May You Live Until You Die ⚡

It's purred into your ear, and you know you can't fight back because he's so deep inside you and it's so good. You're just going to have to lie here and suffer through this.

"Grace..." you say, trying to make your voice a low warning. It doesn't really come out that way though, because he moves his hips in just such a way that his tip hits the perfect spot. Ryland pulls back a little so that he's able to grin down at you, sweat-slicked and pleasure-hooked, and you know you're trapped as his goddamn student for as long as he's thrusting into you.

"No, go on. How fast?"

He pulls out until only his cockhead is still inside you. You wriggle a bit, attempting to chase the rest of his length, but the man is made of muscle and doesn't move. He raises his eyebrow and tilts his head, waiting for you to play along.

"I don't know! If the speed of light is... oh god..." he slides another inch in to show you that you're doing well, "three hundred million metres a second..."

"Not quite. It's two hundred and ninety-nine million, seven hundred and ninety-two thousand, four hundred and fifty eight metres per second..." with every corrected digit he thrusts forwards a little further into you, making his cock feel fucking miles long and driving you crazy, "... but who's counting?"

You shoot him with an unimpressed look, but then he pushes all the way inside and you can feel his sac slap you, and all you can do is moan.

"So now you know that number, how fast are we going? I'll give you a clue, we're travelling ninety-nine pointy five percent the speed of light."

It's not fair how he doesn't even look bothered as he's lecturing you, as if the way he's making your body feel on fire is barely of interest to him. You squirm beneath him as he makes tiny little movements of his hips, teasing you where you need him most.

"Oh god... okay n-niiii-iii-ehhh...." -- fuck, he's so deep -- "ninety-nine...point five... oh fuck... Ry, I can't do it...!"

"No?" it's a little condescending. You can feel tears of need burn in your eyes as he teases you.

"It feels too good... can't do maths while you're in me..."

"If you need help, raise your hand."

Any other day, you'd slap him for being such a smartass. But you're so close to coming that you do it anyway, your trembling hand reaching above your head.

"Please, Doctor Grace, can you help me?" you manage, and that does it for him. The use of his title as your body is totally beneath his control has his head falling forwards against your shoulder and fucking into you so hard that the two of you scoot up the Mary's bunk. Your walls contract around him as you release, beckoning his own soon after, and the two of you take a moment to breathe in tandem as the world comes back to you.

You tap on Ryland's back. He pulls back to look at you, glasses foggy and hair sex-messed, only to find your brow furrowed as your mouth moves.

"Two-hundred and eighty-four million, eight hundred and two thousand, eight hundred thirty-five metres a second. Rounded down. That's how fast we're going, I think."

It takes him a fraction of a second to check your working once he's realised you're using his back as an abacus, and he grins.

"A-plus," he hums, and kisses you.