AD ASTRA PER ASPERA.

(eclectic and haggard, their stare half dead yet darting quick and perceptive, their voice rough yet soft on plump lips, their body strong and hard yet sucked into the skin. a product, foremost.)

his wordless command is followed without thought. it was instinctual, and bred of both worlds: the winter soldier and bucky barnes both craved a steady hand at the till. perhaps ryland's wasn't quite so steady, yet it tilled regardless; that was enough. their adams apple bobs against their throat, tongue occupying the roof of their mouth.

whether he intends to or not, grace creates a demonstration out of james' snap reflexes: the goods are caught the instant they enter his wingspan, like snatching birds in flight, all effortless.

But of course he has an identity, argues the part of his mind that had instigated this escape attempt in the first place. The recurring crisis of morality eating Grace's brain alive wouldn't have been such an issue if not for that haunting realisation.

"Well," he says, like the knowledge hasn't shaken something fundamental loose in his head, "it's nice to meet you, James." Grace even bows a little as he says it, head tilted slightly all the while (he ignores the slight soreness from the way James had held him earlier). It's comically out of place, considering the circumstances.

Then he touches his own chest. "I'm Ryland. But if 'Grace' is easier, you can use that too."

Is it the right call to play normal? Grace doesn't know how to be critically serious, so he supposes this is all he can do.

"I can speak... German," he says, but there's a lack of confidence there that immediately makes him cringe. "I mean, I did an exchange program once, and I'm sure I can get home from Germany if someone, like, dropped me off out of nowhere, but I definitely write better than I speak."

He rubs the back of his neck. "I know Spanish better, but not Spain-Spanish. Is it terribly cliche if we ran away to Latin America?"

James is immediately victim to the rolling nature of his thought process. Grace sits on the coffee table in the room, arms crossing over his chest.

ryland grace + ○

Though, it's certainly very welcomed.

"Well, I mean, I'm just the plant guy. It would make sense my genius guy would have the forethought," Mark coos easily as the tips of his fingers toy with the ends of the strands of Ryland's hair.

A soft laugh puffs from his smiling lips as he shakes his head.

"No, you smell great. Promise," he reassures, though one hand slides from the nape of Ryland's neck to settle lovingly on his shoulder. "Though, you have been working hard. Want me to scrub you down a bit? Take care of you a little bit?"

"How the heck're we gonna do that in a shower?"

Ryland pictures them sitting on the floor and, once again, the image strikes him as juvenile. It's not unwelcome, though, considering they're already naked. There's nothing more humiliating than that, hypothetically. The only reason Ryland isn't already embarrassed is that he'd talked away all the nervous energy mid-strip with Rocky (who was grateful, he said, that the shower would muffle anything they might do in there).

Eventually he settles for keeping his head bowed so Mark can scrub some shampoo in. Cute as the sitting would have been, staying standing means an easier time for Mark to soap him up once that becomes relevant.

Even though Mark was completely serious in his offer for Grace to join him so they can conserve water, he never expected Grace to actually take him up on it. There's been plenty of intimacy in their relationship so far, be it hand-holding or kissing, but anything above a PG-13 rating is minimal. Though, Mark also has found he doesn't mind it so much. It's nice having a companion he adores so much.

But then when the door to the shower slides open and closed, he can't help but feel his heart skip a beat in his chest.

There's a fond smile on the elder's lips, and despite how elated he feels, he knows better than to make too big of a deal out of the fact that Grace is in there with him.

Mark kisses him and it's as easy to him as breathing. Instead of thinking of the weirdness of his past, he focuses instead on how stupid it feels to press their wet chests together.

Golly. Ryland's fingers trace up the swell of Mark's chest, awed at the fact he's touching flesh.

"Mary told me they provided everything we requested up here," he says. "I just wish I could remember which of us was smart enough to request the warm water in the shower."

He cups the side of Mark's neck, finally allowing his gaze to lift from the man's flesh to look at his face instead. The laugh lines around his eyes shine with moisture, and Ryland thinks he's never looked prettier.

Grace tugged Eva back to him, forcing their bodies flush with each thrust. The motion drove up her dress, exposing the pattern of stars tattooed on the outside of her hip and the edge of her black bra. His hand raked through her hair, destroying whatever styling remained. Eva was barely aware of any of that, though : the sensation of Grace taking her body was too great. It was as if she was a toy to him, just a thing to break and fill with cum, and Eva adored that.

He placed his palm over her mouth, and she moaned against it. A hand reached back to wrap around her thigh and pull it towards her. The shift caused her to yelp, head nuzzling into her hair and the table. Oh, but it meant she was open even more for him. Every frantic thrust rolled up her figure, accompanied with such a sharp wet, slapping sound that Eva would have thought it fake if she wasn't living it.

Grace fucked her until her body couldn't bear it, until her protesting channel relaxed. He plunged deeper then, as he did before, and Eva relished the feeling of being split in two by him. Spit collected along his fingers and drooled onto the table. Her other hand moved down, yanked up what she could of her dress frantically, and showed Grace more of her belly and ribs. There was no time to get fully naked, which Eva understood. This was simply to show Grace what he was claiming as his.

Her own nails bit into her flesh, and Eva groaned darkly. Grace's length had her practically raw. Every muscle ached. Eva's hand squeezed her raised leg, dragged it back that last little bit she was able to, and then clenched tight. Those pretty eyes, wide with shock and delight, looked at Grace. Wanting, wanting, wanting — until he hit so far inside of her that Eva's vision went black. Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling and shut.

Sweat streamed down her trembling thighs. It pooled in the seam between their bodies, mixing with the slick from both of them. Rivulets of it trailed along her barely - contained breasts toward her pale stomach.

Fudge, he thought, mouthing at Eva’s bare shoulder to keep from moaning aloud. Hot breath and hotter spit painted her flesh, and in a mindless feat of hunger Grace licked what sweat he could reach until he was gasping into her neck.

“M’gon—ugh—”

But before he could come, Eva squeezed around him, and in the greed of her body Grace whined as his cock curved inward as far as it would go. It felt forbidden to fuck her like this—to have breached her cunt and then brush against something even tighter. It was messy, and depraved, and yet Grace’s hips were snapping forward, nails digging into Eva’s thigh as he exerted enough pressure to keep her spread and vulnerable. His mouth dipped, his teeth scraped against her bra, and when Eva came again, Grace dug them into lace and flesh to muffle the needy sound he made in turn.

He couldn’t take it, not any longer. Not when Eva was shaking with orgasm, and her perfect walls were massaging the throbbing length of his cock. Her cunt was swallowing him, refusing to let him leave, and Grace was so close it hurt. It was only a few more thrusts before he inhaled sharply through his nose, and with his eyes fluttering shut he pressed his hips flush to Eva’s body.

Drooling into the mess of bra and breast in his mouth, Grace came, moaning into Eva's flesh and spilling cum into the deepest parts of her. He sighed with it, toes curling in his shoes, and kept his back taut in pleasure until he felt sane enough to open his hazy eyes again.

When he released Eva’s mouth, his hand flicked the saliva that was gathered there away. Grace lifted his head, and with his hand taking Eva's jaw he bent to kiss her. Open-mouthed and wanting, Grace could taste her spit, and with the tip of his dick still spurting lazily inside her he rolled his hips, shuddering and clumsy.

He had half a mind to think that Eva was milking him dry.

Slowly, Grace eased his grip on her thigh, and though he allowed Eva's leg to lower, he had yet to pull out. One hand pressed against the table to hold himself up, and as the kiss broke, his eyes sought hers.

Am I expendable? It's almost like you don't care if I die. The consensus here is that it would be preferable if you did not die.

Though, at the admission of Grace's I'm a coward too, the botanist shakes his head.

"That's not cowardice. That's knowing yourself and your limits."

Perhaps it's hypocritical, but he stands by it. To Mark, it's one thing to realize it's not for you, but another thing to have done it and become to terrified to do it again.

Still, he doesn't dwell on it.

Leaning forward with his hands folded on the desk before himself, Mark tilt's his head to the side as he looks the other over.

"Would you? Come back if there's something more for you to do?"

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'd come back."

He's never thought himself heroic. When he'd come up with his dissertation, even if at the time he'd mostly wanted to come up with something new, in the end Grace was just curious. That was what fuelled him with the astrophage first and foremost-- not the need to save the planet, not the fact that the sun was dying, but because these were uncharted waters (never mind the fact that he hoped the astrophage had none to speak of).

So what if his motivations aren't as "pure" as the others'? Was it not enough to simply love discovering new truths in the universe? To love the game of it all?

He smiles. The expression is calmer than all the other looks he's worn thus far. "The work is important, I know, but...

— but hadn't he been for years ? whether as the promise of himself out in the stars or through their son. Their perfect, perfect son. Eva's hands reached for her hair and tucked several strands around her ears. A fingertip then began to trace the two letters inked behind her right one. M and R, stacked neatly on top of each other. She turned her face just enough to kiss the edge of his cheek bone. In doing so, she unintentionally revealed the little tattoo in her reflection on the window.

❝You have a lot of energy,❞ she teased, soft. ❝It's early, Ryland.❞ Their household was always up before the sun ( perhaps to admire, every morning, what they almost lost ) ... but it was nice to feel this domestic. Wasn't that the sort of thing that a conventional couple might say ?

Pointedly, she ignored his question. ❝Rocky and I have — similar thoughts. I sang to our children all of the time when I carried them ; that meant that Riley responded to it well as a baby. He'd get my throat so hoarse, crying when I wouldn't keep going.❞

Eva laughed, a little breathily, a little sadly, as the memories of those years flooded her mind. They took a toll on her expression, which turned solemn. Her nose pressed into his cheek, signaling that she sought comfort for something she couldn't explain.

And I'd say sorry that Riley seems so much like me in the few days I've known him, but what good would that do?

Grace's arm tightened around her. The other lifted, using its hand to cup the corner of Eva's jaw, and held her steady as he pressed his forehead to hers. "You did real good with him, though, Eva. You were so good."

He couldn't even imagine what it'd been like raising a boy all on her own. All the signs pointed to Eva still working, trying to save a world that would never understand what she had to do to keep it intact, and all the same their boy grew up to be the most incredible thing on the planet. Grace could never have imagined having a kid; he hadn't even allowed himself the fantasies before his trip into space, considering whatever family they might have had would've been dead in thirty years.

Now, though, with the Beatles home and the Taumoeba being bred, there was incredible opportunity. For now, all Grace cared about was giving Eva another kiss, even if it took everything in him not to tear up at the fact that this was real instead of a dream.

"All I could've wanted for my kid was for them to grow up loved. You made sure he did."

He chuckled, staying close, and stroked Eva's hair with his nails (kept short and neat thanks to Armando's help on Erid).

Eva tapped her knuckles on the open door of his classroom twice ( knock, knock ) before she stepped in. Her bag was slung over her shoulder. The principal's heels were in her other hand, having been switched in favor of flats as soon as the day was officially over. She hummed thoughtfully as she deposited her things on the closest chair.

There was her husband — stood up on a table while he tried to push the string of a decoration through one of the ceiling tiles. Tiles which, really, weren't supposed to be manipulated. The smiling sun bouncing from the string didn't seem like it would tattle, though.

Eva sighed, moving closer. Her hands folded on top of her swollen belly, over the silky dark blue of her blouse, while she watched.

Most wives would have said be careful, but Eva Grace was not most wives.

"I hope you remember that I am giving birth in five weeks," she commented, eyebrow raised. Long red hair spilled over her shoulders as she tilted her head back to better stare at him. " — breaking your leg today won't get you out of diapers."

Flat in tone, perhaps a bit humorous with the twitch of her lip. It was her way of telling him to be careful ; God, the bit of fear she felt imagining him hurt was sickening. They really had become this dependent on one another, hadn't they ?

Eva breathed out, and her voice softened ever so slightly. "Come down, Ryland." A pause, emphasized by the deep inhale that swelled her chest and the fluttering of her lashes. " ... please."

Finally, the string was long enough for Ryland to slap his tape over, and a soft yes! left him on instinct. With both his hands releasing the string, he admired the bright yellow sun with "Cool Guy Sunglasses" dangling in its wake, just in time for when the kids returned from spring break. It'd been a pretty nasty winter, after all, and in his opinion the return of spring was something worth celebrating.

(This one in particular might be the most special of all, but it wasn't every spring that the love of your life was giving birth to your children.)

Ryland was grinning as he admired his handiwork. The sun was the final piece of a set with fluffy clouds and origami birds, and as he looked down from his place on the table, his gaze softened as soon as it landed on Eva in the middle of the room.

"What do you think?" he asked, bending to slip carefully off the table (if Eva hadn't been around, he would've likely hopped off instead).

"We get to talk about asexual and sexual reproduction this semester. I figured the birds and the bees would be hysterical."

And, yes, there were paper flowers and cotton bees in various spots on the wall.

He didn't bother asking if Eva was done with work, considering her change in shoes. But he came forward, cupped her cheeks, and kissed her, and when he pulled away let those hands drop to the swell of her belly. By now Ryland was used to slipping them along the lower sides of it, and without delay crouched to give their twins a kiss where they lay in their mummy's perfect womb.

"I didn't stay here because I thought I was at my lifetime's limit for discoveries. I never went back because I'm a coward, Dr. Grace," Mark begins to admit for the first time outside of his therapy sessions. A part of him isn't certain as to why he's confiding in what is essentially a total stranger, but then Grace has been refreshingly honest about everything with him. "Throughout all of my trainings and simulations that I've done, I was well aware of the fact that I could very well die on my missions. What i wasn't prepared for was surviving- not like that anyway."

Drawing a deep breath, he meets the younger scientist's eyes once more.

"That being said, it's because of that experience that I'm able to help others have a shot at a more successful and, perhaps, even a more comfortable survival, God forbid they go through what I did."

There's an empathy in his expression as he observes the other, hoping he's understanding what he's saying. That even when they were done with their mission, they're never really done. That the impact will live forever in them, but they will also help the future generations navigate the obstacle.

That actually gets him laughing, full-bellied and honest instead of awkward like it has been. He nods his head, and when the last of his laughter's faded, he takes a deep breath through the nose and sighs out the mouth.

I'm a coward, Dr. Grace. The great American hero Mark Watney said that. It puts enough things into perspective, but it doesn't change the admiration Grace feels for him at all.

"I'm a coward too," he says honestly. "This whole space thing-- it's not for me, at least not beyond a passing hobby. I just lucked out because the threat we're working with is an organism I can take apart and study and breed.

"So I guess unless NASA finds another creature they don't understand, I got nothing left to give." Grace smiles sheepishly, shoulders lifting once more in a shrug. It isn't so much self-deprecation as much as it is a statement of fact. "They can always call me if there's something else about astrophage they need researched, obviously, but...