Chapter Text
The bar had turned into a club at some point. The music, once a steady background noise to punctuate each drink he took of his beer, now vibrated through the counter and the floor, where the dancing platform filled with tipsy, eager bodies. The bass pulsed in his head, in his heart, like a living beat. Even his lips tingled with it.
When he’d first arrived at this bar, the lights had been few, but bright. Now, a blacklight was on, sending all nearby colors terribly askew. Neon flashed over the racks of bottles, the light caught on glowing labels from floor to ceiling. The bartender became a bright bluish shirt as she swept the counter down, her smile a sudden, curved line of flashing teeth when someone called and she laughed in response. It was almost too loud to hear her, to hear anything but the thrum under his stool. He could barely hear himself think, which was just how he wanted it. It didn’t do to linger on being alone in a place catered to couples and groups. Brought the mood down and he was celebrating, even if he was doing it by himself. Nothing wrong with that.
The once plain green label on his beer was now something made of light and liquid neon. He drank it, thought of cartoonish poisons of the Old Life, swallowed it down. Beer, he supposed, was a kind of poison. Just depended on how sloshed he really wanted to get tonight.
The dancefloor was packed enough he could smell sweat mixed with various perfumes and deodorants. It only added to the haze of sensation lulling him into relaxation. He was only one beer in, too. When had he gotten so bad at this? University Grace would punch this old shade in the face if he could. Then again, things were simpler in college, before he’d derailed his whole life trajectory. Friends were plentiful and so was booze, especially the crappy stuff. Funny how he could be drinking something far better and still miss the taste of diluted beer… or was it just the fun he missed?
“May I sit here?” came a voice near his left ear, bringing him flopping back down to present. Grace blinked and turned to look, utterly dumbfounded when a most handsome man gestured to the stool beside him like it was perfectly normal to approach someone as fuddy-duddy as Grace. There was a very familiar green labeled beer in his hand, which seemed to have veins formed of liquid light under panels of shining metal that went up his arm and disappeared under a dark sleeve, and when Grace met the stranger’s open gaze, one was of such an inky black it caught the light rather than reflect it, while the other had a faint red glow. He felt his heart skip a beat or three, and not just because the man wasn’t just handsome. He was stunning. A cyborg?
Grace moved the napkin he’d forgotten nearest the seat in a hasty bid to keep the man from leaving. “O-of course,” he stumbled, wincing at himself. Flubbing it already. He lay even bets the man would up and run in five minutes or less. Probably less. “Nice taste in beer.”
The man sat heavily, like he’d had the longest day and the stool was all that could catch him and his exhaustion. He hadn’t seemed super tall, but his bulk was enough to feel the shift in the already bouncing counter. His shoulders were broad and funneled into a thick torso. Hello biceps, Grace thought in some delirium. The man looked like he’d just walked off a wanted poster, and maybe he even had. Even his thighs seemed angled with suffocation in mind. Grace felt his ears grow suspiciously warm.
“It’s decent shit, compared to the other shit we call alcohol these days,” the man said cheerfully enough, leaning in a bit closer to be better heard. He smelt like leather and metal and oil, which he probably used to keep his left arm from grinding too much. It was the other, very human hand, he offered to Grace, his eyes glittering under long, dark lashes. “I’m Simon.”
“Nice to meet you, Simon,” Grace took the hand, unsurprised to find the grip was firm, carefully measured. No doubt Simon was a man who knew how strong he actually was and knew how to control every inch of tension he gave. It spoke of impressive training, which made sense if he had to retrain for his new arm. Cyborgs weren’t born, after all. They were made. “Call me Grace.”
“Grace.” Simon gave his fingers a squeeze before letting go and cupping both of his hands around his bottle of beer. Grace followed suit, since that was less idiotic than rubbing his hand on his pants because it was tingling something fierce now. He tapped his fingers nervously against the glass instead.
“What brings you out here alone?” he asked, hoping that was a safe enough topic to start on. “Or are you waiting for someone?”
“I could ask that of you,” Simon pointed out, but there was only sweetness in his face rather than anything dodgy. Either Grace was about to be horribly murdered or he was honestly being flirted with. What a concept. His face heated up at the man’s next words. “A handsome man sitting alone in a bar?”
“I don’t know about handsome,” Grace chuckled awkwardly, too quickly, fidgeting so much with the bottle it nearly toppled. He saved it from falling, head ducked in embarrassment. “A mess, more like.”
“A handsome mess,” Simon countered, definitely about to murder him with that smile alone. Biscuits and gravy. Grace watched, mortified, as Simon tilted his beer to Grace’s, clinking them gently before lifting it for drink. “So, what’s the occasion?”
Right, he had come out for a reason. Celebrating. Grace licked his lips and sipped his drink too, glad it was still chilled despite the warmth now on the glass. “School’s out for the summer,” he said, flashing the ID lanyard around his neck to the man briefly. Those mismatched eyes focused down. Hopefully it wasn’t so dark that he couldn’t see where it was stamped GROVER MIDDLE SCHOOL on the back. “Three months off.”
“That must be nice,” Simon chuckled, all warmth and whiskey burn. “What do you do with all that spare time?”
“Go crazy, usually,” Grace said, a bit too honest, and immediately tried to hide behind his bottle. “Nothing exciting, I’m afraid.”
“There’s nothing wrong with that,” Simon offered, which was kind of him. Grace shot him a little smile, amazed he was still there, glowing under the blacklight. His dark curls looked ruffled from a full day of being worried between fingers, but so soft that Grace’s mind began to wander where it shouldn’t.
“What about you?” Grace turned back before he started swooning or something else equally as stupid. “What brings a h-handsome guy like you out here?”
He kicked himself for the stammering, but Simon either didn’t notice or care about it. He just tilted his beer, considered the glowing liquid. It was getting low. How long had he been here before approaching Grace? “I’m not sure where I’m at, honestly,” Simon said with a shrug that made the lights in his arm dance. “Something of a crossroads. Figured drinking was a safer bet than trying to figure it all out. That can be tomorrow-Simon’s problem.”
Grace saluted him with his bottle for that one, grinning at the easy acceptance of it all. He couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d been approached by someone this lovely and last past the five minute mark still talking. “Sometimes that’s the best option. Never make big decisions without a good night’s sleep under you.”
Simon nodded, as though truly taking in that piece of wisdom. “I’ll remember,” he said, saluted him back with his beer. Grace grinned, bewildered, but followed him with drinking down the rest of their drinks. They set the bottles down together and chuckled in sync. Grace was glad the blacklight covered his blush. Otherwise, it’d be a beacon. “Do you play darts, Grace?”
“Darts?” Grace blinked, then looked where Simon nodded towards. A line of dart boards were along the wall, well away from the throng of dancers. It looked like a board was free. “You want to play with me?”
Simon looked amused and that time Grace flailed too much to save his bottle from falling over. Simon righted it for him amidst his fluttering hands. “I-I meant! I meant darts! You want to play darts with me.”
“That was the idea,” Simon chuckled, the sound deep in his chest. He signaled the bartender for two more beers and got up with them. “Unless you’re scared of losing?”
Grace gaped, then shot to his feet. Handsome man or not, Grace had never turned down a challenge and that was a clearly thrown gauntlet. He took his beer from the man’s metal hand in a huff. “Not as scared as you should be.” He led the way, drawing up his sleeves as he did so. Simon flicked the caps off for them as Grace gathered up the darts. “Blue or red?"
“Blue,” Simon said, an amused kiss in the corner of his mouth. Maybe, if Grace didn’t chase him off, that kiss would be his tonight. The thought was buoying. “Red can go first.”
Grace eyed him playfully, the beer giving him courage. He tossed a dart at the board once he found the standing marker. Simon followed with his own. It went wide and Grace did his best not to preen. “I’ll have you know I was an ace at this in college.”
“Looking forward to seeing your skills,” Simon said in his ear as he passed him to retrieve the darts. His smile had turned rather seductive, Grace thought, though it could have been the beer. He took back the dart shyly, then lined himself up again. Thank god a good competition had a way of overruling his general awkward everything. And he really had been good at darts in college. He prayed the old skill would be easy to remember.
“Five-o-one rules?” Simon asked, sipping his beer and regarding the dart board with a critical eye. Was he competitive, or one that enjoyed the game for its sake rather than pulling for a win?
“Unless you just want to go for bullseye,” Grace said before tossing as expertly as he could towards the outer ring’s highest numbers, determined to get a lower score quickly. His darts landed in a spread, a lopsided triangle. He did the math, rather pleased with himself. “What is that, minus fifty-three points?”
“Sixty-three,” Simon told him, having found a pen sometime during Grace’s turn. He jotted down the scores on a napkin. “Not bad, ace.”
“Don’t butter me up,” Grace warned, laughing a bit too loud. It'd probably work if Simon did butter him up, way too well too, and Grace wanted to earn that secret kiss with some dignity. He shooed Simon off and sipped the fresh drink, glad of the cold on his throat. Even this far from the dancefloor, they had to talk above an average register to hear each other. He blushed, thinking of how Simon had spoken so close to his ear. He never thought gunmetal and oil could make a good combination, but Simon wore it well.
Simon returned and deducted a neat seventy-eight from his score, looking a tad smug when Grace eyeballed him. “Beginner’s luck?” he offered, which Grace didn’t believe for a second.
“You’d better not be going easy on me,” Grace warned, a true frown pulling on his lips. Winning was only fun if it was fair.
Simon lifted his hands placatingly. “I promise I’m not,” he said, all charm. Grace wasn’t sure he believed him, but squared up with the target again, darts in hand.
On and on they went, their scores keeping close together as they narrowed their targets on the board. Grace lost track of time between sips of beer, tossing darts, and laughing with Simon, who had a devastatingly gorgeous light in him the further he relaxed. By the end of the game, Grace felt fuzzy and a bit overwarm, but Simon was there to steady him, solid and refreshingly cool.
Grace gripped the man’s bicep with a pout slick with drink. “How are you not a furnace right now?”
Simon had gone a bit still when Grace had grabbed him, but he melted back quickly to the handsome, relaxed man he’d been playing darts with for the past hour. He shrugged and smiled in answer. Grace noticed his right shoulder lifted slightly higher than the left. Just how heavy was that prosthetic, he had to wonder? “I’ve always run a little cold,” he said, flexing when Grace squeezed his bicep a second time which… unfair. Very unfair. “My metal arm has a cooling system that usually keeps me at a steady temperature.”
He lifted the glittering metal arm as though that would explain things. Grace took in the lines of light greedily. “My best friend would kill for a chance to see how it all works,” he admitted, his smile gooey the way it usually did thinking of Rocky. He was the closest to family Grace had had in decades. “He’s a mechanical engineer.”
“Oh?” Simon sipped his beer, eyebrow raised. “Is he any good?”
“The best I’ve ever seen,” Grace assured, though he was hardly an authority on engineers in general. Rocky made it feel like magic, though, and everything he’d ever taken apart for Grace and put back together had run better than before.
Simon smiled at him, like Grace’s happy thoughts reflected on his face somehow. Maybe they were. “Good engineers are hard to come by. Keep that one close,” he said sagely, saluting with his beer. Since Simon would be proper authority on the topic, Grace clinked their bottles together in solidarity.
“I will. He’s family to me,” Grace told him, smile fond.
“Good,” Simon’s smile went a bit crooked, a bit unhappy, there and gone with a flash of teeth. “Shall we have another round?” He nodded to the dart board and set down his beer. “Or perhaps you’d like to dance?”
“Dance?” Grace slid from where he’d been leaning comfortably against the tall table, instantly back to awkward. “Oh, I… uh, I don’t dance. You don’t want to dance with me. Your feet will hate you,” he stammered, knowing he sounded like an idiot. All his earlier confidence had faded with the end of the game and he flushed in embarrassment, remembering how determined he’d been to kiss Simon if he’d won. Cheese and crackers, Batman.
“You aren’t good at dancing, or you just don’t like dancing?” Simon asked, amazingly not running away screaming. Grace set his beer down shakily, suddenly a bit breathless. He barely had the air to laugh.
“I-I like dancing,” Grace told him. “But dancing doesn’t like me.”
“Well, then we’ll just plant our feet and wiggle,” Simon said, which was so adorably sweet Grace felt a tad gobsmacked as his hand was gently taken. “Come on. If it’s too bad, we can come back for another game.”
“Are you sure?” Grace had to ask, though his voice mostly died as he was led to the dancefloor. It was swaying with bodies in time with the beat, and he could feel his teeth hum as his feet did. Simon moved Grace before him and took his hands in his, then made a point of planting his feet at shoulder width. He nodded and Grace followed suit, feeling super silly now, before they began swaying in place to the beat. It was… nice, not having to worry about his feet, and by the time the song bled into the next in the queue, grace felt a bit more steady. As though sensing his rising confidence, Simon stepped a bit closer, then drew Grace’s arm up and around. Grace had no choice but to spin if he didn’t want to become a pretzel. He spun obediently, laughing in panic, and tripped on himself. His hands ended up on Simon’s upper arms, while Simon caught him around his sides. For a moment, they just stared at each other, wide eyed.
“I-I’m sorry!” Grace called over the music, but when he tried to retreat, Simon went with him, drawing him back. He adjusted Grace’s hands off his arms to his shoulders, then grabbed Grace’s waist. They were close, so close that Grace could see the shine of that red eye against the backdrop of neon at the bar, could smell only leather and oil. As before, Simon planted his feet and they simply swayed, their breaths shaking between them in time with the music. Grace shivered, lost in those deep, sweet eyes that seemed to hold a galaxy of stars. Simon seemed equally as happy to drown in Grace, just watching him, a small smile on his face.
The music pulsated into a slow, heady rhythm, and they moved somehow closer in response. Grace thought wildly of secret kisses and two beers, and how solid Simon was against him, how real. Slightly cool skin brushed where his shirt rode up on his back and he shivered all over again, suddenly far too shy and far too seen in Simon’s arms.
“It’s alright,” Simon murmured into his ear, his own voice deep with a faint tremble. “I’ve got you.”
Grace told himself an hour playing darts wasn’t enough time. Grace told himself two beers wasn’t enough courage. Simon was close, but he wasn’t taking anything Grace wasn’t offering. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not; competitive spirit aside, he wasn’t good at initiating something on this level. He was better at finishing fights, for Pete’s sake, not kissing strange, wonderfully handsome men in bars. What if he was reading this all wrong?
“I don’t - I don’t usually do things like this?” Grace breathed out, apologetic though for what he wasn’t certain. Was he so used to messing things up that he couldn’t fathom the best outcome anymore when it came to whoever made his heart flutter? Granted, it was like a horde of butterflies had taken over his chest, trapped in the cage of his ribs. He felt like he could float off the floor any second, and found himself grateful Simon had him so securely. Adrift like this, swaying in the heat and the music, Simon was the only thing he could see clearly.
“What things?” Simon asked, leaning in enough their cheeks pressed together. Grace felt a lump form in his throat, even as he drew the man closer. Those beers were miracle workers, he couldn’t help but think, and bit his lip as Simon’s fingers brushed over his back again, both human and metal.
“Y-you know, th-things,” he stammered. “Dancing with handsome men kind of things.”
“Really?” Simon pulled back a little, gazing at him with soft eyes. He was a few inches shorter than Grace, but a perfect anchor to fall into. All he had to do was leap. Grace licked his lips, swallowed, and saw Simon’s gaze follow each movement before meeting his eyes again. “You’re very good at it, Grace.”
Fudge popsicles, he was in trouble. Something dark and wanting lay open in Simon’s expression, but still he didn’t take, just waited on Grace’s orbit for permission. Grace held on tight, caught between wanting to run and surrender, until finally he let his head fall against the side of Simon’s. Surely, it couldn’t be too bad to give in, if only a little bit? He was celebrating, he was single and Simon was still here, holding him, looking at him in a way that made his knees weak. It was a rare gift. Did he really turn back now?
“You are way too smooth,” he grumped, pulling Simon in like a hug, but still they swayed, not stopping their version of dancing. He could feel Simon smile against his neck, the brush of his stubbly beard, the heat of his breath. With a chuckle, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Grace’s pulse, which jumped in answer. Grace’s eyes closed in bliss, a rush of exhilarated nerves swooping through him. “Jiminie Christmas…”
“My name is Simon, actually,” Simon chuckled into his throat, managing even now to be sexy and silly all at once. Grace laughed, relieved and utterly charmed, and felt another kiss press to his skin. So simple. So easy.
Yup. he was definitely being murdered at some point. Things like this just didn’t happen to Grace. Ever. no doubt, when morning came, this would just be a memory to hold on a rainy day. It would be like a geode in his hand, solid and full of glittering crystals when turned over, a hidden beauty. If he were smart, he’d leave now, not hold on all the tighter.
“Grace,” Simon breathed against his ear, so barely there against the music that Grace felt it more than heard it. A shiver of delight raced down his back, and he leaned back to see that desire tucked into each smile line of the man’s face. Grace was immediately lost in his eyes.
He couldn’t promise anything, was the thing. He didn’t know Simon outside of a couple hours at a bar. His courage was mostly beer. If nothing else, they should talk about whatever it was they were building to, if only to save them both a bit of heartache come the morning. But Grace couldn’t make any words work in his mouth, now with how Simon was gazing at him like he meant something, something precious. Something necessary.
He cupped his hands around Simon’s face, traced the top of his cheekbones with his thumbs, then promptly lost his fingers somewhere in those curls as his grip migrated. They really were as soft as he’d hoped and the noise Simon made as he leaned into the contact rumbled in both their chests. Thousands of reasons why this was a bad idea fell away as Simon tilted his head back against Grace’s palms, and was there to meet him when their lips met, smile to smile.
Simon kissed him softly, reverently, like Grace was giving him a gift. Simon kissed like he knew how, but still found it special because it was Grace. Grace kissed uncertainly, like a man out of practice. He wondered if Simon noticed how his lips struggled to find the best angle. He wondered if Simon cared that Grace could fumble even this. He hoped not.
“Grace,” Simon whispered against his mouth like a prayer, then drew him in for another kiss. In the sway of their bodies and the flood of noise, Grace simply wrapped his arms more securely around Simon’s shoulders and fell into each angle they tried with his heartbeat pounding in his ears. How was it that a kiss could override his doubts, his fears? How was it he could be kissed and suddenly the world made a bit more sense, if only for a little while?
How could he be kissed by a most handsome, charming, sweet man and still be second guessing? Grace wanted to laugh at himself, kick himself, run, but all he could manage was a breathless sound between them. Simon chased it, chased him, effortlessly kissing him again. He was warm and his touch was gentle. Kissing didn’t have to be more than kisses, he thought, giving in to the inevitable. In the morning, he could deal with whatever else happened. It was hard to think given how quickly he was plummeting into a warm gaze and skilled mouth that made his legs turn to jelly. Surrendering was so much easier than thinking; the more he tried, the more he found that he really didn't care about more outside of Simon’s smile. Life would move on no matter what they did, anyway. He had plenty of time to freak out later.
Grace managed to find his hands again and cup Simon’s face, pull him in. Lips and a hint of teeth on his lower lip made him shiver all the way into his soul, and he wasn’t even mad about it. His mouth would be kiss-bruised come morning, but that was for tomorrow-Grace to worry about. Tonight, he was going to kiss a sweet man that smelled of oil and leather and metal, and keep kissing him because this mattered, even if it was fleeting, and he would give in as much as he could until everything else disappeared.