Chapter Text
Rocky had just dropped another glass.
Ryland Grace was handing over drinks, mixing sparkly cocktails and trying to remember the finer points of his time in the service industry to fund his college era ramen needs. It wasn’t going well.
Rocky had told him, promised in fact, that it was easy money. Play barback for the evening at The Pink Steer the night of the Pride parade, “It’ll help pay for class supplies! If you wear that crop top it might even cover going to meet Colt!”. He had been easily swayed; decorating the classroom and making sure everyone had pens, markers and even fidget toys was a highlight of Grace’s school year. The fact that his mom always took him and Colt shopping for new supplies every summer, usually with a stop for ice cream, had nothing to do with it, not at all.
So Rocky was breaking glasses, Adrian was off somewhere being their tall and fabulous self while Grace was gladly accepting sticky dollar bills in tips because dammit the crop top did in fact help, he had even added a pair of feather angel wings to compliment Rocky’s devil horns. He felt ridiculous and worse, he looked good. Rocky being right once was annoying enough, make it twice and he’s downright insufferable.
The glass is cleaned up, Rocky laughs despite himself and Grace’s whole being stutters to a halt when he calls for the next customer and he locks eyes with the most handsome guy he has ever seen. The man is tall, slightly shorter than Grace’s 6“ with inky jaw length hair and sweet baby monkeys in a tree the only thing on his upper body is a leather harness.
Grace stares.
Grace stares for a while.
Grace stares for a while until Rocky nudges him and mouths “What is wrong with you?”
“Hey! Sorry about that erm, it’s crazy in here tonight” Word vomit, Grace was overcompensating. He took a breath for a second. This wasn’t his first Pride, he was an old hat at this point, he had flirted with people, he was a fairly competent adult. He can talk to the beautiful man in the leather harness.
“Don’t worry about it Angel.” His voice is deep and solid, the nickname pinged itself around Grace’s brain, a slow smile growing while Grace came back online.
“What can I get you?”
“Just a beer please, Peroni if you’ve got it.”
Grace hands him the beer and takes the money but his patron doesn’t make an effort to move so Grace decides to drink his fill of him. The man had deep brown eyes and a faint scar on the side of his face and a build that is made for pure strength, not useless vanity muscles. The harness looks handmade and his pecs strain against it in a way that should, frankly, be illegal. There’s some scarring on his left arm, round puckers with vines reaching out, the pink contrasting against his olive skin under the pulsing lights of the bar.
“Are you having a good night?”
The stranger blinks, seemingly snapping out of his own reverie.
“I am yeah, never really had a night like this before. My friend Jack over there convinced me to come out, he’s the one in the mask.”
Grace looks in the direction he’s pointing at and sees a group similarly clad in black and leather, two of them had open zipped gimp masks and one wore a dog shaped one.
“You need to be a bit more specific about the friend in the mask.” The bluntness of the answer earns Grace a chuckle, “Wait, when you say a night like this do you mean in an overly loud gay bar or like, Pride in general?”
“It’s my first Pride.”
Grace’s jaw hit the floor.
“And you’re doing San Francisco Pride as your first ever Pride? That’s like having your first car be a McLaren!” Oh lord, why more word vomit?
He blushed.
The beautiful, scarred stranger blushed and for a second Grace thought he had fucked everything up. He grabs two shot glasses and a bottle of the good tequila, not the paint striper that went into the drag brunch margaritas, and poured them each a shot before nudging his glasses up his nose.
“On the house,” Grace raises his glass, “To your first pride…”
“Simon. My name is Simon.” Of course that’s his name, it’s classic and strong and perfect.
“To your first Pride, Simon. First of many in fact!”
They drink their tequila, it burns down Grace’s throat and settles somewhere in his belly and makes everything feel warm for just a minute. The good feeling breaks when someone else in the line starts making obnoxious noises. Simon notices, because he has the air of someone who knows his surroundings like a sixth sense, and he scrunches his nose in annoyance.
“Thanks for the drink Angel.” He raises his beer in a salute before walking away and Jiminy Christmas Grace’s heart crawls out of his chest and limps after him.
He serves a few more people, clearly moping and scanning the crowd. He spots Simon dancing with his friends; his movements are a little stunted, like they aren’t used to smoothness.
*******
“Sweet Motherfuck Simon, how long does it take a man to get a beer? Did you harvest the grain yourself?”Jack had lifted the dog mask making it look like some pervert knight’s helm and was looking at the blond angel behind the bar. “Your first Pride and you’re already scoping out what’s available, not bad sonny.”
Simon never thought he had a type, he liked what he liked and this time that was someone tall who could make him smile and appeared to be a literal angel behind the bar. The angel was taller than him, not as muscular but more of a swimmer’s body. The cropped shirt he was wearing showed the V of his pelvis perfectly, his glasses seemed to have a mind of their own and he’d absent mindedly been fidgeting with them through the whole interaction.
“Shut up, he’s sweet.” Simon kept looking through the throng of people towards the bar, his angel looked more subdued, his gaze flitting around and never staying in the same place for long.
Fuck, his angel?
The glitter dusted on his cheeks and collarbones caught the light at every turn. “Told him it was my first Pride, thought he’d be weird but he gave me a shot and toasted me. Hate to say it but you might have been right, I might have been overthinking everything”
“Yeah because us queers are good folk! Doesn’t matter how long it takes, you took the shite from your past and decided to live completely openly and honestly. Doesn’t matter if you do it at 32 or 92.” Jack was gesticulating his arms all over the place, conducting the beauty of coming out like it was a string quartet. “And the shit you went through? Eden? Your tours? Getting fucking shot? Simon, you deserve some sunshine.”
Simon’s gaze wandered back to the bar, to his angel.
Jack’s mouth morphed into a shit eating grin. “Ok, let me handle this.”
*******
“Oi! Adrian! Ya giant sexy beast!”
“Hello Jack, I hope you’re having a good time”
“I’m grand, thanks. Is that your fella Rocky behind the bar with the sad looking angel?”
“Yes, and the angel’s name is Grace”
“Fuck’s sake of course his name is Grace. Get him on the dancefloor will ya? It’s Simon’s first Pride and he’s wasting it mooning over your man.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
*******
Grace was pouting now. Literal actual pouting.
It wasn’t that he was working on what is usually his favourite night of the year, it wan’t even that he was doing this so he could afford to see his brother and buy school supplies that the school should already cover. No, it was that the feeling in his chest, this fragile blooming thing, was so rare and he couldn’t even take a minute to enjoy it. He’d already decided that if he gets the chance he’ll shoot his shot but how? The bar was busy, the dancefloor was crowded and Simon could vanish at any second, onto the next bar and the next angel.
Adrian appears next to him. They usually do that, almost like they blink into existence purely for the reason to scare the bejeezus out of poor Grace.
“You’re pouting”
“Grown men don’t pout”
“Then why are you pouting?”
“He wants more time with the beefcake in the harness!”
“Rocky don’t interrupt. Grace, it’s Pride. You’ve seen someone you like. Go and dance. Now.”
Grace looks dumbstruck for a second. Adrian was right, truthfully Adrian was usually right.
A Bad Bunny song started to play, Grace loved it. He looked at Adrian and Rocky before taking a steadying breath and marching towards the dancefloor. It parted like the Red Sea for him to find Simon, the neon lights illuminating him as they locked eyes.
Fortune favours the bold.
Grace didn’t blink. He didn’t break his stride until he was standing in front of Simon, holding out his hand.
Simon took it with his good hand and they started dancing. Years of his mom’s dance lessons in their kitchen meant Grace’s movements were smoother. It was a basic salsa, and after looking at their feet for a little too long Simon got the swing of it, his face splitting into a smile that turned Grace into a gosh darn puddle. He even managed to spin and dip him which triggered a laugh that seemed to take Simon by surprise as much as it did Grace. Simon wasn’t usually a man prone to spontaneous laughter, least of all with handsome bartenders.
They fell into an easy rhythm. Light, anxious touches became more assured and firmer. Grace’s hand whispered up Simon’s arm to cradle the back of his neck. In turn, Simon couldn’t resist snaking his hands onto his angel’s hips, gently scratching the V he’s been thinking about since he walked into The Pink Steer and spotted him sneak a maraschino cherry straight from the jar. Would Simon be able to taste the cherry now given the chance? He wanted, he needed to know.
The song ended. Songs tend to do that.
Grace doesn’t move to go back behind the bar.
A few beats into the next song changes the very air around them. Trent Reznor sang about violating and desecrating.
Grace trails his hand down Simon’s neck before hooking a finger under the harness strap across his chest, tugging him forward ever so gently. All Simon can do is wrap his arms around the angel’s waist and bask in the attention. He can’t form a coherent sentence. He’s caught in the bright blue gaze of his angel who sees everything, everything from the way his pupils are blown wide to the way his breath hitches with almost every touch. Simon was done for. Simon was ascending. He noticed Grace biting his lip and gently tugged it free with his good hand, the one that didn’t have nerve damage from a round of fucking bullets, and Grace chased the helping touch with his tongue.
It shouldn’t have been as hot as it was.
Tenderly, so very tenderly, Grace raised Simon’s chin with his thumb and forefinger for his own selfish appraisal. He wanted to see him from every possible angle as if he was a marble masterpiece in a museum. Simon almost whined against the touch, it was so intimate in a way he hadn’t experienced before.
“Angel..” Grace blushed at the nickname, pink rising from his chest to his cheeks and he’d bet money the tips of his ears.
“It’s Grace. Well actually it’s Ryland Grace but most people call me Grace.”
“I prefer Angel”
They had inched closer and closer. Their movements had slowed to a gentle sway. Grace still has his finger wrapped in the harness, Simon had a hold of Grace’s hip, his thumb rotating in soothing circles.
The song wound down. It wound down and the confetti cannon above them went off with a bang so loud it made Grace yelp in surprise.
Simon didn’t jump.
He didn’t yelp in surprise and laugh it off the way Grace did.
In real time Grace watched Simon immediately shut down. His eyes glazed over, his beautiful chest started to rise and fall in rapid succession, a line of worry appeared between his eyes.
Grace wasn’t an idiot, he literally had the (doctorate) certificate to prove it. The reaction to the sudden loud noise, one scarred arm vs the other that did all the work, the late first Pride all pointed to less than ideal circumstances that Grace could estimate. He needed to be quick.
“Simon? Simon, can you look at me?” All he gets is a blank stare, but he supposes thats better than screaming in a way. Simon’s friends are nowhere to be found and Grace can’t see Rocky or Adrian through the ever increasing crowd of people.
“Simon, if you can hear me buddy please let me know.” He waits and feels the slightest pressure on his hip. Progress. “Ok Simon, I’m gonna get you out of here but I need to touch you. Is that ok?” He gets another gentle squeeze on his hips.
Grace manoeuvers Simon as gently as possible through the bodies to the door that says “Staff Only”. Simon’s breath is coming out of him too quickly and he can’t stop it. There’s a part of him that knows he’s not back oversees, seeing his friends getting shot and killed and coming home in flag draped coffins. He knows that he’s not trapped under the bloody bodies of his dead comrades. He knows that the warm and sticky feeling of blood on his body isn’t real, he really does. But none of that matters because all he can do is shut down. If he doesn’t shut down then the screaming will start.
Grace’s voice keeps him sort of grounded. He knows he’s going somewhere more quiet, they keep walking and the noise of the bar fades away until its nothing but a murmur. A door opens, they take a few steps, the door shuts again. Simon can feel Grace holding both his hands in his, making small soothing movements and talking at him.
“Angel?” Despite not talking, his voice sounds raw, like an exposed nerve ready to fray.
“You came back, oh thank God you came back.” Grace desperately wants to scoop Simon up into his arms and keep him safe from whatever feeling he has right now, but what Grace wants doesn’t matter right now. They were in one of the playrooms, it was shut off from the public and hardly anyone knew it was here. The drag queen who owned the bar said it was a leftover from a more eclectic time which explained the rotating bed with a mirror above it and the wall of surprisingly neatly arranged impact toys. Weighing his options, Grace moves them to the sofa rather than the bed, the last thing Simon needed right now was to get the worst idea.
Hey couldn’t help but notice your panic attack let me lead you to the room of kinky sex!
“Where are we?” Simon’s breathing still wasn’t back to normal and the sex room wasn’t helping.
“I tried to think of the best place to bring you that wouldn’t have foot traffic and would let you relax in private but… yeah it’s… it’s a playroom. I’m so sorry it seemed a good idea at the time. You’re on the sofa though I didn’t think the bed was a good idea.” Oh good, the return of the word vomit.
“So I have a panic attack and you put me in the cuck chair?” Simon deadpans.
“It’s actually a sofa”
Oh.
Oh.
Objectively, that was what broke Simon. The words got into his head and the panic quickly shifted to something weirder. Before he knew it he was giggling, and then laughing, rolling his body forward with his head in his hands as the absurdity of his situation dawns on him all at once.
Born and raised in a nature loving Christian cult? Sure, fine.
Enlists at 18 mainly to get an education but see your friend die brutal death instead? Hell that’s why therapy is a thing.
Finally come to terms with his sexuality and decide to live out and proud with the first friends he’s had in years? Pffft that’s basically just a Tuesday.
Panic attack at his first Pride only to be saved by his beautiful Angel who takes care of him in a playroom with a fucking cuck chair? Yeah this is his limit for fuckery.
The laughter shifts to sobs. Simon’s whole story comes out while Grace sits and gives him space to share it. Leaving home, if you could even call it that, when he was 13 and being taken in by Eden. The beatings and eventually running away again and enlisting. Getting shot three times in his arm. Realising he has zero interest in the opposite sex despite the teachings of Eden. Meeting Jack. Losing his troop. The blood. Finally getting to go to college and learn about art.
Grace listens to it all. Once Simon’s breathing has evened out he waits for the brush off. He’s only told the full story to a handful of people, Jack and his therapist were the only people who stayed after, the others made excuses, stopped returned his messages until eventual silence. He’s expecting the worse. What he doesn’t expect is for Grace to reach out to him, arms open and leaving space for a refusal that sure as fuck isn’t happening.
His angel wraps him in his arms and the tears threaten to start running all over again. They lean back on the cuck-sofa, Simon nestled into the crook of Grace’s shoulder which gives him space to wipe the remaining tears from his face and play with the dark strands, gently carding a hand through them in slow movements.
“A few years ago I made a decision that sort of ruined my career. Everything I worked for was gone in an instant and I was terrified,” The memory hurt. Maybe it needed to happen, after all Simon had been so open and honest it seemed only fair, “I was at rock bottom for a while but eventually some good came from it. It made me build bridges with my brother again, I actually ended up moving in with him for a while. I met Rocky and subsequently Adrian and they’re the best people I know. As clichéd as it is, there was nowhere to go but up. I think you’re going to be ok.”
“Thank you Ryland.” Fuck his angel’s name felt good in his mouth.
“Don’t worry about it. Are you comfortable?”
“Yeah, feels good.”
Minutes pass like this, gentle check ins with each other, occasional giggles at how weird the night went. It would forever be the meet-cute on the cuck chair, Grace was fine with that.
“GRACE! Grace Grace Grace please be somewhere down here!”
Shit.
Simon briefly tensed up next to him. The spell was broken. They had to go back.
“Be back up there in a minute Rocky” Grace leaned down and lowered his voice just for Simon, “I’m sorry, I promised I’d stay til closing which is like 7AM or something crazy like that.” He looked crushed having to say it.
“Grace always say just a minute and is always longer!” Rocky’s footsteps faded away back to the real world.
“Ignore him, he’s got a flair for the dramatic. You’re friends must be wondering where you are.”
“Shit, good point” Simon looks at his phone fir the first time in what feels like hours and sees the groupchat blowing up asking where he is. He pings a quick reply, lets them know he’s safe and is coming back. A selfish part doesn’t want to go back, it wants to stay in this musty playroom and talk to the pretty guy with slightly rumpled angel wings.
Grace stands up first and instantly misses the warmth. He reaches for Simon and helps him off the sofa. They stay standing like that, holding hands, neither one wanting to let go.
“I really like this.” Grace’s wandering hand has found its way back to the harness, looping a finger back into it. It was as far as we was willing to go, just because it had been a while since he liked someone doesn;t mean he’s about to put the moves on someone on a comedown from a panic attack.
“Oh, I erm, I made it.” Simon is blushing. Rugged ex-marines can have all the panic attacks they want but they do not blush. He was trying his best to not throw himself at his literal saviour, he didn’t want to be seen as the pathetic late bloomer.
“I can hear you thinking down there”
“Down there? You’re like 3 inches taller than me at most”
Grace started to chuckle. Simon chose that moment to bridge the gap, lean in and press his lips to his angel’s mouth.
It’s gentle.
It’s so sweet that Grace could cry at the softness of it. They both need more softness.
He tastes a hint of maraschino cherries.
Simon pulls back a little, clearly nervous and maybe a second or two away from apologising when Grace cradles his face and kisses him back. The ex-soldier moans into the contact, his eyes fluttering shut. This is it, this is how it’s supposed to feel.
Grace’s tongue traces the seam of his mouth and he gladly opens, fuck his lips were so soft and his tongue licked against Simon’s perfectly. His angel moans wantonly into his mouth, hands moving to get tangled, and God all either of them wants is to be devoured whole.
“SIMON! Simon where in the tits are ya man?” Oh great, they’ve been found. Again. “Look I don’t care if this is staff only I need to find my friend who was swanning off with your pretty-boy bartender and I shall not rest until I find him!”
Rude.
Accurate, sure. But still rude.
Both men were heaving against each other, Simon leaned forward to lick Grace’s bottom lip just to hear a deep groan. Jack was still shouting in the hallway, making demands and Rocky wasn’t far behind arguing back at him.
“I’m sorry -”
“No I am, I told them I’d be back by now but…” Simon gestures between them and tries his best not to start laughing again.
Grace grabbed the pen from his pocket and gestured for Simon’s arm, “My phone is in the safe behind the bar so I’m gonna show my age and go old school. I’d like to see you again.” He wrote his name and number on Simon’s forearm, even added a little smiley face because cringe is cool.
“Thank you again -”
“Please, I promise you it’s fine. Come on, before our friends find us next to the cuck-sofa.”
Grace leads them out into the hallway and Simon is promptly fussed over and frog-marched back to his friends, hugging a few of them before heading out into the street. It’s too busy to catch Grace’s eye to wave but he does it anyway, just in case. Graces goes back behind the bar apologising to everyone he can about his absence. The foam machine had been on in the time they’d been gone.
By the time Simon has a second to get his phone out to finally add the contact info it’s nearly morning and he’s sat with Jack laughing over the last 24 hours.
But the number’s gone.
The mix of sweat, foam and other fucking people must have rubbed it off.
It’s gone.
Fuck.