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Sometimes, Simon forgot how strong Grace was. It wasn’t exactly difficult to do; Grace didn’t do much to remind him of that fact. He let Simon carry heavy things around their habitat because he knew it made Simon feel useful, and when Simon started pushing him around a little, he always gave in easily—though that was due, in part, to the typical end result of that roughhousing.
Most of the time Simon didn’t mind; he liked knowing Grace could defend himself, was strong enough to push back against Simon’s occasional pigheadedness, strong enough to take care of both of them if, for some reason, Simon couldn’t. Simon liked the feel of his musculature under his hands as he bent the other man over, pushed his thighs apart to fuck him silly. Liked the solid realness of him.
He’d never had Grace’s full strength turned on him, though. Not until today.
Simon’s breath stuttered around a whispered fuck as he went still, folded face-first over Grace’s work table, one of the scientist’s hands wrapped around the back of his neck, the other one twisting his arm back far enough that it hurt. His toes scraped along the floor as he scrambled for purchase, the angle of the table just high enough that he couldn’t reach the ground, couldn’t get enough leverage to twist himself free.
“Simon,” Grace said, lowly, and his tone was equally exasperated as it was sexy. There was a slight scratch of disuse to it, a side effect of how deeply he’d been focusing on his research today, and Simon could feel himself getting hard at the sound. “Really? This game again? You’re going to push me to this point instead of just asking for what you want with your words? I know you have good manners, sweetheart, so use them.”
Which—fuck. Fuck. Okay, maybe he’d pushed a little bit too hard, in hindsight. He hadn’t broken anything or hidden anything this time (he didn’t care to repeat the consequences of that incident) but he had made himself more of a nuisance than usual. He’d stopped by every once and a while during the day to chat with Grace, brought him snacks from the garden, sometimes just watched him work—which, in and of itself, wasn’t unusual.
But each time he stopped by, he touched. First, it was just a hand on Grace’s shoulders or his biceps, a squeeze to his fingers, a kiss to the back of his hand. Then he got a little bolder: knuckles brushed against the back of his neck, a hand through his hair, even a kiss to the side of his cheek. But the breaking point, as Simon had discovered, was coming up behind Grace and kissing the nape of his neck while simultaneously sliding the broad palm of his hand over the toned planes of Grace’s stomach.
“Are you going to be a good boy and answer me or are you going to be a brat and make me figure it out?” Grace asked, and Simon inhaled sharply as Grace twisted his wrist further back, so his clenched fist was almost between his shoulder blades.
In all honesty, he’d forgotten what the question was. Which didn’t help his current situation much.
Instead of answering verbally, Simon let himself go limp against the table, relaxing into Grace’s firm hold on him, letting his legs slide further apart. He wasn’t quite presenting himself, but it was close, and obvious enough that Grace knew what he was doing—what he was offering.
He heard Grace’s sharp intake of breath from behind him and smiled to himself slightly.
“Brat it is,” he muttered, under his breath, and Simon couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of him. Grace’s weight on the back of his neck returned and the laugh tapered out into a groan.
Grace let go of his arm to shift some things out of the way, humming approvingly when Simon stayed where Grace put him. Simon tried to ignore the way that made the need between his legs throb impatiently and failed.
When Grace came back, it was with full commitment. Simon sucked in a ragged gasp as Grace’s hips pressed up against his ass. He could feel the entire hot length of Grace’s cock between his legs. Grace rolled his hips in one long, hard line, and Simon swore he could feel the head of Grace’s cock press against his taint, the length of it burning and thick between his cheeks. He unconsciously shifted his hips back, hoping for more friction, but Grace’s weight held him still.
In addition to the delicious and distracting press of his cock, Simon could also feel the general bulk of him better, now that he was looming over the dark-haired man. Grace was taller than him by a not insignificant amount, and Simon knew, from helping Grace with his biometric data, that they were about the same weight. But while Simon was thick and compact, Grace was wiry and limber. In situations like this, that gave him an advantage. Simon really wasn’t about to complain.
Grace removed the hand from Simon’s neck and planted it beside his head, giving himself some leverage. “Tell me what you want,” he instructed, voice a murmur against the shell of Simon’s ear, and Simon shivered.
“You,” he whined. “Your—ah—your attention.”
“Oh, you’ve got it, sweetheart. So, tell me, what was the plan from here? Were you just going to bend over my desk of your own accord and offer yourself up to me? Were you going to climb in my lap and beg me to touch you? Or, better yet, were you going to crawl under my desk and put that mouth to good use?”
As he spoke, Simon could easily envision everything he suggested and whimpered the tiniest bit.
“Ryland, please—”
“Please what?”
“Pl—I don’t—Ryland. Anything. Anything, fuck, please,” Simone gasped, hips twitching forward against Grace’s desk. Grace rolled his own hard length over Simon’s crease in response, hissing through his teeth.
“Anything, huh?” he asked, and Simon knew he’d regret using such ambiguous language as soon as the word came out of his mouth, but it was too late to do anything about it now. “Do you want to be my good boy?”
Simon couldn’t help the full body shudder and the whine that slipped out of him. “Please.”
But, to his surprise, Grace backed away from him entirely, leaving him cold and achingly hard, face down on the other man’s desk.
“Get up,” Grace said, and Simon shakily pushed himself up on one elbow. “Go into my room, strip, and kneel on the bed. Don’t touch yourself. Do you think you can do that for me?”
Simon inhaled hard. Swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
Grace smiled. “Good.”
Simon fought the need burning low in his gut and scrambled to obey, slinking out of Grace’s lab and down the hall to their bedroom, fully aware of the hardness between his legs and the wet spot staining the front of his sweats.
He stripped down to nothing as soon as the door shut behind him and slid onto the bed. If he was any more desperate, he’d ignore Grace’s instructions and lay face down on the bed so he could cant his hips up and grind his cock against the sheets while he waited. Disobeying was a surefire way to get Grace to fuck him hard into a pathetic mess, but that wasn’t entirely what Simon wanted. He wants to be good for Ryland—always does, in some capacity—and doesn’t always get to indulge like this. He felt like the worst kind of hedonist as he settled on his knees in the center of the bed, weight back on his heels, cock hard and dripping where it jut out from between his spread thighs. Shame burned hot and bright on his cheeks and Simon did his best to ignore it, but there was no point. The more he acknowledged it the harder he got and the more ashamed he felt. From there, it was easy to slip into the familiar floaty headspace of waiting, of being good, or at least as good as he could be while he waited.
Simon wasn’t sure how much time passed between when he entered the room and when Grace followed behind him, but it was long enough for a stiff ache to develop in his flexed legs and for a puddle of precome to form underneath his cock, where it dripped down to the sheets.
Grace took him in like a meal, or maybe even a Petri dish in his lab, more than a person, and Simon shivered.
“What a good boy for me, sweetheart,” Grace said, and cupped Simon’s face gently just to feel the other man lean into it before pulling away. “Stay there.”
Simon was helpless to do anything else, and watched Grace putter about their room with the best fuck me eyes he could muster. They weren’t good enough: Grace took his sweet time setting things up, fishing the towels and lube out from where he squirreled them away, stripping out of everything except his boxers and his sweats, even washing his hands and his face to keep Simon’s stupidly sensitive skin from breaking out from being touched. It was all things he was doing for Simon, in his infuriatingly caring way, but it made Simon harder than ever to watch Grace navigate around him like he was an object, like he wasn’t even there.
“Ryland,” he eventually panted, and Grace’s eyes snapped up to his in a flash, pupils blown out with heat. “Ryland—“
“Did I say you could talk?” Grace interjected, and Simon shut his mouth so fast it hurt his teeth. He whined in the back of his throat. “Better.”
By the time Grace finished setting up, Simon was so hard he started rocking his hips against the empty air, chasing after phantom sensations from his memories and his current desires. Grace leaned back against the dresser and watched him through half-lidded eyes.
“Have you learned your lesson yet?” he asked, and Simon whined again. Grace’s smile widened a fraction. “You can speak.”
“What—what lesson?” Simon asked, and he didn’t intend for it to be bratty or sarcastic, but it came out that way anyway. Grace’s eyes flashed with irritation and he stepped closer.
“Evidently you haven’t,” he muttered, and that was all the warning Simon got before Grace had a vice grip on his cock, squeezing the head so hard he couldn’t come even if he wanted to.
“FUCK! Fuck fuck Ryland fuck please I’m sorry I’m sorry—“ he wailed, and Grace let go when he started apologizing, changing his hand to an open palm for Simon to rut hopelessly against. He fell forward, clutching at Grace’s biceps, forehead against the other man’s shoulder, as he chased the first bit of friction he was offered, precome making a mess of Grace’s fingers.
“And what are you sorry for?”
“For—haa, fuck—for t-teasing you and… and—oh God—d-distracting you f-from your work, hah.”
Grace changed his grip again, from an open palm to a loose ring around Simon’s cock, and Simon moaned against his shoulder.
“You know,” Grace began, conversationally, “it wouldn’t have taken me so long to get to you if you hadn’t distracted me so much. I had to work even later to meet my benchmarks for today. Do you think you’re going to do this again? Or will you ask for what you want, next time?”
Simon couldn’t answer, his mouth occupied by falling open around a harsh pant, hips stuttering into Grace’s hand, chasing the exquisite pleasure of his touch after being denied it so long.
Grace, not liking his non-answer, pinched the underside of Simon’s dick so hard he saw stars, bowling over almost double, hand clawing red lines down Grace’s arm. He was now curled almost fully over himself, prostrate before Grace in a position of atonement he’d only ever assumed when he was supposed to receive punishment for some wrongdoing. The muscle memory combined with the explicit heat of Grace’s touch caused a few wires to cross irretrievably in his brain and the keening sob Simon let out would probably live in Grace’s memory for eons.
“I won’t, I won’t, please sir I promise I’ll ask you I promise—aaagh please—“
“Good boy, Simon, fuck, you’re so good for me,” Grace replied, and though his tone was firm, Simon could hear a tension underlying the words, a shift towards signifying how affected Grace was by his blubbering. “Fuck. Come for me, sweetheart, that’s it, there you go—“
Pleasure tore through Simon’s body at the praise, starting at every follicle of his scalp and rippling through him, down from his head and up from his toes, until meeting in the middle at the apex of his legs, joining the churning heat there until he came hard enough that his vision went gray around the edges. He spurted his release all over Grace’s hand, soaking it up to the wrist, and could feel his own come dripping hot down his thighs from where it spilled over. He panted and squirmed as he chased his orgasm into overstimulation, riding Grace’s hand until his quivering thighs gave out and he slumped completely against the other man, breath curling hot over Grace’s bare shoulder and his own sweat-damp curls.
Grace held him up with more of that oft-forgotten strength and Simon shivered when the other man’s hand slid lower, smearing his own come along his balls and his taint, making a thorough mess of him. It would be a bitch to clean out of his body hair later, but Simon was content to let him explore, for now anyway, as he focused on breathing through the aftershocks.
But Grace wasn’t done. His non-come-stained hand found Simon’s hair and twisted through a good handful of it, giving it a few cursory tugs before pulling Simon’s face from his hiding spot against Grace’s shoulder. Simon watched Grace’s eyes rove over his fucked-out expression, saw the hunger in them and swallowed, thickly, which drew Grace’s attention to his mouth. Grace pulled him in for a kiss that was more biting pecks and broad swipes of his tongue than anything else, and Simon took it all eagerly, sucking on Grace’s tongue when it was offered, mewling into the sharp press of the other man’s teeth when it wasn’t.
When Grace finally pulled him away, Simon knew he was a proper mess, spit trailing down his chin, lips swollen and bruising from the rough treatment. He peered at Grace from beneath half-lidded eyes.
“What do you do when your mouth is full and can’t tell me you need to stop?” Grace asked, breathlessly.
It took Simon a moment to scrape together the brain cells necessary to answer his question, and when he did, he did so wordlessly, pulling his hand from where it rested uselessly on the mattress to one of Grace’s thighs, pinching him hard.
“Good,” Grace said, and that was all the warning he got before Grace shoved him between his spread legs by his hair, putting him face to face with Grace’s clothed cock. Swearing, Grace pulled back just enough to shimmy his sweats and boxers over his hips, then returned to how he was sitting before, cock standing up proudly from the trimmed thatch of blonde hair between his legs.
Grace steered him down again but Simon didn’t need much coaxing to take the scientist’s cock into his mouth. He laved his tongue around the tip before using it to cup Grace’s length, guiding Grace into his throat as he sank all the way to the hilt, swallowing around the very welcome intrusion. Above him Grace moaned and swore and rolled his hips, holding Simon down by the hair, and Simon took it, moaning obscenely as he slurped around the other man, doing his best not to make a complete mess.
The way they sat had Simon prostrate again, knees still folded underneath him, hand settling on the outside of Grace’s knee where it braced against Simon’s shoulder. Grace was kneeling as well, making space for Simon between his knees, and Simon realized he was completely at Grace’s mercy like this. He had no leverage to do anything but take each insistent roll of Grace’s hips. No wonder he asked about their signal.
Simon was just settling into a rhythm—suck, swallow, breathe, repeat—when he felt Grace shift above him, widening his knees so he could bend further over Simon’s curled back. It wasn’t until he felt the press of two fingers at his entrance that Simon figured out what he was doing, but by then it was too late. Simon moaned long and wanton as Grace slid one finger in to the first knuckle.
It felt different than usual. Simon focused too much on the strange sensation of the slide to truly appreciate Grace sinking the first finger in to the hilt, and he got a rough thrust and a yank to his hair in response. Simon hiccupped around an inhale and had to pinch Grace’s thigh and pull off before he choked. He panted into the soft, sensitive skin between Grace’s legs.
“What’re you—“
Grace shut him up by sliding into his mouth again, and Simon made a noise of protest even as he gagged and drooled when the head of Grace’s cock slipped down his throat.
“Can’t waste it now, can we?” Grace asked, sliding a second finger in next to the first, a little too fast, and Simon froze.
His come. The tacky, sticky thing Grace was using for lube was his come.
Simon whined and gagged a little again as it broke his rhythm, legs clamping together tighter. He could feel his cock starting to get hard, pulsing hot and insistently between his thighs and the soft fat of his stomach. Sitting like he was, it was trapped completely by his body, and any sensation came from Grace’s own body moving against him.
Grace plunged both fingers all the way in, and Simon’s answering moans were a touch more desperate and reedier than they were before, which made Grace swear softly above him. When Grace lost his rhythm entirely, Simon prepared himself for the bitter, hot taste of Grace’s come spilling down the back of his throat, but it never came. Instead, Grace yanked him off by the hair, sitting back on his heels with his head tossed back to pant at the ceiling. Simon had a front row seat to watch his cock flex and throb as Grace staved off his own orgasm with willpower alone. Simon drooled a little more as his cock twitched in time with Grace’s heavy, shaking exhales.
“Fuck, that was close,” Grace said, mostly to himself, and Simon sat up when Grace released his hair. Not the best idea, though, because he found himself flat on his back with Grace between his spread knees, the stretch on his lower core absolutely agonizing.
He groaned and rolled his head back and Grace slid two soothing palms—one sticky, one not—up his aching thighs. “Poor thing, look at you,” Grace said, and there was a mocking edge to his voice that Simon didn’t like. “You must be sore from having to sit like that so long.”
Before Simon got any warning, Grace pushed both knees back to free his feet from beneath his body, then grabbed Simon’s ankles and pushed them up towards his ears, folding him completely in half.
Simon sobbed and squirmed at the stretch, his glutes and hamstrings burning as Grace pushed too hard, too fast. He whimpered and cried real tears and tried to dislodge Grace’s hands from his ankles but it was no use; every tiny movement he made sent exquisite but agonizing pain shooting up into his hips. He went still and continued to cry, chest hiccuping from the strain.
“Jesus, and you’re just letting me do it,” Grace muttered, again seemingly to himself. “You’re so pretty, Simon. Such a good boy for me, sweetheart, letting me do whatever I want to you.”
“Please,” Simon managed, and tasted his own tears on his tongue. “Ryland, Angel, please.”
He didn’t even know what he was begging for, but Grace seemed to understand; the older man grabbed both ankles with one hand—one!—and held them in place while reaching for the lube with his other hand. He popped the cap and fumbled a good amount of it into his palm before that hand returned to Simon’s ass. Instead of slipping in him, though, that hand smeared a glob of lube over his hole before disappearing. Simon whined in confusion before the slick sound of Grace’s hand on his cock reached his ears.
He realized what was about to happen a split second before it did. Grace leaned forward and lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against his bare, barely stretched hole, and Simon choked on his own whine as Grace sank into him. He didn’t go that deep, maybe an inch or two, but it was still a struggle and still a stretch for Simon’s body. He thrashed slightly and Grace’s lube-slick hand joined his other one, wrapped around his ankles. Grace pulled his legs apart and repositioned them slightly so his hands were around the meat of Simon’s calves, his weight pressing them into the pillows next to Simon’s head. The stretch in his legs ached almost as much as the stretch in his hole and Simon gasped when Grace rolled his hips, thrusting another couple of inches into him.
Like this—folded in half at the waist, knees around his ears—Simon was, once again, completely helpless. He had no leverage against Grace’s bulk and could do nothing but lay there and take it. It should’ve scared him more than it did, but the wet slide of Grace pulling out before thrusting back in, the soft grunts falling from his lips as he bullied his way inside Simon’s body, overwrote the animal fear rearing up in his hindbrain.
Seemingly sensing his thoughts, Grace looked down at him, sweat beading at his temples, blonde hair in disarray. He smiled. “You said anything, sweetheart,” he offered by way of explanation, and leaned down to kiss Simon’s slack lips. “Too much?”
No. No, it wasn’t too much. It was incredible, and overwhelming, and verging on painful in so many ways, but Simon was fine. He was better than fine. He was so delirious with pleasure that he couldn’t focus on one single sensation; the warm weight of Grace pressing down on him, the sweaty, hairy skin of his chest against Simon’s own, the firm grip of his broad hands around Simon’s calves. The aching stretch in his own limbs as he was pushed to the limits of his flexibility, and under it all, the hot, heavy sensation of Grace’s hard cock filling him up slowly, maddeningly. All of it was exquisite. He was right where he wanted to be. He wanted more.
Simon reached around his own leg to find the back of Grace’s neck and pull him down for a kiss. Grace grinned and hummed and panted against his lips as Simon bullied past his teeth, trying and failing to capture his tongue to suck on. He moaned right into Simon’s mouth when he bottomed out, the thickest part of his cock stretching Simon wide. Simon panted through it, breath hot and humid against Grace’s mouth, and Grace kissed him back feverishly, like there was nothing else he wanted more than the taste of Simon’s spit on his tongue.
Grace let go of his legs, allowing Simon to bend his knees a little and hook them over Grace’s shoulders. Grace gave him a couple seconds to adjust before gripping the sheets on either side of Simon’s body and sliding up to his knees, pulling his cock halfway out in the process. Simon was about to say something bitchy when Grace slammed back down, and any coherent thoughts were punched out of him in a long, languid, disbelieving cry.
The pace Grace set was just a hair shy of properly rough, his coma and Erid-affected muscles not able to handle the pace he’d probably prefer, and Simon clawed at his back, holding on for dear life as Grace fucked in and out of him. Like this, Grace’s chest and stomach stayed in constant contact with his, only his hips pistoning in and out, and Simon whined and squirmed with the desire to grind up against him, to at least roll his hips and get some friction on his cock, which was trapped tightly between their bodies. He was trapped like this, pinned completely like he has been in every other position Grace put him in, and Simon moaned and went slack when he realized this was Grace’s plan all along: put him in a position where he had no choice but to take anything.
As Simon’s body relaxed around Grace’s cock, the slide became easier and Grace gasped against his temple as his thrusts suddenly went that much deeper. His rhythm faltered for a moment as he lost purchase against the sheets, and when he repositioned, hiking Simon’s legs higher up his shoulders, the change had the head of his cock scraping against Simon’s prostate on every downstroke. Simon shrieked at the abrupt change and clawed another line of red marks down Grace’s back, gasping out pitchy little cries at each thrust.
“Fuck,” Grace gasped, and there was a reverence there that made Simon’s skin sing. “Baby. Sweetheart. Simon. Holy fuck.”
“Please,” he whined, and his voice was down to a hoarse whisper from all of the crying out. “Angel, please. Please please please—“
“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, fuck,” Grace gasped, and his rhythm faltered again as a shiver wracked through him, grinding the bones of his pelvis hard into the meat of Simon’s ass. Simon wanted it to bruise. “God, sweetheart. So good. So good for me. Nngh.”
Grace sat back enough that Simon’s legs were no longer trapped up by his ears but instead resting on Grace’s shoulders by the ankles and braced both hands on the headboard. Simon’s hand joined his and pushed back in counterpoint, keeping Grave from shoving his body up the bed with his rough thrusts. His rhythm changed from rough, shallow thrusts to deep, languid ones and Simon gasped and twitched every time he bottomed out, the head of his cock grinding against Simon’s prostate with every roll of his hips. Grace let go of the headboard with one hand to press down on Simon’s stomach and Simon’s eyes rolled back in his head as the grind of Grace’s cock against his prostate intensified that much more. He bucked up against Grace’s hand at the same time his hole clenched tight around Grace’s length and a deep, ragged gasp was all the warning he got before Grace fucked into him to the hilt, hips grinding hard circles against Simon’s hole as he came.
His forehead dropped to Simon’s shoulder and he sank his teeth into the muscle there, hips stuttering through more thrusts than Simon expected. He felt Grace’s seed sinking deep into him, scalding heat spreading out from the base of his spine outward, and Simon moaned and cradled the back of Grace’s head as he felt the heat of another orgasm building low in his gut.
Grace pulled away from his shoulder with a wet sound and panted hard against Simon’s ear, his hand still pressing down on his stomach as his softening cock continued to thrust in and out of him.
“Come on, come on, get there,” he almost growled, and Simon gasped at the zing of heat between his legs. “Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart, come on my cock, come for me baby, come on—“
Simon’s cock kicked once between their stomachs before spilling hot and wet over his abs. He tensed, almost every muscle in his body going tight as the orgasm ripped through him, and he felt more than heard Grace groan and come a little more inside him at the feeling. Grace stayed buried in him until the aftershocks of both of their orgasms faded completely, and when he pulled out Simon was left feeling shivery and completely unmoored. He felt Grace’s fingers thoughtfully swipe through the mess of come and lube dripping out of him before shoving roughly back in. Simon jerked, hard, and his hand snapped down to grab Grace’s wrist as Grace pressed a thumb against his taint, fingers finding his abused prostate to press down. Simon’s thighs closed around Grace’s waist and he hissed in pain as Grace kept going, the sensation riding the edge of good and too much.
“Mine,” Grace said, leaning over him with a treacherous smile. There was a sort of finality in his tone that made Simon’s chest tight and his cock twitch against his hip, even though it was far too soon.
“Yours,” Simon breathed.
Grace removed his fingers from Simon’s hole and looked at them like he was contemplating licking them clean. Simon swallowed.
“Learned your lesson?” Grace asked, conversationally, as Simon stared at the ceiling, trying to retrieve the various parts of himself from where Grace scattered them against the mattress.
“Not if that’s the way you’re gonna punish me for it,” Simon replied, and Grace grinned.
“Even after all of that, you still have the energy to be a brat,” he laughed, and Simon reached for him, pulling him in for a chase kiss.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it, pervert,” Simon murmured against his lips.
Grace bit him in retaliation. “Watch your mouth, sweetheart. We’ve got a box full of toys and I’m done with work for the day.”
Two could play that game. Simon trailed kisses from his mouth to his ear and licked up the shell of it before replying, “Then why don’t you go grab a plug and stuff it in me after you fill me up a second time?”
Grace choked on his inhale and pulled away to look down at Simon and laugh, breathless and astonished. “Jesus Christmas, Simon.”
“What?” he asked, innocently. “You wanted me to use my words and ask for what I want, so I did.”
“Brat,” Grace repeated, but got off the bed anyway, wobbling slightly as he went over to their closet. “You’re gonna regret doing that, too.”
Simon stretched out flat on his back and looked at Grace from between his own spread legs, knowing full well how much of a mess he was—bite marks in his shoulder, bruises on his hips, spit on his chin, come smeared across his abs and leaking from between his legs. “Oh yeah?” he asked, grinning. “Make me.”