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“What about hot chocolate?” Grace asks from his position on the floor, mindlessly squeezing one of many bags of water above his head. This laying down position he’s adopted hasn’t become uncomfortable yet, but he can tell it’s getting there. He and Simon, his only other crewmate aboard the Hail Mary, have been at this lackadaisical back-and-forth for hours now, although neither crew member has really been keeping track of the passage of time.
In their efforts to evade boredom, they’ve ended up compiling a list of Earthly pleasures. Frankly, Grace finds himself mildly surprised that Simon’s engaged in this conversation for so long. It has to be due to the sheer lack of nothing else to do. No matter how stern his crewmate appeared to be, he probably came to the same conclusion as Grace: any conversation is better than going crazy out in space.
“Hm,” Simon gives it a second of thought, shifting his weight against the floor. He’s currently sitting criss-crossed, back pressed against the post of the bed closest to the ground. “I can’t say I miss hot chocolate specifically, but I do miss drinks that aren’t room temperature.”
Grace gives a slight nod to that. He considers asking the other man what his favourite drink is, but quickly dismisses the thought. The more time the former teacher spends outside his classroom, the more he finds himself resonating with the saying ‘less is more.’ With adults, waiting for elaboration is typically more efficient than directly asking for more information.
A silence falls over the two. Not that it’s inherently awkward, but on instinct, Grace feels the need to fill the air. The lack of conversation prompts him to sit up, causing the scientist to suddenly become very aware of the pain ruminating in his lower back.
“Ugh…” Grace winces, arching his back as he stretches. The soft pops he hears are relieving, but he’s sure he’ll still be feeling the consequences of laying on the hard ground for some time after. Looking up more thoroughly, his eyes meet Simon’s, who has an unreadable expression on his face. It isn’t anything new, but it causes Grace to fluster a little. Attempting a smooth quip, he sputters, “Man, we’re getting old, huh?
“Oh! That’s another thing!” He straightens properly, now too sitting criss-cross, right across from Simon. “I miss massages. Er, conceptually at least. I wasn’t really a big fan of them on Earth. Funny how that kinda thing changes, huh?”
Simon remains unphased, and Grace processes that their newfound proximity definitely isn’t helping. He tries to shift backward, away from the piercing gaze of his crewmate’s deep brown eyes. Despite how much he wants to break the silence again, he holds himself back. Maybe there’ll be a reward if he lets Simon think, he tries to reassure himself. But it really is awkward.
___
It should be clear Grace isn’t propositioning him, Simon thinks. When Grace wants him to do something, he states it very clearly, with no margin for miscommunication. That’s probably one of the traits that got him on the radar for Project Hail Mary in the first place. So, Grace isn’t coming onto him. Not that it matters. What would he even say if that was the case? Simon shudders, still maintaining his facade on the outside. No, it doesn’t matter because it would never happen. You’re overthinking this, he reassures himself.
And yet. Perhaps it’s the boredom, or the lack of physical contact, or the flushed, hesitant look Grace has that makes Simon consider it. Well… it couldn’t hurt. What does he have to lose? He clears his throat before uttering, “Want me to give you a massage?”
The look on his coworker’s face is irrevocably priceless. Simon can almost hear the gears turning in his brain. Before Grace has the chance to say anything in response, Simon continues. “You know. If you want. I’m not a professional or anything, but if your back’s really bothering you I don’t mind.”
Grace’s mouth opens slightly, then closes, then opens again. It hangs ajar for a few moments, before heavy words tumble out. “I mean… sure. Since you’re offering.”
Simon feels his face soften. He wonders if Grace can tell. Or if he even wants him to. Tactfully, he moves his hand to the ledge of the bed behind him and hoists himself up. He looks down on Grace, who is seemingly glued to the floor, before cocking his head as a gesture to the bed.
“You wanna lay on your stomach? I’ll kneel behind you.”
Grace coughes out an agreement and hastily clambers onto the bed, much to Simon’s (silent) amusement. He lays completely flat against the soft material. Honestly, the foam mattress topper isn’t the most luxurious thing on this ship, but it’s more comfortable than the floor by a long shot. He can hear Grace sigh against his pillow as he moves closer, and suddenly Simon is hyper-aware of the magnitude of what he’s about to do. He shakes his head in an attempt to shake these thoughts out of his brain, which isn’t aided by the fact that he is promptly straddling his coworkers behind. But if Grace is okay with it, Simon is too, and he certainly doesn’t want to be the one to make it weird.
“Uh, just let me know if it hurts, yeah?” Simon curses how his words come out ruffled, but Grace nods his head in that vigourous way he usually does and gives a thumbs-up for extra assurance.
Simon runs his right hand against the ridges of Grace’s spine, using the prosthetic to brace himself against the scientist’s shoulder. As he presses more intently into the muscles around his spine, he finds Grace’s exhales to be egging him on. Something insatiable begins to creep over him, telling him to keep pushing and prodding. Jeez, get a grip.
After one particularly hard press into his scapula, Grace winces, which causes Simon to pull back in hesitance. “Shit, was that too much?” Grace hears from his colleague behind him, probably only a few inches from his head, and he feels his face grow red. Good thing it’s mostly hidden.
“No, it’s fine, really, but um… could you move lower down?” As soon as the words come out, he feels silly for asking. But he can almost feel Simon’s relief, which eases his own demeanor.
“Sure. Closer to your lumbar spine?” Simon takes the redirection like a champ, immediately moving his hand down and pressing into the flesh and vertebrae of his lower back. As Simon’s hand moves, Grace can feel it brush against the waistband of his jumpsuit, tied haphazardly halfway down his body, and he wants to kick himself for how perverse he feels.
Attempting to regain composure, Grace replies with a slight breathlessness to his voice. “Ah, that’s good… I’m kind of surprised you know that.”
Simon scoffs lightheartedly. “It’s not that ridiculous to know. I took a couple anatomy courses in college. It’s pretty fascinating.”
Grace grips the pillow underneath his head with a fervour. He’s so incredibly grateful Simon can’t see his face. Speaking of his coworker, Grace really hit the nail on the head this time. If he wasn’t blessed enough to get a massage from this incredibly attractive man, that same man is also incredibly fascinated with human anatomy, huh? Maybe this’ll lead to them playing doctor, they’re already halfway there with Simon’s hand ever so slowly creeping up on his—
“Hey, Ryland? Do you mind if I lift your shirt up a little? It’d give me a better grip.”
Speaking of, Ryland, get a grip!
“Aha yeah! That's fine! Do what you gotta do!” Grace begins to retract his hand to give another thumbs up, but is promptly stopped dead in his tracks when he feels a cool breeze against his back. Jeez, he hadn’t realized how sweaty he was. Simon’s hand is temperate against him, if not a little cool, and Grace direly wants to feel more of it. He feels his dick start to become interested in the situation. Crud. It stirs uncomfortably against the mattress, half-hard and wanting, and Grace is at a crossroads. He doesn’t want to tell Simon to stop, selfishly of course, but also because he can’t bear to face him in this condition. On the other hand, he knows its wrong to indulge in these touches considering how it’s affecting him and how Simon’s oblivious to it.
Simon, on the other hand, is getting really into it, kneading his knuckles into Grace’s pale flesh. He notices the sparse lunares and fights the urge to give them attention. He can barely feel himself slipping, wholly encompassed by the feeling of touching Grace so unabashedly. Before this, the most physical contact the two had exchanged were the formal handshakes when they were first introduced and one shaky, panicked hug when they’d woken up from the induced coma and still had brains of mush.
Hell, he wasn’t sure if Grace even remembered that, and he isn’t sure why he’s remembering it himself. Something about Grace’s form, lean yet built from the faux muscles, gives Simon this subconscious itch that he hadn’t been able to scratch until now. Now, he was being outright greedy. He enjoyed touching Grace so much, pushing further and further in hopes of drawing out more heated sounds. He had been making subtle mental notes of how his breath hitched, how he’d squeeze the pillow a little harder after certain kneads, how his ears were flushing pinker at the tips. He wants more, and the crude parts of his brain plead with him to go as far as it takes.
Lucky Simon, since it only took one particular press against Grace’s L3 vertebrae before he moans in earnest.
Simon isn’t quite sure he heard him right at first.
Grace’s logic is simple. If he doesn’t acknowledge it, and doesn’t move a muscle, maybe Simon won’t notice. Maybe he could play it off as the AC. Or something.
Unfortunately for Grace however, Simon does notice. It fills in his head and makes itself at home, before going straight down to his cock. He can feel his cheeks heat up as he slowly adjusts his positioning, sitting up in an attempt to not have his clothed dick pressed against Grace’s butt. It’s fruitless. He doesn’t want Grace to notice and get flustered, or even worse… make him get up. He knows it’s wrong and depraved, but he can’t help it.
“Ryland?”
Despite the blood filling his ears, Grace hears Simon croak out his name.
“… It’s okay. To make sounds like that. If it feels good… don’t be shy.” Simon mumbles, feigning as much nonchalance as he can manage, while tracing the shape of Grace’s spine with the tips of his fingers. “Can I keep going?”
If Grace didn’t know any better, he’d think Simon was… embarrassed? No, that's too strong a word. In all the time they’ve spent together, Grace has only seen Simon slightly flustered when he’d misremembered the name of the Russian Prime Minister. Embarrassment wasn’t a concept in his brain. That was something Grace envied.
“Ah. Yes. Sorry. You can keep going…” Grace reassures him, ever so slightly lifting up from the mattress. Huh. It’s easier for him to move his hips, and now that he’s thinking about it, Simon’s weight almost feels lighter.
He isn’t thinking about that for long though, as Simon begins to move his right hand again, still bracing himself with his prosthetic. His knuckles press sweet relief into Grace’s flesh, but he instinctually holds back a whimper.
Clearly, he wasn’t discreet enough about it, because Simon slows his movements, almost in disappointment. Then, Grace suddenly feels weight above him shift. The prosthetic hand moves up his back, landing in the space of the bed above his shoulder right next to Grace’s head. He feels Simon lean down, sandwiching him between the mattress, and the breathing next to his ear shoots a tingling feeling down his spine.
“Ryland,” Simon’s voice is low and rumbly and Grace wants nothing more than for him to keep talking. “Why are you holding back? I want to hear you. I’ll keep going.” He’s almost flustered by how unashamedly Simon talks to him. Blood has completely abated his brain, and with Simon pressing into him so thoroughly, there's nowhere for his arousal to escape. He so desperately wants to grind against the soft bed, pushing against Simon as well in a delirious chase of pleasure. Actually, now that he thinks about it, he feels…
“Ryland? Doesn’t it feel good? I’ll keep going if you keep making noises like that. Please?” Yeah, he’s definitely not dreaming. Simon’s length twitches ever so slightly against his ass, before Grace is snapped back to reality when Simon outrightly presses against him. He knows what he’s doing. They both do. Grace whimpers as Simon grinds against him again, more insistent this time, and he’s never wanted anything more. Sex was never usually his domain, but being buttered up with a massage by one of— no, the— hottest man he’s ever met was more than enough to get him going.
Two can play at that game, Grace thinks, as he arches his back against Simon's body. His ass presses against the warm heat deliciously, and he can feel the groan Simon makes against his ear go straight to his dick. Simon moves his hand out from between their bodies and grabs Grace’s chin, turning his face so they make eye contact.
Grace looks hopeless already. Tears prick at his eyes, threatening to run down his already flushed face. His lips are assuredly pink, likely from being bitten, and Simon wants so badly to kiss him. He can tell Grace does too, because without another word, Grace pulls his head down and smashes their lips together.
It isn’t delicate. It’s pure, desperate want, want that causes Simon to moan into the kiss. He swipes his tongue against Grace’s bottom lip, and is enthusiastically let in. He concurs five seconds in that this is the best kiss he’s ever had. It ends sooner than he wants, with a moan from Grace so heady it makes him dizzy.
“Simon, keep pressing… Please…” Grace punctuates his request by helplessly grinding against Simon, making it clear what he’s after. Simon doesn’t have to be told twice. He starts slowly, working himself up to a pace that makes Grace whimper and gasp. The friction of their clothing against his clothed dick feels so good. He’s sure there’s a wet spot seeping through the fabric of his jumpsuit, but he’s too far gone to care. Suddenly, he feels guilty for leaving Grace untouched, and he hurriedly shoves his hand between Grace’s body and the mattress. He palms Grace’s clothed cock, and the stimulation rips a filthy moan out of the scientist. He cups the shape against the soft material, imagining it in his hand properly. He imagines blowing Grace, taking him entirely and watching as the blond above him squirms and bucks into him, just like he is now.
“Ryland, hah, you’re tensing up.” Simon’s tone is deep and the fact he’s essentially jerking Grace off through his clothes makes it so hard for him to concentrate. “Are you close?” He feels kisses pressed against his jaw, contrasting the heat he feels pressed against his ass. He wonders if Simon could come just like this. As good as it feels, it's also frustrating not having direct stimulation.
“It’s good, but, through… through the—mmn—jumpsuit, I want more.” It takes Grace a second to get that out, thoroughly distracted by the stimulation both in the front and the back. His dick feels like it's going to explode despite not being touched directly. Behind him, Simon chuckles darkly, which impossibly turns Grace on more.
“Cute, but I think, this is all you’re getting.” Simon accentuates that with a particularly deep thrust of his hips, making Grace wail and bury his head in the pillow. It’s not fair. There’s no way he can come like this. He needs more. More, more, more. Something about Simon’s touch makes him greedy. He’s both overstimulated by nothing and desperate for more.
The words tumble out of his mouth before he processes them. “Please Simon, ‘ll be good just, touch me properly.” Grace is babbling at this point, not really paying attention to if Simon’s really listening or not. He feels pressure building low in his gut, and he thinks for a split second maybe, just maybe, he could come like this, make a mess of his underwear and jumpsuit if that's what Simon wanted.
Simon feels his peak approaching, his cock wet and needy through his own pants. As much as he wants to strip both himself and Grace so he can wrap a hand around both of them properly, the desperation he feels keeps him glued to the other man, chasing friction he’s only dreamt of. One day he’ll make Grace come properly. Now is not that time. Regardless, he feels Grace rut against his hand, clearly encroaching on his own orgasm. He tightens his grip as feverishly as possible before leaning into Grace’s ear.
“You’re doing so good already. You’re so sweet, Ryland.” He kisses Grace’s cheek, a soft action to break between the lust. “You’re gonna make me cum like this…”
It’s those words that make Grace cry out, arching his back and bucking his hips into Simon, spilling incessantly into his boxers. His face and body feel so hot, and he’s never been so spent.
Simon notices, of course, which only makes him groan and thrust harder into Grace’s ass. He can tell the man above him is talking, but none of it is coherent, all all whimpers and rambles until he feels Simon’s hips still and twitch against his pelvis. Rubbing himself through the aftershocks, Simon eventually collapses against Grace’s back.
The two stay like that for a moderate amount of time, before Simon peels himself off with a grunt, looking down at his handiwork. Grace looks utterly ruined underneath him, panting and sweating, with his midsection and top of his pelvis exposed due to Simon’s manhandling. He’s perfectly reminded of the bag of water on the floor, and gets off the bed to grab it. Grace sits up, bracing himself with his hand and watching with laboured breath. Simon unscrews the cap and hands it to Grace, who takes it like a man starved. “Thanks.” The voice he hears almost doesn’t sound like his exuberant crewmate from how hoarse it is, but Simon concludes it’s a sound he wouldn’t mind hearing more.
“So,” he starts, sitting on the bed next to Grace, “good massage?”
Grace chuckles despite his mouthful of water. “You know, it might be the best I’ve ever had.”