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The Taumoeba was breeding away, the current batch was about halfway to where it needed to be to survive Erid’s atmosphere. Ryland kept you and Rocky abreast of the progress, acknowledging that it would take time but he was certain he could get a strain that would work. The science of it all was a little lost on you and Rocky, seeing that you were engineers, but the excitement Ryland had was contagious, keeping the energy on the ship high.
Rocky had tucked himself away, sleeping heavily in his hell-raiser frame he insisted was comfortable. You had volunteered to watch him, knowing that once he was out, he would be out for at least a day. The ship had enough cameras that you could set up essentially a baby monitor on him and leave. It had been a long conversation at first but Rocky eventually approved the use of the tech and wouldn’t panic if he woke up alone, knowing you had a screen you were keeping an eye on.
You slink back to the lab, fully intending to bother Ryland since he was back to waiting. He was sitting at the table, scooping spoonfuls of taumoeba onto different slides. You took him in quietly, red jumpsuit tied around his waist, sleeves of his shirt pulling tight against his biceps. His glasses were sitting on his nose, actually on right for once. His hair was messy, sticking up in every direction like he couldn’t stop running his hands through it.
You approached slowly, making your steps loud enough for him to hear. He leaned back from the microscope and smiled your way, “Rocky asleep?” You nod, returning the smile and running a hand along his shoulder. He relaxes under you, head lolling forward against the equipment in front of him.
“Keep working, I’ll make myself busy,” you murmur. You take a seat on the other side of the table, pulling out some xenonite samples Rocky had given you to study. If you could include enough information in the beatles for scientists back on earth to study, it might lead to some new breakthroughs.
That was your intention, at least. But Ryland was a distraction. He pulled out a new pair of black gloves and blew air into them, pulling them onto each hand with a snap of the rubber. You couldn’t help but stare, something about those gloves stirring up feelings in you that you didn’t know were there.
You watch as he adjusts his glasses, fingers dancing along the frames while he thinks. His hands return to the microscope, twisting dials and turning the sample until he finds what he’s looking for. “Whatcha working on?” He asks, eyes back on the scopes.
“Nothing,” you answer easily, not even pretending to look at the items in front of you. “I can tell,” he smirks in your direction, peering at you over the frames of his glasses. “You’ve been staring at me since you sat down.” He’s right, you don’t deny it.
You don’t apologize for it, shrugging your shoulders and smirking right back. “Do you want to keep pretending, or do you want me to make a move?” He winks at you, leaning back in his chair like he’s given up working for the moment.
You think about it for a second, holding his gaze. “It’s up to you,” said with a flutter of your lashes. He stares you down, like he would possibly be considering any options other than bending you over the table. “Alright,” and he shoves his chair back, rounding the table to tower over you. His gloved hands raise, but before he makes contact with your skin he freezes. You’re only looking at the gloves, your breath catching.
“Oh,” he whispers, drawing your attention back to his face. “It’s these, huh?” He wiggles his fingers, gloves squeaking with the friction. “That’s what had you staring so hard?”
You suddenly feel embarrassed, like he figured you out too quickly, before you even figured yourself out. The rubber lands gently against your cheek, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down and watching it spring back into place. It’s like he can sense your hesitation to commit, “hey, you don’t have to be shy. I already know how much you like my hands, the gloves are kinda hot, I get it.”
You can’t help the rueful laugh that tumbles out, incredibly aware that he knows what he’s doing. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, eyes wide as he lifts his other hand, stepping forward to crowd you into the table. “Is this what you want, sweetheart?” You nod slowly, brows knitting together when he kisses you soundly.
The rubber feels strange against your cheeks but you plow forward, letting him lead the kiss with a dominating tongue. He surprises you by sliding his thumb between your lips, running it along your bottom teeth, pressing into the sharp points with hooded eyes. You can’t help but trace your tongue along the glove, the eye contact is intense and makes heat pool in your stomach.
Ryland smiles, fully smiles, and puts pressure on your jaw, forcing you to close your lips around his thumb. “Suck on it, baby,” he murmurs, breath hitching at the feeling as you do what he asks. His free hand skims down your neck, careful not to catch on your hair, and he settles that thumb in the hollow of your throat. His lips trace the same path, licking against your pulse point, letting his teeth graze the soft skin.
Your eyes slide shut, the taste of the glove and the feeling of his lips overwhelming your senses. He pulls you out of your chair, thumb leaving a wet trail down your chin as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. Quick eye contact affirms your consent, something he always does before undressing you, and he pulls your shirt off with a small smile.
Nimble fingers push your pants down easily, rubber sliding over your skin and raising goosebumps. You reach for his shirt, throwing it to the side and wasting no time in getting your hands on his strong chest. He lets you play for a minute, knowing how much you enjoyed the muscles he kept hidden. When you slide your hand down to brush against his stomach, tracing the v line that disappears into his pants, he chokes out a moan.
You palm him over his pants, feeling him harden beneath you, and slip a hand under his waistband. Gentle fingers work him slowly, gripping his length and stroking, thumb swiping over his tip and dragging a whine from him. His hands stay firm on your waist, trying to keep himself steady under your touch.
A particularly tender stroke has him groaning against your lips, hand grabbing your wrist to stop your movements. “Get on the table, sweet girl,” he lifts you easily, swiping papers out of the way and setting you down, his face burying in your neck. He traces a hand along the elastic of your panties, lips sucking a bruise against your neck. You unhook your bra, letting the straps fall and tossing it away.
He shows his appreciation immediately, moving down your neck and chest, gloved fingers sliding under your breasts. Warm lips wrap around your nipple, licking and sucking while he pulls the other with his long digits. You arch into him, letting him take his time.
He leans back and looks up at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “You okay with these inside you?” He wiggles his fingers, hearing how your breathing picks up. “Yes, please,” you whisper. He grins against your skin, pulling your head down for a kiss while he works your panties off. Sitting on the table, totally bare in front of him, you feel that heat already starting to coil tighter in your stomach.
Ryland crowds into your space again, taking a moment to look at you, admiring the needy look on your face. “Open up,” he asks, fingers returning to your mouth. You do it and he dips in, coating his glove in your saliva and bringing it down to your center. The rubber makes contact with your clit and you shiver, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. “How’s that feel? Different?” His voice is rough, desire bleeding through.
A moan slips past your lips, his fingers dip lower, circling your entrance and sliding two in. The stretch has you leaning forward, your head coming to rest on his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin, muffling your whines when he bumps your clit with his palm. He finds a rhythm with his thrusts, other hand holding your hips steady as they roll into him.
You can feel how slick the glove is between your legs, can hear the wet slide as he pumps steadily into you. “You wanna come on my hand, baby? Gonna let me feel you?” You barely hear him over your own moans, but you nod against his neck and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He’s all firm muscle and tender care above you, giving you the space you need to focus, letting you chase your orgasm until you’re shaking around his fingers.
Your hips roll into him, back arching enough to press your chest to his. He talks you through it, sweet praise and quiet groans falling from his lips. “So pretty when you come for me,” he lifts your head and kisses you. It’s rougher, teeth and tongue and heavy breaths. He lets you catch your breath, sliding his fingers out and lifting them to look. The rubber shines with your slick, stringing between his fingers when he spreads them. It drips down his palm, almost mesmerising him.
His eyes go dark and he shifts forward, offering you the wet fingers. He doesn’t push, just holds them out to you, letting you decide what you want. Of course you want them in your mouth again, so you pull on his wrist, letting your lips close around his fingers and sucking your cum off of them.
A breath rushes out of his lungs, fanning across your face. You reach out and tug his pants down, trying to convey with your eyes what your mouth was currently unable to. He gets the message, shoving his pants down enough to free his aching cock. You pull his fingers from your mouth just far enough to spit in his hand, guiding his arm down to stroke himself. He complies with a groan, leaning his head against yours. “Fuckin’ filthy, holy shit,” he breathes it against your lips.
A smirk pulls at your lips, eyes falling just enough to watch his hard length beneath the glove. “Want you to fuck me, Dr. Grace,” you whisper, eyes flicking up to watch his roll back. “Yes, ma’am,” he whimpers, dropping his head to your shoulder. He lines up and pushes in, moaning at how easily your walls give way for him. You laugh lightly when he bites your neck, delighting in the combination of the stretch and his noises.
When he’s fully seated, he leans back. You meet his eye and he brings a hand up to his mouth, teeth pulling the glove off slowly. He smirks at the way your jaw drops open, knowing he’s back in control. The glove falls to the floor and he moves the other hand up, pausing to offer it to you. You open your mouth, biting the rubber and letting him pull his hand free. Tender fingers weave through your hair, like he’d been wanting to do that the whole time.
He kisses you again and pulls out, letting you feel every ridge of him as he slides back home. The movement has you both moaning, desperate hands grabbing any skin they can reach. He pumps into you, licking into your mouth and drinking down every sound you make. You let him have control, doing your best to meet his thrusts, holding his bicep and neck.
It’s fast and rough, you spare a quick ‘thank you’ to the engineers who bolted the table to the floor of the ship. He’s working you toward your second release steadily, finding that spot inside you and hitting it over and over. His grunts and groans can be heard over your whines and moans, you bury a hand in his hair and tug lightly, feeling his hips snap harder at the sensation. You can tell you’re close, that coil tightening faster than you can keep up.
“That’s it, sweetheart, let go for me,” he reaches down to rub a finger over your clit and that’s all it takes. Heat rolls through your body in waves, your back arching and stars bursting behind your eyelids. He keeps up his pace, groaning loudly in your ear as he comes. He stiffens, burying his head in your shoulder again, panting harshly against your skin. You run your hands up his back and over his hair, peppering kisses along the side of his face.
He pulls back to look at you, eyes hooded and a pretty flush over his cheeks. You’re sure you look just as debauched - he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing your bottom lip again.
The silence breaks with both of you dissolving into giggles. “That was, uh - that was incredible,” he manages between laughs. He wraps your legs around his waist and lifts you up, spinning you around before setting you back down gently. The movement makes you squeal, hugging him as tightly as you can. “I’m glad you didn’t think it was weird,” you mumble into his neck.
“Weird? Sweetheart, that was so hot, what else have you been wanting to try?” He means it sincerely but it makes you flush again. “I’ll let you know if I notice you doing anything else that gets me going,” you laugh.
“I have something,” he starts with no hesitation, pulling your head away from his neck so he can see you. “That toolbelt you wear when you’re working on the ship.” You raise a brow, waiting for him to continue. “Last time you put it on I had to excuse myself, it sits on your hips so perfectly, looks so fucking good on you.” He smiles at how you balk at him, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.
“Okay,” you giggle, “we’ll make a list.” He hums his agreement and lifts you up again, heading towards the bathroom to get cleaned up. “Careful, my list might be long,” he chuckles, pressing his lips to yours.