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“We can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here.
And that is enough.”
Stratt sets the microphone back atop the karaoke machine. Applause and scattered cheers fill the common room, the crew quick to praise their leader's unexpected performance.
Across the room, she catches Ryland Grace already watching her. She offers him a quick smile before slipping quietly into the corridor. Alone again, she wanders the familiar labyrinth of halls back towards her room.
The door clicks shut behind her, Stratt presses her back to it, her breath catching with the sob she could hold back no longer. The charade of a fearless leader finally weighs all too heavily on her shoulders. She’s spent months, years even, denying the reality of what she was asking people to do. A suicide mission. Sending them away from their lives and families, just as she had once had.
The room is quiet, save for the hum of the ship around her, steady and familiar. Beyond these walls, people laughed and drank and pretended that for just one night everything might turn out okay. And she’d encouraged it, smiled through it. Even joined in on the fun. At least what was fun to them, but more of a challenge for her. Despite her background in choir, this had felt different. It was more risky, more vulnerable. She’d let her guard down just enough in front of the crew so they’d think she was one of them. But that couldn’t be farther from the truth.
Her hands drag over her face as another shaky breath escapes her. The weight of it all had become nearly unbearable in recent weeks - every decision, every compromise, every carefully measured lie. Sending good people, talented people, to die while she stood safely at the center of it all. Safely for now, at least.
And through it all, Dr. Ryland Grace had somehow worked his way closer to her than anyone else aboard this ship. She could tell herself it was because he was the world's leading authority on Astrophage biology - that he was brilliant and endlessly perceptive. But he’d become dangerous in a different way.
Ridiculous.
The thought alone was almost humiliating; she couldn’t even bring herself to fully admit it. She had neither the time nor the right for any feelings like that. Not now. Not when the world outside the ship was ending by slow degrees from a cooling sun.
Yet she still found herself looking for him in crowded rooms. Eyes landing on him fleetingly in meetings and presentations. Patting the back of his chair when she walked by. Using any opportunity to praise his accomplishments to her colleagues.
Worse still was the way he looked at her. Not with fear or obligation, but something softer. Something that made her feel, if only briefly, just a little less alone in this. She should’ve shut it down months ago, whatever this was. But instead, she’d allowed him on the deck with her, even though she usually denied any company. Told him about the East German youth choir she was in, and had been too quick to insist that he was not bothering her. She smiled at the sight of him glancing down nervously at his feet, hands stuffed restlessly into the pockets of that stupidly endearing fox sweater.
Stratt exhales sharply through her nose, wiping away stray tears from her face. She sniffles, closing her eyes and just breathing for a moment. Exhaustion was one thing. Loneliness another. But this humiliating ache for closeness, which she had no right to indulge, was nearly intolerable.
She’s broken from her reprieve by a knock from the other side of the door. She stills immediately, like a deer caught out in the open, frozen and listening.
Another knock, softer this time.
“Stratt?” Grace's muffled voice carries through the door. “You uhh… left pretty fast.” He sounds hesitant, like he’s getting a feel for how she might respond. She regrets how her chest tightens at the sound of the care in his voice.
“I’m fine,” she responds quickly. Maybe a little too quickly. The silence lingers a moment before Grace speaks again.
“Okay,” he replies, unconvinced. “You just… didn’t seem fine.”
Damn him for noticing.
Stratt winces to herself, scrunching her nose up in brief contemplation. There was no reason to let him in. No reason whatsoever. But with a dramatic exhale, she turns around and opens the door.
Grace stands there holding two bottles of beer awkwardly against his chest, as though he’d realized halfway here that arriving empty-handed might have been a bit rude. His hair is slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol or the crowded room. And there it is again, that unbearable softness in the way he looks at her. Concern settles over his expression almost immediately. Of course, she must look terrible.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
Stratt folds her arms tightly across herself in defense. “I told you I am fine.”
She can see Grace wince ever so slightly at the tone, though not in fear. More like regret. Like he hated to see her retreat behind the harsh exterior she fronted.
“Right, sorry, I just…” he starts gently. His gaze flickers briefly to her face, then away too soon. “You disappeared.”
Something twists painfully in her chest at that. You disappeared. As though her absence had been felt. That her presence alone had been missed.
“The festivities became tiresome,” she replies plainly, stepping to close the door before she does anything stupid. “If that was all, Dr. Grace-”
“You sang.”
The words leave him almost unexpectedly, overlapping with hers. Stratt pauses, and Grace looks faintly embarrassed now, rubbing at the back of his neck while still awkwardly clutching at the beer bottles in his other hand. He laughs nervously under his breath. “I mean, not that that’s surprising, you having been in choir and all. I don’t know. It felt important somehow.”
“It was karaoke, Dr. Grace. Hardly a profound emotional revelation.”
“Maybe not to everyone else.”
Silence stretches between them, fragile yet strangely familiar. Grace shifts nervously in the doorway, and against her better judgment, the corner of Stratt’s mouth twitches faintly upward. Before she has time to think too long about it, she steps aside with a resigned exhale. “Come in.”
Grace slips past her and into her quarters. The room suddenly feels much smaller. He offers her one of the beers, their fingers brushing briefly as she takes it. The contact is fleeting. Innocent. Entirely too noticeable. Stratt turns away almost immediately, crossing the room to the small desk against the wall before he can possibly read anything on her face.
Behind her, she hears him settle carefully into the silence of the room rather than trying to fill it. Another thing she had grown dangerously fond of. Most people around her rush to occupy the space with questions, politics, or the latest news about their advancements with Astrophage technology. Grace simply waited.
“You meant it,” Grace says eventually.
Stratt’s grip tightens slightly around the bottle of beer in her hand. “Meant what?”
“The song.”
“You are assigning entirely too much significance to karaoke.”
“Maybe,” the softness in his voice makes the single word feel unbearably intimate. “But I don’t think so.”
She finally looks back at him. He’s leaning lightly against the fitted wardrobe she’d had installed, shoulders relaxed despite the uncertainty lingering around them. Still watching her with that same open expression that made her feel simultaneously seen and exposed. It would be easier if he were afraid of her. Easier if he treated her the same way everyone else did - careful, formal, distant. But Ryland Grace looked at her like she was a person first and the commander of humanity’s last hope second.
And God help her, she had begun to crave it.
The realization settles heavily in her chest. This is dangerous, reckless, entirely unacceptable. And yet she cannot bring herself to ask him to leave. Grace studies her carefully for a moment before speaking again, quieter this time.
“You know, you don’t always have to do this alone.”
Stratt almost laughs. Not because it’s funny, but because of how fundamentally impossible it sounds.
“That is quite literally my job.”
“No, your job is keeping us alive. Those aren’t the same thing.”
She distracts herself with the beer bottle she holds, thumb idly tracing over the condensation. “People need certainty from me.”
“Understandable.”
“If they see hesitation-”
“Stratt.”
Her name interrupts the thought before she can finish building the wall around herself again. His voice is soft and gentle, and she hates how much it affects her.
“They already know this is terrifying. You don’t have to pretend otherwise every second of every day.”
This catches her off guard. The words strike far closer than she would like.
He continues, “I just think maybe you shouldn’t have to keep carrying it all by yourself.”
The room falls quiet again. The steady hum of the ship fills the space around them. Somewhere far down the corridor, muffled laughter still echoes faintly from the common room. The sound feels impossibly distant now. Grace watches her for another moment before his expression shifts, concern returning more visibly now.
“You were crying.”
There it is. Stratt feels something inside her tense instantly, an old instinct snapping back into place, and the all-too-familiar urge to shut the conversation down entirely.
“You weren’t supposed to notice that,” she says plainly.
“Yeah, I figured.”
She realizes now just how close he is standing to her. Somewhere during their conversation, the distance between them had disappeared entirely. He’s close enough she can smell the laundry detergent clinging faintly to his clothes, and see every stitch in the patchwork foxes on his sweater. Grace shifts slightly, like he’s about to step back. Like her, he too became aware of the sudden closeness.
“I can go,” he says softly. She should say yes. She should tell him it’s entirely inappropriate to be in her quarters right now. But she doesn’t. She can’t bring herself to do it. The word leaves her before caution can stop it.
“Stay.”
The air around them stills, and for one moment, neither of them looks away.
Grace is the first to move. He doesn’t move away, just enough to set his untouched bottle of beer down on the desk beside her. He moves carefully, almost like he’s afraid that one wrong move might shatter this moment between them. His gaze flickers briefly toward her face again before dropping away just as quickly.
“Sorry,” he says after a beat, clearing his throat nervously. “I didn’t mean to bother you.” The fact that he’s worried about making her uncomfortable when she’d spent years commanding rooms full of people is slightly endearing.
“You don’t bother me.” Strat reiterates the same sentiment she had earlier on the deck. It’s softer this time, more intentional.
Neither of them moves for another long moment. Then, Grace lifts his hand slightly, hesitant enough that she realizes he’s giving her an opportunity to stop this. Stop before it becomes something else entirely. But she doesn’t. This entire night, she can’t bring herself to stop. The touch is feather-light as he brushes a loose strand of hair that had fallen across her eyes.
Stratt’s breath catches before she can stop it. The careful professionalism that had always existed between them is slowly slipping away, revealing something much more dangerous under the surface. His hand lingers near her face, like he can’t decide whether to pull away or reach for her again. The line between concern and something far more personal is becoming increasingly blurred.
Grace moves to withdraw his hand, and without fully thinking it through, Stratt reaches up and catches his wrist. The look in his eyes is cautious in a way she hadn’t really seen before. Not fearful. Hopeful. He says nothing. She can feel the slight flex of his wrist, his pulse jumping faintly beneath her fingers. And Stratt realizes she doesn’t want him to pull away.
“You’re very patient with me,” she says softly before she can stop herself. Grace's expression shifts slightly, surprise flickering across it.
“Shouldn’t I be?”
Stratt looks away for half a second, suddenly overwhelmed by how badly she wants to lean into this unbearable gentleness. Into him. Into the comfort of being looked after for once instead of always being the one holding everything together. She’s acutely aware of every point of contact between them. The careful breaths he takes and slight hesitation in how he’s touching her, like he’s still giving her space to change her mind at any second, should she wish. The restraint in him is rapidly becoming her undoing.
Before she can overthink her way out of it, she reaches up slowly, fingers brushing against the flushed skin at the nape of his neck. Grace inhales sharply. The sound sends a pulse of warmth low in her stomach. His eyes search hers carefully, still asking silently even now.
Stratt’s thumb shifts against the back of his neck, feeling the tension there beneath her touch.
“Grace,” she says quietly. Something soft and almost helpless registers across his face at the sound of his name in her voice.
“Are you sure?” he asks softly, his voice nearly a whisper.
The question and his tone should not affect her as deeply as they do. But God, he’s still asking. Still waiting for her instead of assuming, and she feels something loosen inside her at the tenderness of it.
“Yes,” she replies.
Then, before caution can reclaim her, she pulls him down into a tentative kiss. Grace stills momentarily, breath catching against her mouth. And then, very carefully, like he can’t quite believe he’s allowed to, he kisses her back.
It remains careful for the first few fragile seconds, neither of them quite willing to risk breaking whatever this has become. Grace’s hand tightens slightly at her waist before easing almost immediately, restraint winning out even now. Stratt exhales softly against his mouth as she leans closer into him instead of pulling away. That seems to undo something in him. He kisses her more deeply this time, slower and warmer. Somewhere between one breath and the next, the distance they had maintained for months disappears entirely.
Grace kisses her again, slowly but no less intense as she shifts closer to him. The hesitation between them finally starts to dissolve, replaced by the growing pull of want.
Stratt feels his hand drift slightly along the hem of her shirt, hesitating there and giving her every opportunity to stop him. Instead, she catches his wrist lightly and guides him further. Grace exhales softly against her mouth at the permission of it. His hand slides more securely around her waist, less hesitant but no less careful. His fingertips brush lightly against the skin beneath her sweater, goosebumps forming at his feather-light touch. The kiss deepens gradually after that, not rushed, but increasingly difficult to pull away from.
Somewhere along the way, they end up closer still. The mattress creaks under their weight as Grace guides them onto the bed. His hands move slowly along her sides as though he cannot quite decide whether to hold her gently or pull her impossibly closer. Stratt exhales unevenly as his mouth drifts from hers. He plants slow kisses along her neck, lingering at the sensitive curve beneath her jaw before carefully tugging the collar of her sweater aside to expose more skin. He begins to wander lower, planting kisses down her body over the thick material of her sweater. Stratt stills as realization settles over her.
Grace notices immediately. Of course he does. He pulls back just enough to look up at her, concern and warmth tangled openly across his expression. “Are you okay?”
Stratt studies him quietly for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed all over again by how careful he is being with her. He’s not tentative from disinterest, but rather because she matters to him. She reaches her hand up to run her fingers through the curls of his hair. She swallows thickly, her voice quieter now beneath the steady hum of the ship around them. “Yes.”
And then, before she can stop herself, “keep going”
Something warm and affectionate flickers across Grace’s face at the words. He shifts down lower until he’s kneeling between her legs at the edge of the bed. His hands remain steady against her thighs, thumbs brushing slow, absentminded patterns there like he’s trying to soothe any tension in her body before it can take hold. Grace slides his hands higher along her legs, settling at the waistband of her pants. He pauses, glancing up to meet her gaze, silently asking for permission to continue further.
Stratt nods, and at her okay, he carefully unbuttons her trousers, sliding them down and off her legs. Grace returns to his place between her knees, turning to press a soft kiss there. Her breath catches as his kisses continue higher along her thigh. Her hands instinctively grasp at his hair, a soft gasp escaping her when his nose brushes against her through the fabric of her underwear. Every lingering, unhurried touch stirs anticipation deep within her. Each kiss is intentional, like he’s trying to memorize every reaction he pulls from her.
She shifts restlessly beneath the weight of his attention, tightening her grip in his hair as another wave of warmth rolls through her. Grace exhales softly against her at the sensation, breath warm against her leg. He glances up at her. There is something almost reverent in his expression now. The sight of it sends a different ache through her, though this time it settles higher in her chest instead of low in her stomach.
Grace notices the moment her breathing changes. “Still okay?” he asks, his thumb brushing gently against her hip as if to bring her attention back to him.
Stratt nods quickly, though the motion feels strangely unsteady now. The problem is not that she wants him to stop, she absolutely does not want him to stop. It’s that no one has ever handled her this gently before, or looked at her so delicately. Like her comfort mattered, like she mattered, and that ultimately her pleasure would matter as well. She takes a shaky breath, emotion catching suddenly and unexpectedly in her throat.
He stills immediately. His gaze lifts towards hers with concern. “Stratt?” he asks quietly. Her name lands somewhere heavy in her chest, and only then does she realize her vision has started to blur. Mortification arrives quickly afterward.
Stratt turns her face away instinctively, one hand lifting to cover her face as though she can somehow hide the sudden tears threatening to spill over entirely.
“Hey,” Grace says, concern and care evident in his tone, “did I go too far?” The question leaves him quickly, genuine worry written openly across his face.
“No, no, you’re okay.” Stratt replies, voice catching.
He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, though the tension doesn’t leave him quite yet. Grace shifts upward, moving to position himself beside her on the bed. He brushes a strand of hair across her forehead. “Talk to me.”
Stratt takes a shaky breath, frustrated by how difficult it suddenly is to gather her thoughts. “I’m fine,” she replies out of habit. She watches Grace’s expression soften almost painfully at her reply.
“This is deeply embarrassing,” Stratt laughs once beneath her breath, brittle around the edges.
“Nothing about this is embarrassing.”
She opens her mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. The words are lodged in her throat, tangled between her reluctance and his gentility. Grace doesn’t push her to answer, he simply stays beside her. That somehow makes it worse. Another quiet, shaky laugh escapes her before she can stop it, though it sounds dangerously close to a sob. She looks away, frustrated by the sudden sting in her eyes.
“Hey, hey” he murmurs, sliding his hand along her jaw, gently guiding her attention back to him. “You don’t have to explain anything right now.”
His voice drops softer still. “Just let me take care of you.”
Something inside her fractures gently at his words. Not because they are dramatic, but because no one had offered her that in a very long time. Stratt’s breath catches unevenly, and she nods wordlessly. Exhaustion, want, vulnerability all tangle together in her chest. She feels his hand tighten ever so slightly around her waist at the reaction. Not possessive, but steady. Reassuring.
The tenderness of it unsettles her far more than desire alone ever could have. It was difficult enough to be wanted. Far worse to be genuinely cared for. Grace watches her carefully as silence stretches between them.
“Talk to me,” he says quietly, thumb brushing once against her side.
Stratt swallows thickly, suddenly unsure how to explain the feelings wedged deep beneath her ribs.
“It’s been,” she pauses briefly, contemplating how to continue. Her thoughts are hard to gather. “No one has treated me like this in a very long time.”
“Then let me do this for you,” Grace replies, his voice low. He’s not demanding. There’s no pity in his tone - only sincerity. Like taking care of her is the simplest thing in the world.
Stratt watches him quietly for a moment. There’s no expectation in him, no impatience. His gaze is soft with concern, one hand still resting on her hip. His eyes search hers in silent question, giving her room to change her mind.
“Okay,” she whispers, flashing him a small smile.
Grace’s hands wrap gently around her thighs as he settles more comfortably between them. He stills briefly before continuing, eyes lifting towards hers one last time. The tenderness of it all pools low in her belly, and she gives him a small nod before closing her eyes, pushing her head back into the pillow beneath her.
The first swipe of his tongue against her sends a sharp breath catching in her throat almost immediately. Her grip in his hair tightens as another wave of pleasure washes over her, stronger this time, pulling an unsteady sound somewhere from deep inside her chest before she can suppress it.
Grace reacts to every small change in her instantly, almost like he’s quickly committing it to memory so as never to forget exactly how to make her feel good. The hitch in her breathing. The involuntary shift of her hips. The way her thighs tense around him. Everything sharpens his focus on her further.
“Grace,” his name slips softly from her lips, not entirely sure whether it’s a plea or warning of her swiftly approaching climax.
“I’ve got you,” he replies, untangling his hand from around her thighs to reach up and grab hers, intertwining their fingers and giving a reassuring squeeze. This simple gesture nearly undoes her.
Stratt’s breathing grows increasingly uneven beneath the steady rhythm of his tongue. She tightens her hand around his, a broken sound escaping her lips. No one had ever been this attentive to her before, as if her pleasure mattered enough to be patient with. Like she mattered enough to be patient with. She didn’t realize how desperately she needed this.
In the past, intimacy had been simpler than this. Purely physical. Contained. Nothing she allowed herself to think too deeply about afterward. She’s spent years burying vulnerability beneath authority and distance. But now she can feel those walls begin to crack under the feeling of his mouth against her.
“Stay with me, Eva,” Grace murmurs, running his thumb along the back of her hand as he notices her thoughts drifting inward.
A desperate, almost helpless sound escapes her. She’s overwhelmed not only by pleasure but by the unbearable combination of his attentiveness. It feels less like he’s trying to overwhelm her and more like he’s listening to her body with startling precision. Her thighs tighten around him as waves of pleasure course through her.
“Ryland,” she breathes shakily, this time unmistakably a plea.
“I know,” he reassures once more, hand tightening around hers. “You can let go.”
Stratt comes apart beneath the steady weight of his attention. One hand stays tangled in his blonde curls, the other squeezes tighter in his grasp. She throws her head back against the pillows, silent as he works her through the last waves of pleasure.
For a few moments afterward, she’s left breathless and trembling. The room is impossibly quiet except for the uneven rhythm of her breathing. Everything slows to a blur as the lingering aftershocks move through her. Grace presses a few more delicate kisses to the inside of her thigh before lifting himself back upward to be beside her again.
The mattress dips beneath his weight as he settles next to her, an arm slipping loosely around her waist. He doesn’t try to kiss her or escalate anything further now that the intensity of the moment has passed. He simply exists with her, unrushed with no expectations.
Stratt’s hands move to cover her face. This time, however, she lets out a genuine laugh, breathless and real. "Ah, was ist denn los mit mir?” she says under her breath, nose scrunching playfully.
“What?” Grace blinks at her, confused but grinning despite himself.
“Nothing,” she replies, removing her hands to look at him. Stratt cannot remember the last time she lay beside someone without immediately wanting to retreat. But the way that Grace remains close without expecting anything from her softens something within her. His hair is tousled from her grip, and he has a gentle smile on his face. He’s completely relaxed, like this is the most natural thing in the world.
Her gaze drifts back to his, and the atmosphere between them changes. The softness remains, but a warmth is steadily building between the lingering tenderness. Stratt studies him for another moment before speaking up again.
“I think... I would like to kiss you again.” Her voice is barely above a whisper. Something helplessly pleased flickers across his face.
“Yeah?”
“Mmhm.”
Grace leans in slowly, lips brushing hers ever so softly at first. The kiss is warm and gentle, more deliberate than desperate. Stratt exhales quietly against him, one hand sliding back into his messy curls as she presses closer against him. He makes a soft sound at the touch, his hand on her waist tightening before easing again.
For a moment, neither of them seem too interested in doing anything except this. It’s slow at first, then less so. Grace keeps pulling her closer between kisses like he can’t stop himself now that the careful distance he’d maintained for so long has finally disappeared. Stratt can sense that restraint from earlier beginning to slip. The uneven rhythm of his breathing. The way his fingers flex faintly on her waist. The quiet sound that escapes him when she tugs lightly at his hair.
The kiss becomes hungrier as Grace finally allows himself to stop holding himself entirely in check. He shifts even closer to her without pulling away, settling more fully over her. Stratt can feel the weight of his body everywhere. It’s all consuming. He keeps kissing her like he can’t quite get enough.
Grace breaks away for a moment, forehead dropping briefly against hers while he catches his breath. “You have no idea what you do to me,” he admits quietly, voice rough around the edges. His skin is flushed now, curls thoroughly ruined from her grasp.
The admission sends warmth flooding down her stomach. She’s never seen him like this before. He looks almost startled by his own honesty, like the words escaped before he could stop them.
“I believe I’m beginning to understand,” Stratt replies, pulling him back down into a kiss that leaves very little room for misunderstanding.
He makes a quiet noise at the back of his throat at her forwardness. Whatever composure he had managed to reclaim disappears in an instant. The kiss grows deeper, hungrier. God, she wants this. Wants him. The energy between them is no longer tentative or uncertain. Grace’s hands roam slowly along her back and along her waist; every touch is deliberate and attentive, but there is a new sense of urgency becoming impossible to ignore. Stratt feels it in the way he keeps pulling her closer and closer still.
Grace pulls back again, gaze still soft but with an intensity that burns deep within her. “Tell me what you want, Eva.”
It settles heavily between them. The sheer want in him is almost overwhelming. She’s intoxicated by the loss of composure she keeps drawing from him. For a moment, Stratt finds herself unable to answer. Not because she doesn’t know. But because no one has asked her something like that in a very long time. Not softly like this, like her answer matters. Grace’s hand slides slowly along her waist. The touch is grounding rather than urging. Even now, flushed and breathless above her, he waits. No one had looked at her like this in a long time either, like what she wanted actually mattered as well.
“You,” she replies quietly. The word barely rises above a whisper, but still seems to hit him all at once. Stratt feels warmth creep up her neck, though she forces herself not to look away this time.
Grace simply stares at her, like he can’t believe she said it aloud. The had word landed somewhere deeper than either of them expected. His mouth parts slightly, though nothing comes out at first.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, his voice almost breathless around the edges. He drags one hand briefly across his face before looking back at her again, his composure quickly slipping. Then something inside him gives way entirely.
Grace kisses her like he’s still trying to hold himself together through it. Which, Stratt realizes suddenly, he isn’t. She had been so consumed by her own overwhelm that she didn’t really notice what she was doing to him in return. The uneven rhythm of his breathing or the way his hands tighten against her like he needs contact to steady himself. The fact that every time she reaches for him, something briefly flickers across his face. Relief.
It feels different from earlier. Less fragile. She wants this, wants him. And judging by the way Grace kisses her now, he finally believes her. Whatever hesitation might have existed between them before has long since dissolved beneath the steady accumulation of gentle touches and breathless kisses neither of them seem capable of taking back now. Stratt makes a quiet sound against his mouth before she can stop it.
When the kiss finally breaks, he drops his head into the junction of her shoulder. His breath is warm against her neck, both breathing unevenly in the small space between them. She swears she can feel him trembling as want curls low through her again. He pulls back, his gaze drifting slowly across her face, like he’s trying to memorize this version of her - flushed, relaxed, reaching for him without hesitation instead of holding herself rigidly together.
Clothes gradually become secondary to the desperate need for closeness, hands wandering slowly across newly exposed skin between lingering kisses and breathless laughter. Every movement remains unhurried despite the growing urgency. Stratt loses track of where one kiss ends and the next begins somewhere along the way. The passing of time fades away in the background, like they’re the only two people to exist in the world they’re slowly losing. All she knows is Grace’s hands roam across her body, his mouth slots perfectly against hers, breathless from desire. Every time he pulls away, she immediately reaches for him again. Grace laughs softly against her lips at one point, the sound warm and slightly disbelieving, like he can’t process the fact that she is meeting him with the same urgency.
They both gasp when he finally pushes into her. Stratt’s head falls back against the pillows as the sensation pulls a quiet sound from her. Grace nearly whimpers, burying his face into the crook of her neck, warm puffs of air hitting her skin. He lifts his head and captures her mouth in a sloppy, desperate kiss, moving one hand through her hair to cradle the back of her head.
“Move, please,” Stratt sighs against his mouth, no longer caring about the hints of desperation in her tone.
They move clumsily against each other for a moment before finding their rhythm, the room now filled with breathless sighs and soft moans. Grace swears under his breath, his usually censored language slips at the feeling of her around him. He moves slowly within her at first, reveling in the sensation and the sounds of pleasure she makes.
Grace crooks one of her legs higher up around his waist, drawing an almost surprised yelp from her.
“There,” Stratt whines softly, breathing erratic. “Right there.”
Ever attentive, he maintains the same steady rhythm. The look on his face nearly undoes her all over again - flushed, focused entirely on her, and visibly affected by every sound she makes. No one had paid such close attention to her like this before. Stratt’s nails drag lightly down his back without thinking, drawing another broken sound from him that sends a wave of pleasure right through her. Grace buries his face briefly against her shoulder again, as if trying to hold himself together.
“Eva,” he breathes shakily. The sound of her name in his voice is unbearably intimate. She slides one hand into the curls at the nape of his neck, holding him closer as the warmth between them pools lower and lower. Every movement feels less careful now, less restrained. Not rough, but increasingly driven by want.
Grace kisses her again. It’s sweet and gentle, like he’s trying to savour every moment with her. The tenderness of it aches somewhere deep inside her chest.
Stratt slides her hand down between her legs, driven by the desperate need for more. She hadn’t even fully thought about doing it, but the moment Grace realizes what she’s doing, something in his expression changes entirely. The rhythm between them falters for half a second, and a broken, helpless noise escapes him. He pulls back just enough to look at her properly, visibly affected by watching her touch herself.
“Oh my god, Eva,” he breathes softly, sounding overwhelmed by the sight of her. She suddenly becomes acutely aware of how exposed she is beneath his gaze - reaching for pleasure in a moment like this suddenly feels strangely intimate in a way she hadn’t expected. She can feel a faint tremor run through him, coming to the dangerous realization she likes this version of him far too much - overwhelmed and completely consumed by her.
Grace’s breath catches as she keeps her hand there, slowly working herself. His composure visibly unraveling even further. She hadn’t expected this part, hadn’t expected how intoxicating it would be to watch him come apart because of her. She can see it flicker across his face, how he can’t decide whether to stay lost in the tenderness of the moment or lose himself completely in it. The movement of his hips falter slightly whenever she pulls another sound from him, every reaction painfully honest in just how lost he is in her. One of his hands settles firmly against her hip while the other remains tangled in her hair, grounding himself in her again as their rhythm steadies once more.
Grace exhales unevenly, the sound dissolving into a quiet moan. That’s what finally undoes her.
“Oh god, Ryland, please,” Stratt moans, her breath coming short and quick, the pitch of her cries rising higher and higher. The feeling of him moving inside her, the added pleasure of her own touch, and his unbearable attentiveness are what send her over the edge. She comes with a damnably loud moan, one she would probably curse herself for later, but is unable to hold back from now.
He wraps himself around her tightly as she comes apart beneath him, whimpering at the feeling of her unraveling in his arms. Stratt’s fingers tighten helplessly in his hair as the aftershocks move through her, Grace staying impossibly close through it all, pressing sweet kisses across her face. She pants against his neck - no one had ever held her through something like this before. The realization lands heavily, and she wraps herself around him instinctively.
Above her, Grace buries himself into her a few more times before he too reaches his peak. He withdraws himself from her with a groan, leaving the evidence of his orgasm warm across her belly.
For a few moments afterward, neither of them moves. Grace remains draped over her while Stratt slowly comes back to herself. The room is now still and quiet, save for their unsteady breaths and the low hum of the ship. He presses a soft kiss against her shoulder before lifting his head just enough to look at her. His curls are thoroughly ruined, cheeks flushed pink in the dim light of her room. He looks completely wrecked.
Before she can stop it, a small laugh escapes her lips. Grace blinks at the sound, confused for half a second before a sheepish smile slowly appears across his face too.
“What?” he asks, voice rough and breathless.
“Nothing,” she answers, grinning.
Grace carefully rolls onto the bed beside her, one arm immediately finding its way back around her waist as if it belongs there. And somehow, that simple gesture affects her almost as much as everything else had. There was no distance, no retreat. No awkward withdrawal from the vulnerability of what had just happened between them. He simply stays. Stratt turns her head away from him, suddenly overwhelmed all over again by the unbearable gentleness of him.
His expression changes slightly the moment he notices the mess still spread across her stomach.
“Oh, sh-, hold on,” he looks flustered now. Stratt watches with poorly concealed amusement as Grace reaches for the nearest article of clothing. He grabs the fox sweater without realizing, pulling a genuine laugh from Stratt. He discards it quickly, deciding that it is not remotely sufficient for the situation.
“You are catastrophically bad at being casual,” she giggles.
“I know,” he replies, already halfway off the bed. “But I would prefer not to leave you like this.” His voice drifts quieter as she watches him disappear briefly into the adjoining washroom, then return with a damp cloth, his hair somehow even messier than before he left. Grace cleans her with slow, careful movements, still treating her with the same gentleness that had unraveled her from the very beginning.
He settles back beside her again. For a while, neither of them say much. The ship still hums quietly around them, and the party from earlier feels distant now. Grace traces absentminded patterns along her side before breaking the silence, voice quiet now.
“I should probably…” he trails off slightly, glancing towards the door. The thought of him leaving settles badly in her chest. Too quiet, too cold. Stratt turns to him before caution can reclaim her.
“Stay,” she says softly. Grace stills. For a second Stratt wonders if she’d misjudged the situation entirely. But then she watches something shift across his face almost too quickly to same. Not surpise, but something softer. He swallows once before answering.
“Okay,” he replies simply, pulling her closer against him. He presses one lingering kiss into her amber hair as the exhaustion of the evening finally begins to wash over both of them. She feels any remaining tension leave her body as she curls up against him.
And for the first time in a very long time, Stratt lets herself rest comfortably beside someone instead of alone.