of the photos he could find seemed to be with the other surgeries too, and Ryland had said he hadn’t had those, so he was left with only his imagination. From the sounds of it, the surgery just sort of made the bottom growth a little bigger. He runs a finger over his own dick and shudders, closing his eyes.
“Okay, bedroom. Not- can’t do this here.” He says to himself as he stands, walking towards his own bedroom. He gives Ryland’s closed door a longing look- ideally, he’d want to be in there, where everything smells like Ryland, but of course he couldn’t. That’d be seriously fucked up, and a total violation-
His eyes catch on the laundry basket between their doors. One of Ryland’s shirts- the oversized one that has ‘my neurons need a nap’ written across the chest, the one he knows Ryland wears for bed most nights- is balled up on top and without thinking it through, he grabs it, shutting himself in his bedroom and leaning against the door.
Freak. This is weirdo behaviour, Simon. A total violation of- He holds the shirt up to his nose and inhales deeply, feeling his dick twitch as the scent of Ryland floods his senses. Fuck it. He thinks to himself, stepping over to his bed and dropping the bundle down as he kicks off his own boxers- they’re damp in the crotch, something that makes his face flame even though he’s alone. He grabs a pillow- the pillow, the one he never uses for sleeping anymore, not since the testosterone started working again- from the side of his bed and stuffs it between his legs, rocking his hips into it as he starts to unravel the shirt, nosing at the collar, then down to the underarms, where the scent is the strongest. He groans, mouth open and leaving a damp mark of drool on the grey fabric as he imagines Ryland holding him down and touching him, imagines himself curling up into Ryland’s side and sniffing at him like a dog, imagines burying too many too-sharp teeth into the meat of his throat while he reaches down between his legs and-
His fingers catch on something- more fabric, bundled up in the shirt. He pushes himself up onto his knees to look and- oh.
A pair of bright blue boxer shorts.
“Oh fuck.” He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t, but-
He kicks the pillow away and flops onto his back, his head laid on the T-shirt, and he- shamefully- spreads the boxers out over his face, the crotch right over his nose. He leaves them there and reaches down, stroking his own cock and he inhales deeply, groaning as the scent of Grace invades his senses. It’s filthy, it’s disgusting, it’s perverted- he’s never been harder. He jerks himself off roughly, whining into the fabric over his face as he dips his fingers down, collecting moisture for a slicker slide over his dick and-
His bedroom door opens. “Simon? Oh, shoot, sorry, I just- wait, are those my boxers?”
“Fuck!” Simon flails, tearing the boxers from his face and stuffing them under his pillow without thinking, grabbing his blanket to cover whatever might be left of his modesty.
“And… my shirt?” Simon had forgotten about the shirt beneath him. He just groans, face red, as he pulls the blanket up over his head, resolutely not looking at Ryland. “Simon.” He hears the thud of something soft being dropped on the floor. “Si. I’m not upset. Just- come out from under there.”
Simon shakes his head. “No. I’m never coming out again, just leave me to die here.”
That startles a laugh out of Ryland, and Simon feels the blanket being pulled down from his face. “Simon. I’m not mad.”
“You should be.” Simon grumbles.
“Why?” Ryland tilts his head to the side and reaches out, stroking his hand down the mutated side of Simon’s jaw, and oh. That’s what the noise was. His cardigan. His arm is bare, melted-wax looking burn scars visible.
Simon looks at him like he’s crazy. “Because I’m a disgusting, perverted freak! You should be kicking me out of your entire dome!” A soft kiss is pressed to his lips, startling him into silence.
“Are you done?” Simon just lays there, frozen. “I wouldn’t call you disgusting. Maybe a little perverted, maybe even a bit of a freak, but that’s not always a bad thing. I like it. I like you, Si. So i definitely won’t be kicking you out of your home, especially not for- what, smelling my underwear while you jerked off?” He laughs, and the sound rings through Simon’s mind like bells. “Was that the first time, or…?” He asks, smiling in a way that shows his teeth.
“I- you like me? I mean, yes, I’ve never- I didn’t even mean to- I grabbed your shirt!” Simon feels concussed.
“Yes, I like you, Si. Of course I like you. And you, what, grabbed my shirt and my boxers….” He thought for a second. “Oh. Were they balled up inside?” Simon nods. “Okay. So you, what, came in here to smell my shirt like a weirdo,” the word is said fondly, teasingly, and punctuated with a hand stroking his cheekbone. “And found my boxers inside and decided to jerk off?”
“I was always gonna jerk off.” Simon mutters.
“What was that?” The look on Ryland’s face makes Simon think that he heard him perfectly well the first time.
“I was always gonna jerk off, okay?” He says again, louder. “I just… didn’t realise I’d grabbed your boxers, too.”
“Oh, fuck.” It’s the first time Simon has heard Grace actually swear, but he doesn’t have a chance to think on it before the older man is straddling his hips and kissing him with a fervour. “That’s so hot, oh my god. You like me.” Grace pulls back, lips bitten and damp but still ready to tease Simon.
“I- no. I fucking love you, Ryland.” Simon says and it’s Grace’s turn to freeze, mentally buffering.
“You love me?” He squeaks out. “Like, actually? Really love me? You don’t just want to…. Have sex, or whatever?”
Simon tenses anxiously- that… does not sound good. He should have probably kept that to himself, because it seems like Grace…. Just wants to fuck him. Fuck. Should have expected that, Simon; who’d love a monster like you, after all? “I-“ he sighs. Too late now. He thinks to himself. “Yeah? Sorry, I know you probably don’t-“
“I do! Oh, god, Simon. I love you so much. I just thought you- I don’t know, wanted a quick fuck or something! Which would have been fine! But you- oh my god.” He presses back down, kissing Simon deeply and moaning into his mouth when Simon’s too-sharp canine catches the chapped skin of his lower lip. He tilts his hips, grinding his denim-clad arse down as firmly as he can onto Simon’s hard cock, covered only by the thin green blanket. “Simon- Simon.” He pulls back. “Let me eat you out?” He blinks down at him as if somehow expecting him to say no.
“Oh fuck. Yeah, angel, whatever you want-“ and just like that, Ryland is stood beside the bed again and pulls the blanket off of Simon, shoving his knees apart roughly as he drops down between them, pressing open mouthed kisses interspersed with not-quite-delicate bites to Simon’s Adonis belt, following the V downwards until. “Fuck!” Ryland’s mouth is warm and wet around his cock as he sucks and licks and trails down behind Simon’s dick to lap at his entrance. “Oh, fuck, yes, please, Ryland-“ There’s a long, delicate finger probing at his entrance and Ryland looks up at him, a question in his big blue eyes from behind crooked glasses as he continues to lave over his cock. “Yes, yes, please, I-“ The finger enters him slowly, to just the first knuckle and then back out, back in to the second and then further and Simon’s eyes roll back as he comes with a cry, Ryland petting the sensitive, spongy area inside him and sucking firmly on his cock. He would be embarrassed about how quickly he came, but realistically he’d already brought himself nearly to the edge, and then Ryland was grinding down on him, and now-
He keeps licking, lapping up slick from around his finger as he pulls it out and pushes back in with a second, and Simon lifts his own hand to his mouth, biting down. He only gets a second before Ryland’s free hand, the one he should be using to hold himself up, smacks his hand out of his mouth as he lifts himself up, and wow. The core strength to not only keep himself in position but to then lift his upper body like it’s nothing…. “Don’t. I want to hear you.” Simon lets out an embarrassed whine, thighs clenching together only to be pushed apart again, one thigh pushed aside with a broad, still clothed shoulder and the other grabbed bruisingly tight by the same hand that knocked his own hand from his mouth, flexing around his thigh and pressing it down against his mattress as he delves back between his legs to continue. He hasn’t stopped stroking at the bundle of nerves inside Simon the entire time, thumbing at the head of his cock while he spoke, and Simon is shaking underneath him, grasping first at the blanket beside him and then at the unruly strands of blond hair back between his legs, earning him a satisfied moan for his trouble.
Ryland’s chin is wet with spit and slick as he continues his ministrations, lapping at Simon’s cock, working his fingers in and out of him over and over again, and he thinks to himself that he could happily die right here, right now. He adds a third finger, stretching Simon out around him, and follows it with his tongue, licking around his own wet fingers and swallowing the slightly sweet, slightly musty nectar his tongue collects as he presses forth, ignoring the way his glasses are crushed between his face and Simon’s body, not even slightly in the right position but he’s far too busy to move them out of the way. He licks a broad stroke down, starting with the underside of his tongue on the hood of Simon’s dick and ending with it sat against his fingers, where he wiggles it slightly, pressing it in as far as it will reach as Simon’s thigh quakes and tenses under his finger and he comes with a shout, squirting directly into Ryland’s mouth. Ryland moans, drinking as much down as possible and feeling the collar of his T-shirt stick to his skin wetly.
“Oh, fuck, Ryland, too much, too much, I can’t-“ Simon is sobbing and squirming.
Ryland pulls back, gently easing his fingers out of Simon, eyes trained on that point of connection until the very last second. “Good boy, so good for me, my darling, my sweetheart, you did so well-“ Grace is rambling, cooing out praises as he strokes up Simon’s hip, damp and slightly sticky hand coming to rest on his waist as he lets go of Simon’s thigh, absently noting the angry red marks his fingers have left behind and instead swiping roughly at his own chin with the back of his forearm and discarding his (wet, slightly bent) glasses to one side before bringing his hand up to rest behind his head, tangling into his hair and gently lifting him up from the mattress as he continues to cry, overstimulated and emotional, to press kisses all over his face. He starts at his temple, kissing down over his forehead, down his nose and back up over his cheekbones. He moves past his ear, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mutated mouth before moving down, over his neatly trimmed beard to press a kiss to the corner of his jawline. “My good boy, you did amazingly. I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.” He finally presses their lips together and Simon lets out a sob, wrapping his arm around the back of Ryland’s neck to pull him closer, and his legs around his hips, whining as the denim of his jeans rub against his over-sensitised cock.
They continue kissing for a while as Simon comes down from the high of his orgasms, until he’s the one to finally pull back. “Why are you still dressed?” He asks, tear-stained cheeks ruddy.
Ryland blinks owlishly down at him. “I- don’t know. I didn’t have time to get undressed.” He shrugs simply.
Simon leans in to speak lowly into his ear. “Take your clothes off.” He demands. Ryland isn’t about to argue that. He stands, shrugging off his damp shirt and dumping it on the floor, unclasps his belt and goes to push down his jeans only to realise he still has his darned shoes on. He kicks them off and under Simon’s bed, trying not to trip over denim as he steps out of the jeans. He’s about to push his boxers off his hips when there’s suddenly a hand cupping his cock through them. Simon explores him gently, reverently, through his underwear, stroking softly past the large damp patch visible through the red fabric and up to his dick, teasing it as he pets up and down to familiarise himself with the length. Ryland bucks his hips into Simon’s hand- he’d been able to ignore his own desire quite easily while lost between Simon’s thighs, but now Simon’s strong fingers are caressing his cock so carefully and all of the blood is rushing from his head. Simon pulls his hand back and hooks his fingers into the waistband instead, pulling the boxers down as quickly as he’s able. Ryland helps him along, shoving them down as quickly as he can and stepping out of them, and then suddenly he’s on his back, his head on a pillow which is damp and a little bit slick and smells like Simon so strongly and-
“Simon, did you fuck this pillow?” He asks with a giggle.
Simon, now stood at the edge of the bed and seemingly about to descend on Ryland, stops, flushing prettily. “Fuck. Sorry, let me-“
He reaches as if to snatch the pillow from under Ryland’s head, but Ryland catches his wrist easily. “So that’s a yes? I don’t care, Si. My face was between your legs barely 10 minutes ago, it’s hardly an issue for me. That’s really, really damn hot, though. One day, I’m going to tie you up and watch you desperately fuck this pillow, get you begging for me to touch you-“
Simon makes an inhuman noise and captures Ryland’s lips with his own, kissing him breathless. “Shut. Up.” He says as he pulls back, a string of spittle still connecting their mouths as his eyes rove over Ryland’s body.
His scars are neater than Simon’s, naturally. Thin pink lines under his pectorals with a smaller line connecting up to his perfect, pebbled nipples, chest dusted with golden hair that catches the dim light coming through the window beautifully. The hair continues down, over firm abs and further, a happy trail of slightly darker blond descending into a thatch of dark blond curls, darker towards the center where they’re damp with slick and sweat and- oh. Oh.
His dick is… big. Bigger than it felt through his boxers, it’s probably 4 inches in length and reasonably wide, straining and twitching and swollen and pink. It’s…
“Beautiful.” Simon breathes out, eyes trained on Ryland’s cock. He bets he could fuck himself on it, come just from Ryland’s cock buried inside him, but not right now. Right now he needs to-
“Oh, fuck!” Ryland gasps as Simon sucks his cock into his mouth, extra careful to avoid his teeth. “Simon. Oh, god, baby, my sweetheart, so good, good boy-“ He’s babbling again as Simon swallows around his dick, licking his way from root to tip as he pulls off, swirling his tongue around the tip and sinking back down, fingers itching to press inside him. He strokes his blunt fingertips over Ryland’s hole and looks up questioningly, just like Ryland had to him. “Yes, please, yeah, Si, inside, please-“ He shifts his hips, pressing down unconsciously as if to try and push Simon’s fingers into himself, and Simon takes the hint. With a firm suck to his cock, he strokes two fingers into him, feeling the way the rough muscle just gives to welcome them inside and using the mutated extra teeth up the side of his face to nip at the soft skin on the inside of his thigh. “Yes! Yeah, just like thaaa-“ He cuts himself of with a moan as Simon easily finds his g-spot and immediately begins abusing it with firm thrusts, perfectly timed to match up with his sucking and licking at Ryland’s cock. Simon adds another finger, working them in and out expertly, and he was already so wound up from going down on Simon, and the scent of Simon surrounding his head isn’t helping, or perhaps it is, as he twists his neck and buries his head in the pillow beneath him as he comes with a whine, clenching down on Simon’s fingers tight. Simon keeps his fingers inside, petting the bundle of nerves that make Ryland shudder with aftershocks as he pulls off of his cock and shifts positions, facing away from Ryland so that he can keep his fingers working inside him as he seats himself onto his hips, throwing his head back with a groan at the feeling of Ryland’s cock inside him. “Oh my god, Simon,” Strong hands wrap around his hips, lifting him up and down ever so slightly and he throws his head back, choked whines punching out of him with every movement. He loses the fight against pleasure, unable to continue thinking or functioning at all enough to keep finger-fucking Ryland as he’s moved like a doll, up and down as Ryland cants his hips to thrust into him. He’s drooling and whimpering and as soon as Ryland realises how soft and pliable he’s become, his face is down against the bed and Ryland is behind him, fucking into him enthusiastically and using his now free hands to roam across his body. One immediately makes its home over his dick, stroking him in time with every thrust as the other works its way up, trailing soft touches over his stomach and up to cup his chest, nails scratching over the rough, bubbled scar tissue, and then further, wrapping around his throat gently. “Is this okay?” Ryland checks in softly.
“Yes!” The word comes out as barely a whisper, deep and groaned. “Tighter.” He manages to wheeze out, and Ryland immediately tightens his hand, carefully placing his fingers so that he can squeeze without worrying too much about hurting him, flexing his hand as he thrusts and strokes his cock. Ryland’s own cock is dripping wet with Simon’s juices, slickly sliding in and out of his cunt, and he uses the hand on Simon’s dick to tilt his hips backwards, plastering himself against his back so that his every thrust hits into Simon’s g-spot, and Simon is gone-
He sobs as he comes again, ejaculate squirting out of him to coat Ryland’s thighs, feeling it seeping into the bed beneath his knees. Ryland doesn’t slow, but his hips stutter, rhythm becoming erratic as he chases his own release, wringing wave after wave of overstimulated pleasure out of Simon as he does so. “Good boy, doing so- fuck, so well for me, my good boy, gonna come inside you, sweetheart, fill you-“ He chokes out a whine, “Fill you up, make you mine-“ And he comes, teeth sinking into Simon’s broad shoulder as he does so, another feeble spurt of wetness squirting out of Simon’s urethra. Ryland slips out of him with no resistance and flops onto his back on the bed, ignoring the rapidly cooling wet patch beneath him as he tugs Simon over. Simon goes willingly, silent tears running down his face as he tucks it into the hollow of Ryland’s throat, leg thrown over Ryland’s to rest between his thighs. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you, sweetheart. My good boy, so good for me, baby. Are you okay?” Simon nods against Ryland’s neck, unable to form words- his body feels heavy and uncoordinated. Ryland just holds him close, swiping away his tears with the back of his fingers and humming softly.
It takes a while for him to recover enough to even think properly, and when he does the discomfort of laying in the cold wetness of his bed, both of them sweaty and covered in (mostly Simon’s) ejaculate, immediately makes itself known. He scrunches up his face, leaning back from Ryland enough to look up at him. When he does, blue eyes are already trained on him, soft and adoring. “I think we should shower, hm?” Ryland hums, already sitting up and gently pulling Simon along with him, a hand rubbing his back softly. “Shower, and then you can come and get in my bed. We should probably eat, too, but I think we need a bit more cuddle time first, don’t you?” Simon nods, eyes still glazed, allowing himself to be guided up off of the bed and towards their shared bathroom.
Once they get to the bathroom, Ryland deposits Simon in the shower- it’s a large walk in, more than big enough for the two of them, with a large tiled ledge built in, created both for his fragile physical state when he arrived on Erid and for his future, which is where he ushers Simon to sit. “I’ll be right back, okay baby? I’m just gonna get you some water. I promise, I’ll be back in less than a minute, sweetheart.” Ryland hesitates, waiting for Simon to nod before darting out to the kitchen. He doesn’t mess around, just grabbing a xenonite drinking tumbler from the cupboard and heading straight back into the bathroom, not even bothering to fill it up; the sink in the bathroom is plenty deep enough to fit the glass under the tap, and it’s the same water. It’s more important for him to get Simon back in his line of sight, and he’s glad he didn’t waste time once he gets back to the bathroom because Simon is sat exactly where he left him, like a puppet with his strings cut, tears flowing freely down his face. “Oh, sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s okay, I’m back. I’ve got you, baby.” He sets the empty glass down onto the side of the sink and knees in front of Simon, wiping away his tears and smiling slightly as Simon’s hazy, dark eyes fix themselves on his face. “Hi, love. It’s okay, I’m here. I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m just gonna get you some water, okay, baby? Not leaving, just going to the sink.” Ryland nods towards the sink, smiling as Simon’s gaze turns that way and lock on the tumbler waiting on the side of the sink. He stands up with a groan, his knees protesting, and Simon’s gaze immediately snaps back to him, concern cutting through the fog. “I’m fine, baby. I’m just an old man, shouldn’t be kneeling like that.” He laughs at himself, and Simon’s face twists into a frown, which he leans over to kiss away.
He’s able to fill the glass without further tears being shed now that he’s within Simon’s gaze- he didn’t expect him to drop this hard, but he supposes the past couple of hours have been rather emotional for the both of them. He rinses the glass a few times, waiting more out of habit than an actual need for the water to cool- the water from the cold tap is permanently frigid, after all. Once filled up, he makes his way back over to Simon and sits beside him on the shower seat, wrapping his arm around his waist.
“Can you hold this yourself?” He asks softly, and Simon raises his shaky hand to wrap around the cool glass. Ryland lets go and immediately Simon’s hand trembles violently, spilling cold water down onto his thighs with a jerk at the temperature. Immediately, Ryland’s hand is back, wrapped around Simon’s own to stabilise him and guide the glass up to his lips. Simon drinks down the entire glass appreciatively. “Thirsty, hm? Okay, baby. Let’s get you clean so we can go to bed, hm?” He puts the glass down on the floor just outside the shower; it’s xenonite, not actual glass, so he’s not worried about it breaking or anything, and he turns on the shower. The shower isn’t like a standard shower from Earth; there is a handheld shower head mounted on the wall, but the main shower is the entire ceiling- it rains down perfectly warm water over the whole cubicle, and Ryland gets to work. He washes his hands first with body wash, then shampooing Simon’s hair as gently as he can, rubbing his scalp in a way that elicits a satisfied moan from the younger man, and carefully running the shampoo through his mid lengths and ends before rinsing. Simon’s eyes are closed, and he stays still and pliable as Ryland runs conditioner through his curls and moves on to washing his body with the reverence it deserves. Once he’s done with Simon, he quickly scrubs himself down, not bothering to condition his own hair, and grabs the handheld shower attachment to fully rinse the both of them off. He turns the shower off, roughly wrapping a towel around his own waist and grabbing the other to begin dutifully drying Simon. He starts with his hair, scrunching and squeezing as much water out as he can, before moving to drying his body. Only once Simon is dry does he unhook the towel from his waist, drying himself much more quickly and dumping both his and Simon’s towels on the floor, taking Simon’s hand in his own.
“Okay, sweetheart, bedtime. Come on.” He prompts him, and Simon stands on still shaky legs, admittedly more stable than prior to their shower.
Ryland swings open his bedroom door and nudges Simon inside, pulling back his special good luck quilt and gently half-pushing Simon into bed. Once he’s laid comfortably on the far side of the bed, Ryland slips in beside him, smiling to himself as Simon rolls and clings to him and dropping the duvet down over their naked bodies. “There we go, sweetheart. Isn’t that better, hm? I’ve got you. I love you, baby, let’s just relax now, okay?” He presses a kiss to the crown of Simon’s head and closes his eyes, feeling Simon’s replying hum reverberating through his chest.