multifandom account. I also write sometimes.

You hesitated, then took the pouch. Maybe he was right. Maybe it would help you forget. Or remember. Or stop feeling anything at all.

You’d been crying for over an hour. Your head hurt, your chest hurt, and watching Grace pace frantically around the ship was doing absolutely nothing for your mental state.

A tube stuck out from the pouch. Grace shoved it into his mouth, took a long pull, swallowed and immediately grimaced.

“Wow,” he muttered. “That tastes like industrial cleaner and regret.”

Despite yourself, your lips twitched.

“You know,” he continued after a moment, “they actually put a therapy room on this ship. Because apparently maintaining psychological well-being is important during a one-way trip to probable death.” He gave you a crooked smile. “Come on. Let’s go see what humanity thinks counts as emotional support.”

You looked down at the pouch in your hands. What else did you have to do?

You didn’t remember boarding the Hail Mary. Neither did Ryland. The only thing either of you knew for certain was that you were among the fifty percent of the crew who survived.

“Optimistic statistics,” Ryland had said earlier. “Terrible mission outcome, though.”

You got drunk that day. Very drunk.

+++++

“I don’t know if trusting me with scissors is a good idea.”

Ryland sat down on the stool in front of you and pressed the scissors into your hand anyway.

“I’m not letting the robot arms near my head again,” he said. “Besides, it’s just hair.”

“I could literally ruin your life.”

“At worst, I’ll avoid mirrors until it grows back.”

You snorted quietly behind him, and a small smile tugged at his mouth. It was the first genuine laugh either of you had shared since waking up on the ship. Ryland flinched slightly when your fingers brushed through his hair, pushing it away from his face.

“Okay,” you said. “But don’t blame me if this haircut destroys your chances with women.”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” He sighed dramatically. “Statistically speaking, my dating prospects were already pretty limited. Long-term relationships seem unlikely.”

You laughed again, softer this time, while adjusting the scissors in your grip. The first blond strand drifted to the floor.

+++++

“Grace have mate, question?”

You pulled your attention away from the projected display and looked toward the xenonite sphere where Rocky sat, then at Ryland.

He blinked. “Uh. No.I mean, I did,.” His expression shifted faintly. “But she thought I had my head in the clouds and I didn’t really want to live in the real world. She was right. Anyway, now she’s with Mark.”

“Rocky hates Mark.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it. Ryland looked over at you, and although he was smiling too, there was still something sad lingering behind it. The memory clearly hurt more than he wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to say something, but Rocky spoke first.

“You? You have mate, question?”

“Ummm.” You pressed your lips together and glanced down for a second. “No, Rocky. I don’t.”

“Mark took yours too?”

You burst out laughing this time. When you looked back at Ryland, you found him watching you with something warm and understanding in his eyes, like he knew exactly how badly you needed that laugh.

“No,” you said, still smiling faintly. “I think I’m just... a little too much.”

Rocky shifted on his five legs. “Do not understand.”

You rubbed your temple, thinking of how to explain it. “People expect certain things from other people,” you said slowly. “Specific behaviors. Specific reactions. They want you to fit what they imagined.” You let out a quiet breath. “And I’m not very good at that. I try, but...”

Rocky tilted slightly to one side, the movement thoughtful rather than confused this time. “You try to become expected shape,” he said carefully. “But shape is wrong for you?”

“Something like that.”

“That is stupid problem.”

Ryland snorted from beside you. “Wow. Straight to the point.”

You leaned back, shaking your head. “Humans usually make relationships more complicated than ‘wrong shape.’”

“Yes,” Rocky agreed immediately. “Humans enjoy making simple things painful.”

“Okay, rude.”

“True, though,” Ryland added.

You shot him an offended look. “Whose side are you on?”

Ryland grinned. “Rocky’s. Obviously.”

Rocky swayed happily. “Grace is intelligent today.”

“Today?” Ryland repeated.

“Yes.”

You laughed again, properly this time, and the sound filled the control room so suddenly it startled you. For a second, nobody spoke. Then Rocky’s sphere rotated toward you again.

“You are sad less now.”

“I’m not sad,” you protested weakly.

Rocky clicked thoughtfully. Then, very seriously, he announced: “You should fist Grace bump.”

Silence. Ryland froze so completely he looked medically deceased.

You blinked. “I’m sorry? W-What?”

Rocky lifted one claw enthusiastically. “Fist Grace bump. Human comfort ritual.”

A strangled sound escaped Ryland as he immediately buried his face in his hands. “Oh my God,” he groaned. “Rocky, buddy. The phrasing.”

“I phrased correctly.”

“No,” Ryland said instantly. “No, you did not.”

Your lips trembled violently as you tried not to laugh. Rocky shifted slightly in confusion. “Humans strike fists together when emotionally attached. I observed this behavior.”

“Yes, that part is right,” Ryland said. “It’s the word order that’s killing me.”

Rocky went still for a moment. Then : “Grace fist your bump?”

That destroyed you completely. You doubled over laughing so hard your stomach hurt while Ryland made the sound of a man experiencing true spiritual exhaustion.

Rocky’s lights flickered rapidly. “I continue not understanding.”

Ryland looked over at you helplessly, red-faced and visibly trying not to laugh himself. And seeing him like that—awkward, embarrassed, alive—made something warm ache inside your chest. Still giggling, you finally held your fist out toward him. Ryland eyed it suspiciously. 

“Come on, Grace,” you said. “Human comfort ritual.”

A reluctant smile pulled at his mouth before he bumped his fist gently against yours. Rocky chirped happily through the translator.

“Success. Emotional support achieved.”

+++++++

When Rocky said you could go home, it felt as though the gravity on the Hail Mary had suddenly stopped working. Your knees gave out beneath you, and you sank to the floor before you even realized what was happening, the tablet slipping silently from your lap.

“Grace...” you whispered.

You sensed movement beside you. You didn’t need to look at him to know what Rocky’s words had done to him. Hope and relief. The impossible suddenly within reach. Ryland lowered himself to the floor next to you, his forearms resting on his knees.

“Grace, go home,” Rocky repeated.

“Okay.” Ryland’s voice trembled.

When you placed your hand on his arm, he didn’t pull away. Neither did he move when you leaned your head against his shoulder. Tears burned behind your eyes. Rocky couldn’t possibly understand what he had just given you.

A future. A life. Hope.

You had both accepted the verdict long ago or at least convinced yourselves that you had.

“We’ll go home,” Ryland said softly.

He turned toward you, burying his face in your hair as his eyes slipped shut. Your body shook with silent sobs. He didn’t try to comfort you; there was no need for empty reassurances now. Ryland felt it too — the same overwhelming relief, the same fragile disbelief, the same desperate hope you were clinging to.

+++++

Rocky was asleep or at least as close to asleep as an Eridian could get. His xenonite sphere sat motionless near the far wall of the lab, silent for once. Without his constant musical chirping, the Hail Mary felt strangely empty. Only the low hum of the engines and the occasional click of cooling metal filled the room.

You sat at the laboratory table, slowly spinning a marker between your fingers while pretending to read the same line of data for the tenth time. Across the room, Ryland had gone unusually quiet. No muttering. No nervous jokes. No pacing. And that was unusual for him.

You glanced up and saw that he was staring at nothing. It was as if his soul and mind had left the deck of the Hail Mary and flown somewhere into space.

“Grace?” you asked softly.

He blinked and looked at you like he’d forgotten where he was. “Hm?”

“You okay?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he rubbed a hand over his face and let out a tired breath. “I remembered something.”

Your stomach tightened instantly. The memories had been returning more often lately—small fragments breaking through the chemical fog left behind by the coma drugs. Sometimes they were harmless. Sometimes they left one of you shaken for hours.

You straightened slightly in your chair. “What kind of memory?”

Ryland leaned back against the console behind him, crossing his arms loosely. “It was before launch,” he said quietly. “With Stratt.”

You waited, then his eyes lowered briefly to the floor.

“I was fighting with her. Actually, mostly I was panicking. I kept telling her she couldn’t force me onto the ship. That I wasn’t qualified, that I wasn’t brave enough, that astronauts are supposed to be…” He gestured vaguely. “You know. Functional under pressure. I was terrified. Like, really terrified.”

The honesty in his voice made your chest ache a little.

“And then you walked in.”

You stopped breathing for a second. Ryland looked over at you now, his expression distant with memory.

“Stratt told you what was happening. She explained that if I refused, they’d probably sedate me and throw me on board anyway.” He shook his head slightly. “And before either of us could say anything else, you just looked at her and said…” He swallowed once. “‘Then I’ll go with Grace.’”

The marker slipped slightly in your fingers. “I said that?” you whispered.

Ryland nodded slowly. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

You stared down at the table, trying desperately to find some trace of the memory yourself, but there was nothing there. Just emptiness. Is that possible? Why didn't you remember it? And why did Ryland do it?

“I don’t remember,” you admitted quietly. The voice was barely audible.

“I know.”

Silence settled between you. Then Ryland pushed himself away from the console and walked toward you slowly. You watched him stop in front of your chair. There was something fragile in his expression now. Confusion, disbelief and maybe even anger.

“Do you know what the weirdest part is?” he asked softly.

You shook your head.

“I don’t think you did it because you loved me or something like that.” A small smile pulled weakly at one corner of his mouth. “Honestly, I don’t even think we knew each other that well.”

Your eyes lifted to his. Tears pressed painfully to the corners of your eyes.

“I think…” He exhaled quietly. “I think you just saw someone who was scared out of his mind and decided he shouldn’t have to be alone.”

The tears hit unexpectedly hard after that. You looked away quickly, embarrassed, but Ryland noticed immediately.

“Oh, hey—” His voice softened at once.

Before you could wipe them away, he crouched slightly in front of you and gently took your face in his hands. He was so careful. His thumbs brushed beneath your eyes instinctively.

“Why would you do something like that?” he murmured, looking at you like he genuinely couldn’t understand it. “That’s such a ridiculously dangerous thing to do.”

You replied, your voice trembling. “You seem angry.”

“I am mad about it,” he said quietly. “You threw your whole life away because your first instinct was to protect someone.” His forehead tightened slightly. “Who does that?”

You couldn’t answer. Because maybe he was right. Maybe there hadn’t been some grand romantic reason. Maybe you’d simply seen another terrified human being and thought: No one should face this alone. And somehow, that almost hurt more.

Ryland looked at you for another long moment before sighing softly through his nose.

“God,” he muttered, voice thick with emotion. “You’re either the bravest person I’ve ever met or the dumbest.”

“Probably both.”

“Yeah,” he said gently. “Probably both.”

And then, seeing you so shaken and broken, his arms carefully wrapped around you. He wasn't sure he could do it, but you instinctively slid down, clinging to him with all your being. Your arms wrapped around his neck, burying your tear-stained face in his neck. And even though he knew you so well, he felt like you were at your most vulnerable now, and Ryland wanted to protect you even more.

+++++

The Hail Mary was dark and silent. Emergency lighting was working as you shifted in bed. Something was beeping rhythmically next to you. You opened your eyes.

"Thank God, you're alive."

Ryland's voice came from beside you, and you slowly turned your head. He was lying on the bed next to you, his eyelids heavy as he tried to move.

"What happened?" you asked quietly. "I remember the ship started shaking a lot."

"Gravity," Grace replied simply. "We were too close. How... What are you doing?"

The machine let out a strange squeal as you pulled the IV from your hand and tried to sit up. You hissed in pain. Your side ached terribly, and when you touched it, you felt bandages there. Pain shot through your entire body.

"Rocky..." you said. "Stay here, Grace, I..."

"I'm coming with you."

You wouldn't have stopped him, and he wouldn't have stopped you either. You both clumsily stepped onto the floor, then slowly moved forward. Charred remains littered the floor. Your heart pounded in your chest, and you unconsciously reached for Grace's hand. He didn't pull it away, gripping you tighter.

The sight of Rocky curled up in the xenonite dome was terrifying. He lay still, as if burned. Your knees buckled beneath you.

“He wanted to save us,” you said, a burning pain in your throat.

“And he did,” Grace replied. “He saved you and me. And now…” He hesitated, unsure what to say. Finally, he added, “Rocky needs sleep. It will help him. He’ll be fine.”

You nodded. “I’ll stay with him. You lie down.”

Grace sat down next to you. "No, we'll both stay here. We have to watch him, right?"

Even though everything still hurt, he didn't want to leave his friend. He didn't want to leave you either. He also didn't want to think about how this would end.

Your fingers found his hand; you were his anchor in this chaos.

+++++

The Hail Mary drifted quietly through space. Too quietly.

No musical notes echoed through the ship anymore. No clicking claws. No Rocky excitedly announcing impossible engineering ideas at three in the morning.

Just you and Ryland. And the awful emptiness Rocky had left behind.

The calculations glowed across the monitor in front of you while the ship hummed softly around you. Ryland had been staring at the same screen for nearly ten minutes without moving. Taumoeba evolved, able to escape from xenonite containers. The ones Rocky made. The same ones that were also on his ship too.

You felt sick. Slowly, you looked toward Ryland.

He was sitting hunched forward in the pilot chair, elbows braced against his knees, one hand pressed hard against his mouth. Thinking. You knew that look.

“You’re doing it again,” you said quietly. He didn’t respond. “Ryland.”

Still nothing. You stood and crossed the room toward him. “Grace.”

This time he finally looked up. God, he looked exhausted. You were too. And underneath it—heartbroken.

“I can’t do it,” he said hoarsely before you could speak.

Your chest tightened. There it was. The thing both of you had been circling around for the last hour.

You stepped closer slowly. “Then say it.”

His expression immediately pained. “Don’t.”

“Say it.”

“I can’t ask you.” you heard helplessness in his voice.

“Ryland...”

He stood abruptly, running both hands through his hair in frustration before turning away from you entirely. “I can’t make that decision for you!” he snapped.

The words echoed sharply through the empty control room. Silence followed. Then, quieter: “I can’t take Earth away from you.”

Your throat burned instantly. He still wasn’t looking at you.

“I know what I’m asking,” he whispered. “You think I don’t want to turn this ship around? God, of course I do.”

Finally, he looked back at you. And the sheer guilt in his expression almost hurt to see.

"But if we go any further..." his voice cracked. "Rocky will die. Maybe he's already dying."

The words settled heavily between you. Simple and horrible, but true.

Ryland swallowed hard. “And I can’t be the reason you lose your home.”

For a second, all you could do was stare at him. Then slowly, you moved closer until barely any space remained between you.

“You really still don’t understand, do you?” you asked softly.

Confusion flickered across his face. Your eyes stung suddenly.

“Years ago,” you whispered, “I stood in front of Stratt and chose to go with you into space.” Your voice trembled now. “I already made this decision, Ryland.”

His face fell apart a little at that.

“You were terrified,” you continued quietly. “And I was terrified too. But I looked at you and knew I couldn’t let you do it alone.”

“Don’t,” he whispered weakly.

“And if I had to choose again?” Your breath shook. “I’d still choose you. Every time.”

Ryland looked genuinely wrecked now. Like hearing those words physically hurt him.

“You’d give up Earth for me?” he asked softly.

You shook your head once.

“For Rocky,” you whispered. “For you. For the family we somehow found out here.” A tiny, tearful smile appeared on your lips. “And honestly? Earth stopped feeling like home a long time ago.”

Something in his expression cracked completely after that. Before he could say another word, you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him. Hard. Immediate.

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you pulled him against you, and Ryland made a startled sound before kissing you back with equal force, like he’d been barely holding himself together for hours. Maybe he had.

His hands found your waist instantly, careful even now, even while emotionally falling apart in front of you. The kiss tasted like fear and relief and grief all at once. Like two people standing at the edge of another impossible decision. 

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathing hard. Ryland rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed tightly.

“You make unbelievably reckless choices,” he whispered shakily.

You brushed your fingers through his hair again.

“And yet,” you murmured, lips still barely against his, “you’re always worth making them for.”

+++++

Sunlight filled every room, warm and golden against the pale walls of the house. Another beautiful day on Erid. You were finishing your coffee when strong arms wrapped around your waist from behind. Ryland pressed his face against your back, still half asleep, and kissed the side of your neck softly.

“Good morning,” he murmured. “You’re up early again.”

“No,” you corrected gently, smiling into your cup. “You slept in late again.”

A sleepy groan vibrated against your shoulder. You reached back automatically, threading your fingers through his soft hair. It had gotten longer again recently, curling slightly near the ends in the warmth.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” you promised quietly. “I’ll stay in bed longer with you.”

Ryland lifted his head just enough to look at you suspiciously. “I’m holding you to that.”

“You say that every week.”

“Because every week you abandon me for coffee and productivity.”

You laughed softly. “That sounds serious.”

“It is serious. I wake up and my favorite person is gone.”

Warmth spread quietly through your chest. Years ago, Ryland would’ve hidden words like that behind a joke. Now he said them easily, like he trusted them to exist between you. Like he trusted you to stay.

You turned slightly in his arms, just enough to brush your nose against his. “You’re very clingy for a former middle-school teacher.”

“I worked with children for years. Physical affection is how humans avoid psychological collapse.”

“That sounds fake.”

“It’s science.”

“You say that about everything.”

“Because science explains everything.” He paused thoughtfully. “Except why you still tolerate me before breakfast.”

You smiled and kissed him softly before he could continue rambling. Ryland immediately melted against you, one hand sliding lazily along your waist while the other settled at the small of your back, pulling you closer.

Slow mornings suited him. No rushing. No panic. No mission hanging over his head. Just warmth and sunlight and the quiet comfort of knowing the other person would still be there tomorrow.

When you finally pulled away, Ryland rested his forehead against yours with a quiet sigh. “You know,” he murmured, eyes still closed, “I was supposed to teach a few young Eridians orbital mechanics in twenty minutes.”

“And?”

“And currently I’m considering becoming unemployed.”

You laughed again, and the sound made him smile immediately.

Home.

"You and Rocky alliance. Good. Grace still stupid."

For hours, the lab had been filled with intense work and loud arguments. The experiment they’d been so sure about had failed immediately. Neither of them gave up, of course, just pivoted, recalculated, argued, and tried again.

If not for you, Grace and Rocky would’ve forgotten to eat entirely. And when they ignored you, you had to physically herd them away like stubborn children, promising they could come back once they’d finished their food.

You checked your watch. Nearly sixteen hours. No wonder Grace was getting sloppy. No wonder Rocky was irritated.

"You need to lie down," you said, stepping toward Ryland. "You need sleep."

"I don’t need…"

You took the tools from his hands and pushed his goggles up onto his forehead.

"Don’t argue with me," you said firmly. "Rocky’s right. When you’re tired, you get irritable and act… stupid."

He rolled his eyes but didn’t fight you. "I just want this to work. We’re close. I can feel it. Another hour or two and…"

"And then Armando gets to hook you up to life support? No. You’re done."

Rocky shifted slightly in his enclosure, pretending not to listen, but he failed. "Grace must sleep. You correct. You smarter than Grace."

You bit back a laugh and rested a hand on Ryland’s shoulder before he could respond. The last thing you needed was another argument on the Hail Mary.

"You take Grace to sleep, question? You watch Grace, question?"

That got you thinking. Rocky rarely asked to be replaced while watching Grace, not like this. He must have been in a really bad mood right now.

"I promise," you said gently, tapping the transparent wall. "Everything okay, Rocky?"

"Will be good after Grace sleeps.” But he tapped lightly in return.

You took Ryland’s arm and led him toward the dorm.

"He likes you more than me," Grace muttered, glancing back.

"Don’t be jealous," you said quietly. You knew Rocky could hear every word anyway. And you also knew he’d still be listening.

The dorm lights were dim. Grace kicked off his Converse and set his glasses aside with zero precision. At some point, the two of you had pushed your mattresses together. One was too narrow. Two were better. Safer, and somehow less lonely.

He collapsed onto the bed with a long sigh. You sat against the wall, picking up a jumpsuit and examining the tear in the sleeve. Quiet work felt right while he rested. Maybe you’d put on an audiobook, there were still so many left in the archive.

"What are you doing?" His voice pulled you out of your thoughts.

"I’ve got a suit to repair," you said, holding it up.

"Don’t be ridiculous. Come here."

"You need sleep."

"Yeah, and how am I supposed to sleep if you’re sitting over there?" He propped himself up, frowning. "It’s bad enough Rocky’s probably still listening, maybe watching too."

You sighed. You weren’t winning this one. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. It’s science. Probably. I mean, there are studies…l, okay, I don’t remember them exactly, but it sounds like something science would support."

You raised an eyebrow. "That sounds made up."

"It is. But it’s also true."

"...Wow. Okay."

You slipped off your shoes and lay down beside him. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the distant hum of the ship, the faint sounds of the lab far away.

Then…

"I’m really glad you’re here. I mean…not glad you’re on a suicide mission. That part is objectively terrible. But… you being here is not terrible." he said. "I mean…this whole situation sucks, obviously. But… yeah. I’m glad it’s you."

You smiled softly. "I’m glad too. Though I would’ve preferred meeting you under better circumstances. Dinner or something like this, maybe."

Ryland swallowed. "Wait…really? You mean, like… a date?"

"Yes. A date. If you wanted."

"Yes…” he said immediately. Too immediately. Then he froze. "I mean…yes. Hypothetically. In a purely theoretical, post-not-dying scenario…yes." 

You laughed. "Good. Then when this is over, that’s the first thing we’re doing."

He smiled, softer now. "Deal," he said, and paused. "That sounded too intense. I didn’t mean it like, okay, I’m going to stop talking now."

Your hand found his, your fingers threading together naturally. "You should be asleep," you murmured.

"Working on it." Grace yawned, his eyes already slipping shut. "My brain is currently running three parallel processes," he muttered. "One is exhausted, one is trying to solve the experiment, and one is… this." He gestured vaguely between you. "This one is the least efficient."

You smiled softly. "And which one is winning?"

"None," he mumbled. "Total system failure imminent."

You let out a quiet breath, your thumb brushing lightly against his hand.

"Dr. Grace," you said softly, "I once read a study that said hugging reduces stress. Don’t you think that, combined with your current research, we might…"

"I think that’s an excellent idea," he murmured, cutting in before you could finish. "Groundbreaking. Nobel Prize. Minimum."

His voice faded at the edges, words blurring as sleep caught up with him. You shifted closer, careful, resting lightly against him. For a second, he went still, just for a second,then relaxed. His breathing slowed, evening out, steady and warm beneath your cheek. You stayed like that, listening. It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t what you would have chosen. But it was good. Somehow. 

Rocky was already waiting when you stepped back into the lab. "Grace sleep efficiency improved, question."

You blinked. “Yes?"

"Good. Rocky observations confirm."

Ryland groaned behind you. "Oh no. What did you observe?"

"Heart rate lower. Breathing stable. Grace not stupid during sleep."

You pressed your lips together. "Rocky…"

"Also," he added, "proximity to you increases Grace survival probability."

Ryland froze. "I…what?"

"Conclusion: you stay close to Grace. For science." A pause. "Rocky approve."

Ryland buried his face in his hands. "I’m never going to recover from this."

++++++

"How are you doing?"

Ryland’s voice came through the intercom in your helmet.

"She fine. Question."  Rocky said from somewhere in the background.

"It’s fine, Rocky. One more spot and I’m done," you replied.

You clipped yourself to the railing and moved along the Hail Mary’s hull. The damage wasn’t severe, but it needed fixing. The welder Rocky had modified worked perfectly, sealing the hull faster than expected. 

Even before you left the airlock, you had to deal with Grace. He didn’t like you going out alone, it made him anxious.

"I’ll be fine," you had told him, pulling on your suit. "Eat something. Get some rest. I know what I’m doing."

"I know," he muttered, adjusting his glasses. "I just… I worry, okay? You’re…I mean, you matter. To the mission. And…just… don’t die, okay?" 

"Okay," you smiled, squeezing his shoulder. "Two hours. I’ll be back."

He nodded, but it didn’t really reassure him.

"How are you doing?" he asked again now, over the intercom. "Not trying to be pushy. Rocky’s worried."

"Rocky is not worried. She knows what she is doing. Smarter than Grace."

You smiled. "A few more minutes. What if…"

The ship jolted. The welder slipped from your grip, but you caught it just in time. Another jolt.

"Something’s wrong with the engine…I think it’s a short…I’m fixing it…just…hold on… are you there? Can you hear me?" 

"I am, just…"

The next pull yanked you off the railing. The tether snapped tight, then recoiled like a whip, slamming you into the hull. Your head slammed into the helmet. A dull crack echoed in your ears. The air punched out of your lungs, nothing left, just panic and silence. 

"Grace! She needs help. Grace! Focus. Fix engine. Now." 

You couldn’t answer. Everything spun.

"Are you there? Can you hear me? Say something, please." 

"Quick, quick, quick."

Warmth spread across your lips. Metallic. Blood. Your fingers tightened around the welder pressed to your chest as another violent tug shook you. You grabbed the railing again, pain shooting through your arm.

"She there. Time critical. Grace, take her." 

The buzzing in your head grew louder. Nausea rolled through you. You clung to the railing, your only anchor. Your vision dimmed.

You were lying on something soft.

"Eye movement detected."

You tried to move, but a hand caught yours.  His thumb brushed over your knuckles before he let go, like he wasn’t sure he should. He pulled back a little too quickly. 

"Hey. Easy."

Ryland.

You opened your eyes briefly, too bright, then shut them again.

"You had a minor concussion," he said, voice quieter now. "Some bruising. You’re okay. Medical system patched you up. You scared us."

"You came for me?" you whispered.

"Of course I did," he said immediately. "Statistically, you’re my favorite person."

"There are no other people here, Grace," Rocky pointed out.

Your lips twitched. You touched your head and felt the bandage under your fingers.

"You should lie down," Ryland said.

"You’re not that kind of doctor."

"Still counts. You’re concussed. You don’t get opinions."

You let out a weak breath that might have been a laugh. "You look tired."

"I’m not," he said quickly. "I’ll stay."

And he did.

When you woke again, hours had passed. Grace didn’t mean to fall asleep, his hand was still loosely wrapped around yours. Rocky watched over both of you.

Later, you managed to sit up. Then stand.

"I didn’t thank you," you said quietly as Ryland steadied you. "You saved me."

"You’d have done the same," he replied, watching you carefully. You scared us." He paused „You scared me." 

"I’m sorry."

"Don’t be. Just… next time, you’re staying inside."

Two days later, you were moving on your own again, though neither of them let you do any real work. After you failed to complete your work outside the ship, someone had to do it. The choice wasn't difficult, or rather, you no longer had a say.

"Grace worried. Very, very, very," Rocky said.

"I know," you replied, watching Ryland on the screen outside. "He’s nice, isn’t he?"

"Grace heart rate changes when you speak." 

You smiled faintly. "I like him too. And I like you too, Rocky."

"Grace observes you. Often. When you not looking."

"Rocky, stop." You felt yourself blushing and a strange shiver ran down your neck.

"Why stop? This is data."

You blinked. You looked up from the screen and looked at your friend. "What? No, we’re just friends."

"Grace looks at you differently. You look at him that way also. Grace very worried."

You glanced back at the screen, Grace still working. You knew you would have followed him without hesitation, whether his life was in danger or he suddenly decided to fly to the other side of the universe.

"It’s complicated," you said softly. "Humans are complicated."

A click.

"I’m done," Ryland’s voice came through the radio. "Heading back."

"I’m waiting for you. Be careful."

You saw the thumbs-up and smiled. You didn’t see it, the way he smiled, just for a second. 

The airlock hissed open. You were already there waiting for him to help him with the suit. Ryland stepped inside, pulling off his helmet too fast, eyes finding you immediately.

"Hey," he said, a little breathless.

"Hey."

He crossed the distance without thinking. He ignored your hands that were waiting to take the helmet from him and threw it to the ground. "Don't do that again, don't go out there alone." he said quietly. "Please."

"I’ll try."

"That’s not…" he stopped, exhaled. "Okay. Fine."

His hand found yours, like it had before, but this time he didn’t hesitate.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered. “When I came back for you… I’ll never forget it. And being there now, I kept thinking about it.”

“You didn’t lose me, Grace.”

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I didn’t.”

But he didn’t move away, not even a little. You were standing too close now. His thumb brushed over your knuckles, slower, more deliberate. The look in his eyes was different than usual. 

Your lips. Your eyes. Back again. Something shifted.

"Grace. Heart rate elevated."

Neither of you reacted.

"Significant. Cause: you."

You let out a soft breath, but neither of you pulled away. Ryland leaned in, closer. Close enough that you could feel his breath, uneven and warm. He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, like he was giving himself one last chance to stop.

"Data indicates—"

Ryland closed the distance. The kiss was soft and careful. A little unsure at first, like he wasn’t entirely convinced this was real. Then his hand tightened slightly around yours, and something in him settled, and it was real. You touched his cheek gently, feeling his soft stubble under your fingers.

"—contact established," Rocky finished.

Ryland pulled back enough to look at you. His blue eyes were wide, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just done.

"…Okay," he breathed.

A beat of your heart.

"Statistically," he added quietly, "that was a good decision."

You laughed softly, and then he smiled, gently, a little crooked, but completely sincere. And this time, when he leaned in again, he didn't hesitate.

When everything around you was so crazy and dangerous, when you lived with the feeling that the end might soon come, this closeness was what you craved. What you deserved. What you wanted to wrest from fate together.

And it felt good.

You hadn’t made up an excuse, or had a fake emergency phone call at any point that got you out of dinner. But Ryland knew he’d fucked it up tonight. He was genuinely surprised that you stayed till the end. It was a simple date, nothing too fancy. And yet he believed he had ruined your night by yapping your ears off. He talked about everything and nothing all at once. His kids at school, his classes, his new research, all of it and more. 

He was a little embarrassed now upon realising that he’d been talking so much the whole night, rarely ever stopping. And he was so certain you’d never want to talk or even text him again. But then you asked him if he wanted to walk you home. 

Ryland agreed a little too quickly. Then he felt embarrassed again. But you just laughed at his awkward little mumbles as he tried to play it cool. 

The whole walk he promised himself he’d finally ask you questions and let you do the talking. But he ended up going off on yet another random tangent about why physical laws even exist at all. In his defense, your follow-up questions were so engaging that he felt like he could keep this conversation going forever. 

Before Ryland knew it, you were both standing on the steps leading to your front porch. With the soft golden light like a halo all around you, Ryland knew in that moment that you were the most stunning woman he had ever and will ever meet. And he felt even worse about the evening. 

He couldn’t keep it in anymore. So he rambled on. 

“I’m sorry,” He said, followed quickly by, “I know I’ve been a– a mess. I am a mess.” He repeated and carried on talking. “I really wanted tonight to go well and I ruined everything by talking so much. About school, about my research, about my students and work and– and I didn’t even ask you anything about yourself, or where you are from. I barely even let you speak. Or tell me anything about yourself. On top of that I’m wearing this stupid shirt. That’s not even the worst part. I didn’t let you speak. Can you believe that? I went on a date with the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met and I didn’t even ask her where she was born. All I know is that you moved here, but I mean–,” 

You cut him off by gently grabbing him by the collars of his blazer and pulling him in for a kiss. He wasn’t expecting it so Ryland was stunned for a second or two. Then he finally kissed you back, his arms instinctively finding themselves around your waist, pulling you into his warm chest. 

Fuck, he thought to himself, it felt nice to have his arms around you. 

When you pulled away, Ryland was still a little stunned. All he did was blink at you with his clear blue ocean eyes. He quickly reached up and adjusted his glasses which slid down his nose. But he said nothing. He just stared down at you. 

You kept your hands around his shoulders, looking down quickly and noticed that some type of nerdy t-shirt peeked through the blazer. It only made him even more attractive. What a nerd, you thought, sighing with adoration. 

“Listen here, Dr. Grace.” You teased him playfully, “I wouldn’t have agreed to go on a date with you if I didn’t like a passionate, awkward, kind of nerdy, incredibly handsome, and talkative man. Okay?” You smiled up at him. 

“Okay?” He sounded just a little confused. Poor thing. 

You leaned in and gave him yet another sweet kiss on the cheek. His rough stubble tickling your mouth as you did. Ryland spoke then, yet again apologising, “I’m sorry. I know that was a terrible first date. But I would really like a second one. Please, I’ll be better. I promise.” He said, giving you those sad puppy eyes. The depths of which one could write endless poems about. 

“You wanna come in for a bit?” You suggested. “And maybe we can talk about that second date?” You spoke, your hands deliberately trailing down his body. From his shoulders to his chest. He was nice and tall, the right amount of lean and muscular. Lots and lots of terrain to explore. 

Ryland was quiet, apparently captivated by the way your hands delicately roamed down his chest. His breathing deepened. His brain was short circuiting. All he could do was silently follow your hands and fingers as they drew random shapes all over his chest. He was certain you’d be able to feel his heart thundering inside his chest by now. 

“Ryland?” 

“Yeah. Yes? I’m listening.” He said, then cleared his throat. He hadn’t been listening. 

Fuck he was so adorable when nervous. 

“Do you plan on lingering out on my front porch, or will you please come inside so I can kiss you like I’ve been dying to all night?” 

— 

Stumbling into bed with Ryland crashing into you as you fell made you feel like you were floating. Like you were on a cloud and everything was perfect. Ryland was almost as giddy as you were. His touch was gentle, and a little hesitant. He waited for a greenlight from you each time his touch and kisses got more and more heated. He’d do that thing where he’d reach for you, but then look at you over his glasses to see if it was okay, then he’d proceed enthusiastically. 

It made you all warm and fuzzy inside each time he did that. 

Contrary to what Ryland thought, you would say you had a great night. Nice food with a gorgeous, intelligent man who was gentle and kind and cared about his job and the environment. Who also happened to be a passionate speaker, and who spent the whole night entertaining you with his silly stories and elaborate scientific theories and more. What bliss! 

“We can slow down,” Ryland said, in between steamy kisses, “If you want.” Another quick kiss. “We can watch a movie, or–,” He cut himself off by kissing you harder, pulling you closer. “We don’t have to, I mean I want to, but it’s not like I’m expecting you to–,” 

“Ryland. Shut up and kiss me.” 

“Okay.” 

When you finally got him out of his blazer, you had to take a moment and giggle over his dorky t-shirt. One with a giant cat sitting on the Golden Gate Bridge. He looked down and let out a dramatic sigh. 

“Please tell me you have another one of these.” You said, already working to get him out of the t-shirt. 

“I… I do.” He sounded defeated as he tossed his shirt over his head, messing up his glasses. 

“Good,” You fixed his glasses for him before you climbed onto his lap as he sat on the edge of your bed. Looking glorious, even more so than before now that he was shirtless, just in his jeans. “Because you’re leaving this one right here. For me.” You laughed when he tried to hide his face into the crook of your neck. 

“You can keep it.” His voice sounded all muffled as he spoke into your neck. Then he pulled away and looked up, his rough cheek tickling your skin in the process again. “As long as I get to take you out on another date.” 

When you smiled and nodded at him, before leaning in and kissing him deeply, Ryland felt like the world around him had gotten a little brighter. 

And he kissed you back with equal excitement, flipping you around and laying you down in bed as he hovered above you. “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

“It is a ‘yes’, Dr. Grace.” You confirmed, reaching to touch his face. 

Ryland smiled and said, “Well then I better make up for tonight’s disaster.” He leaned down and kissed your neck. “I’m sorry again, I keep rambling anytime I have the chance.” He kissed further down your neck as he spoke. “Shut me up next time. Tell me to shut up. Please.” 

You giggled as he kissed and carefully bit your skin along your collarbones, making you arch your back, pressing your body further into him. “I will.” You spoke, then gasped in pleasure and surprise when you felt Ryland’s warm hands on your inner thighs. 

He pulled away from your neck and looked down at you, “Are you okay, baby? Is this okay?” He asked in a hushed tone, keeping his hands right where they were on your skin. 

“Yes.” You whispered, then gasped again when he dove back in to kiss your neck while his hands caressed your thighs, massaging them gently. Almost lovingly. His touch was so slow in fact that you were getting more and more desperate the longer he took to touch you where you craved him the most. “Ryland?” You couldn’t take it anymore. He hadn’t even gotten you out of your dress yet. Meanwhile he was shirtless, all that body on display and torturing you. 

“Hmm?” He looked up at you. Mouth mere inches off your skin. 

You almost groaned at how he genuinely seemed to have no idea how badly you wanted him. “Please stop teasing me.” You began lowering the shoulder straps of your dress all by yourself. You needed him. Now. 

But Ryland stopped you by carefully seizing your wrists and pinning them above your head. He did it so smoothly too. “Now, when did I say you could do that?” He whispered against your open mouth. “Hmm? Did I ask you to do that?” 

You shook your head, looking up into his gorgeous eyes and wondering where that dominant tone came from. You weren’t complaining. Quite the contrary. “No. You didn’t.” 

He nodded slowly. “That’s right. I said I was gonna make it up to you, didn’t I? Well, I am. So let me take my time. Okay, baby? I know you want it. I can feel it. You think I can’t tell how wet you are by the way you’re drenching my hand.” For emphasis, he pressed his fingers in between your legs, pressing against your very wet, very thin underwear. “Hmm? You think I can’t tell?” 

“Ryland, please…” You whimpered when you realised he was purposely messing with you. And who knows for how long he intended to do that. 

“Oh poor you.” He teased, leaning closer until your warm breaths mingled. “I’m gonna take care of you, don’t you worry. Just let me take my time. I’ve got you. I know what you want, and I’m gonna give it to you. Just… let me. Can you do that for me, baby?” He kissed the corner of your mouth, making you whimper again, “Can you let me take my time with you?” 

“Fuck…” You mumbled. “Yes. Yes, please. Just… I need you to touch me, Ryland. Please.” You begged. 

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry.” 

He took his time in sliding the straps of your dress down your shoulders, dragging the soft fabric down your body, leaving you more and more naked and exposed under him. 

“So beautiful.” He mumbled to himself as his kisses followed the fabric of the dress lowering down your torso. 

You shivered once he left your dress bunched around your waist carelessly, not fully undressing you. It wasn’t just because of the slightly cold air that you shivered. It was because of how intensely Ryland was staring at you. His glasses had slid down that perfect nose yet again, he didn’t adjust it this time. And somehow it made him look even hotter. 

Fuck. Being so attracted to a man’s glasses’ placement has to be a more worrying issue. But you didn’t care. All you cared about was needing his hands on you. 

By the time Ryland finally got to actually touching you, you were a whimpering, panting, needy mess. Just writhing under him. Your brain all foggy. Your body aching with desire. 

But he was such a fucking tease it was driving you insane. 

He kissed down your exposed torso, your hips, your thighs, whispering, “Look at you, huh? So needy.” He kissed right above your clit, his warm breath making your body come alive. “Is this what you want? You want me to make you feel good? Huh, baby? Talk to me, come on. Use your words.” 

You weren’t sure if you’d sound coherent if you spoke but you tried your best. “Yes, please. Ryland… make it feel good.” 

“I will.” He whispered, as his hands spread your legs and you felt his mouth right on top of you. Hungry. Seeking. Wanting. His warm tongue licked along your slit, his hands spreading your thighs even further apart to give him better access. 

It was rare to find a man who knew what he was doing down there. Especially with his mouth. But Ryland surprised you yet again with that skilled tongue of his. Your hand moved lazily, fingers sliding easily into his luscious, silky soft hair, messing it up even more than it already was. 

You felt like your body was melting under his touch. His hands rubbing your thighs adoringly while his mouth drove you insane. He was good at making you cry out in pleasure. His tongue, skilled and soft against your wet folds. His lips with the right amount of suction on your clit. 

You held yourself up for a moment, your elbows digging into your mattress as you looked down at him. All that golden skin, that faint layer of sweat all over him… he looked divine. 

Then there were those eyes… 

Even through his glasses you could see the spark in them. You saw how they lit up each time you let out a higher pitch moan, or each time your fingers tugged on his hair, scratching his scalp so good he even let out a moan himself while he ate you out. 

“Fuck. Ryland.” You cried out, writhing under him as he pushed his tongue deeper into you. Teasing you with the softest, deliberate licks. You couldn’t look away then. His stare was intense, giving you chills despite the heat inside you rising like never before. 

He smirked then. The sound of his name leaving your mouth so desperately gave him such a rush. It drove him crazy. “Oh, you like that, huh?” He whispered, his rough stubble brushing against your skin, rough against your inner thighs. He slowly brought a finger up to your clit, sliding it agonisingly slowly down your slit, parting your wet folds. “What about this? You like this? You sound like you do.” He paused for a second, slid a finger inside you, stroking your walls gently while he placed his mouth back on your clit for a taste and said, “You sure taste like you do.” His tongue slowly circled your throbbing clit, then down, parting your wet folds with ease.  

Ryland had you coming undone all over his tongue in no time. His deep blue eyes watched you in awe and how you lost control under his touch, legs shaking as he teased your clit and finger-fucked your ever so gently.  

With his arms keeping you pinned to the mattress and unable to escape, he was so quick to figure out what worked and what didn’t. What made you squeeze his head in between your thighs and what made your back arch. What made you tug on his hair harder because he loved that and what made you breathless. 

“Come for me.” He whispered, before latching his mouth onto your pussy. Devouring you. His tongue moved in a way that made you lose control. 

You were gasping for air, moaning his name, wanting more, and more, and more… You came hard, all over his tongue, your walls clenching violently around his finger, your moans and gasps of pleasure filled the room. 

Ryland finally let go of your shaky legs and kissed his way up your body, hovering above you again. He stared deep into your eyes. You couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried, look away from his pink, glistening lips. His hair was definitely messier now that you’d been so rough with it. You slid your hands back into his hair, massaging his scalp a little. 

Ryland closed his eyes for a moment, savouring your touch. Then opened his eyes again and asked, “Are you okay?” 

You nodded, looking up at him. “I liked that.” You murmured, giddy with pleasure. 

Ryland smiled down at you. “I know you did. Pretty sure I have scratches all over my neck. Gonna have to wear some turtlenecks to work for a day or two.” 

You both laughed. 

Then you asked, “Can I touch you now?” Your hands were already reaching down for his belt. He nodded, but you were already undoing his buckle as you pushed Ryland down on the bed next to you and got on top of him, straddling his lap. The rough denim brushing against your bare thighs. 

Ryland reached out to touch your face, caressing your cheek tenderly. “You can do whatever you want.” 

So you did. In no time you were in between his legs, ass up in the air, with his cock in your mouth. 

Ryland had that pleading look on his face, groaning as you took him into your mouth as much as you could. “Fuck, look at you.” He whispered, still caressing your face lovingly as your tongue teased him in the best ways. “Keep your eyes on me, baby. I like how you look at me.” 

He held your head gently, in that same adoring manner you were starting to get used to, and watched you intently with parted pink lips, gasping in pleasure, as you took him. “There we go.” He said, “You’re so good at this, aren’t you?” His voice was so gentle. “You’ve been wanting to do that for a while, huh?” 

You held his stare and nodded. 

Ryland was so gentle with you. Even as his gasps and moans got louder and louder. 

“Fuck.” He swore. “You want more, baby?” He lifted his hips up slowly, he held your head gently and pushed himself deeper into your mouth. “Yeah? Is that what you wanted?” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathing through your nose, taking him in until he hit the back of your throat. You felt all of him, his smooth skin, his raw taste, and you couldn’t get enough. Your fingers clawed at his thighs through his jeans as he groaned and grunted, filling your mouth. 

“Oh fuck.” He swore again. “God damn it, baby, slow down.” His voice cracked as he grunted while also moving his hips, shoving his cock deeper into your mouth and helping you swallow more and more of him. His head tilted back, his lips parted as he gasped for air while you moved your mouth up and down his cock. And he looked glorious while he lost control. Those damn glasses almost falling off his face. 

You teased him as much as you could, but he soon began begging for you to stop. 

“Come on,” He pleaded. “I can’t come yet, baby please.” 

Followed by more pleas. 

“Please, I really wanna fuck you.” 

“Oh my god, please slow down.” 

“Please don’t make me come yet.” 

“Slow down, baby.” 

All said in a desperate hiss. 

You weren’t ready for the whimpers that followed his pleas. And you almost gave in and made him come because his moans and whimpers were so damn hot, but then you slowed to a stop. Pulling away and straddling him again. 

Ryland did his best to catch his breath before flipping you two around, pinning you into the mattress again. Yet he was still panting as he looked down at you, his warm breath mingling with yours. “Had your fun?” He asked, using that playful, stern tone from earlier again. 

He sounded so different from the man who was whimpering just a minute earlier. 

You nodded, giggling, and clearly still riding that high from earlier. “You’re so hot when you beg.” 

Ryland let out a little laugh as he leaned in to kiss your nose. Then the corner of your mouth, then along your jaw, and down your neck. “Can I make you feel good again now? Hmm? Can I please fuck you, baby?” 

You whined before answering, your back arching already. “Yes, Ryland.” 

“Well spread your legs then,” He made you laugh again with his sudden, straightforward demand. 

But you obeyed quickly. Ryland cradled your head in his hands, holding you so tenderly as if he thought you were fragile. 

“I’ve got you.” He said, as he held your stare, slowly sliding inside of you, both of you moaning softly as he went. 

“Ryland…” You hissed in pleasure, unable to look away from his gorgeous blue eyes. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.” He whispered, nothing but desire and love in his eyes. He leaned in again, whispering against the corner of your open mouth, “Where have you been all my life, huh?” 

You felt his cock stretching you, filling you up. Every thick inch of him sliding into your tight cunt. “Oh fuck, Ryland…” You gasped. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He said, pressing his forehead to yours. He held you close as he moved his hips.

“You… you feel so good.” You could feel your eyes tearing up at how snug he felt inside you. 

“I know.” He almost whimpered again. 

He pulled away to watch you. Ryland held your stare as he reached down to grab your legs and wrapped them around his waist. He looked down to where your bodies connected, he watched his cock slowly moving in and out of you then leaned down to give you a messy kiss, swallowing your desperate moans in the process. 

“That’s it, baby. Let me in.” He whispered. 

You couldn’t help your loud moans as he moved his hips expertly. You thanked whoever or whatever taught him how to do that. You could feel your walls clenching around him as he sped up and pounded into you. 

You felt all of him stretching you, filling you up, moving rapidly in and out of you until he was all you could focus on. His eyes remained fixed on yours. Ocean blue, now familiar. 

“You feel so good…” He whispered, pounding into you relentlessly, his hand instinctively wrapping around your throat as he bent down to bite your lower lip and tug on it. “So perfect for me. My pretty girl.” 

His voice was driving you insane. You moaned at how perfect his lean body felt against yours, his weight pressing down on you. His slight stubble tickled your skin as he moved. And you slid your fingers into his hair, tugging on it even more now that you knew he liked it. He probably liked it a little too much since he wouldn’t stop letting out discreet whimpers each time you gave his hair a slightly hard pull. 

Your legs trembled as you wrapped them tighter around his waist. His thrusts, relentless and unbearably good. The pressure around your lower body, tight and hot.

Ryland looked down at you as you tightened around his cock. “Hey,” He spoke softly, his thumb toying with your lower lip. “Look at me.” When you did, he whispered, “Just hold on, okay? Don’t come yet. Just a little longer, baby.” 

You nodded, eyes half closed, but unsure if you could. He felt so fucking good and you were right on the edge… right on that fucking edge…

He must have noticed your eyes rolling back because he spoke again. 

“Come on, baby.” He pleaded again, pressing his warm forehead against yours. “I know, I know.” He reassured you. “But just hold it for me, okay? Just a minute longer, baby. I know you can do it.” He murmured. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” 

The tenderness and care in his voice only made you clench around him again. 

“Oh look at you. You can’t even hold it a little longer.” He gave you a lazy, cocky smile, “Are you gonna come for me now?” His hand squeezed your throat just a little, making you moan even louder. He gave you a messy kiss. “Come all over my cock then, come on.” 

You whimpered, unable to say anything because of how good he felt sliding in and out of you. The familiar pressure formed at your core and you whined again when his hand let go of your throat and his eager fingers found your clit, toying with it while he pounded into you mercilessly.

“That’s it.” He cooed when your moans got louder. “You’re doing so well for me, look at you. Now come, come all over me,” He whispered and that was all you needed to hear before you came undone all around him. Whimpering and back arching off the bed as you came hard around his cock, tightening around him. 

Ryland kept pounding into you as your orgasm washed over you, your walls squeezing him violently. Your body trembling under his intense gaze. You felt his thrust becoming irregular, and felt his cock throb against your walls violently. “Fuck.” He hissed again, then groaned as he quickly pulled out just in time and came all over your thighs.  

You whined and whimpered as you felt his cum drip down your thighs. 

“Fuck…” You whined as you caught your breath. 

“Come here,” He whispered as pulled out and he laid down beside you, pulling you into his damp, but warm chest for a cuddle. You curled up against him in no time. 

He panted, still catching his breath. “I think you deserve the t-shirt.”

Right on cue, the soft hiss of the lab doors sliding open broke the quiet.

You didn't turn around immediately, letting the rustle of his jumpsuit and the soft, hesitant thud of his sneakers against the metal floor grating announce his arrival. He walked into the lab, stopping a safe, meticulously calculated four feet away from your chair.

"Hey," he said. His voice was a little too loud for the dim lighting, tightly wound with nervous energy.

You pushed your chair back slightly and turned to face him, keeping your feet planted on the floor. "Hey, Ryland."

He was clutching a digital tablet to his chest like a ballistic shield. His hair was slightly ruffled, and that betraying flush was still lingering high on his cheekbones.

"So. I've been doing some thinking," he started, launching immediately into his rehearsed speech before his courage could fail him. His words came out in a rapid-fire, heavily academic clip. "And some reading. I reviewed the ship's psychological medical files regarding long-term, deep-space isolation, and I think it's really important that we contextualize what happened in the control room."

You raised an eyebrow, staying perfectly still. "Contextualize it."

"Yes!" He tapped the tablet, not looking at you, his eyes locked desperately on the screen. "You see, in an environment devoid of external stimuli, the human endocrine system begins to aggressively seek out serotonin and dopamine. Furthermore, forced proximity combined with high-stress situations can cause an artificial spike in oxytocin, leading the brain to misinterpret standard platonic attachment as a... as a romantic imperative."

He finally looked up from the tablet, offering a tight, panic-laced smile. "So, the slip-up earlier, the vocabulary choice... it was just a neurochemical misfire. Entirely clinical. We can just log it as a symptom of space madness and completely forget it ever happened. Right?"

Instead of answering, you stood up.

The gravity felt heavy and grounding as you closed the four feet of empty space separating you with slow, deliberate steps. He took a sudden, panicked step backward until his shoulders hit the cool metal of the bulkhead with a soft thud.

You didn't stop. You stepped completely into his personal space, so close that the toes of your shoes bumped gently against his sneakers. Because of the height difference, you had to tilt your head back to look at him. The proximity forced him to look down, his posture stiffening as he tried to press himself as flat against the wall as physically possible.

"Clinical," you repeated, keeping your voice low and soft.

"Y-yes," he stammered. His eyes were wide, darting nervously across your face before dropping to your lips and quickly snapping back up to the ceiling. He swallowed so hard you saw the apple of his throat bob. "Very clinical. Textbook."

You let a small, teasing smile touch your lips. You reached up, lightly resting your palm flat against the center of his chest.

Ryland made a sound that was half-whimper, half-squeak. Beneath the thin fabric of his jumpsuit, you could feel his heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against your palm. His fingers went completely slack. The digital tablet slipped from his grasp, hitting the metal floor grating with a sharp, loud clack.

"So, the isolation made you do it," you murmured, lightly tracing the zipper line of his jumpsuit with your fingertips. "The oxytocin made you call me a good girl in that exact tone of voice."

"Please don't say it back to me," he whispered miserably. He squeezed his eyes shut, letting his head thump back against the bulkhead. "I'm going to die. My heart is going to give out before we even reach Tau Ceti."

"I don't know, Dr. Grace," you murmured, stepping just a fraction of an inch closer. Your voice was barely a whisper now. "Your heart feels pretty strong right now. It's practically beating out of your chest. Is that the oxytocin, too?"

"It's the... the adrenaline," he choked out, opening his eyes. He was trying so desperately to keep his composure, but his gaze immediately dropped to your mouth again. "Flight or... or fight response."

"And which one are you doing?" you teased gently. "Because you're backed against a wall, Ryland, and you're definitely not fighting me."

"I..." His voice cracked completely. "I'm trying very hard to be professional."

You waited for a moment, letting your hand rest against his chest, giving him the chance to drop the act. But he just stood there, frozen in place, his breathing shallow and his eyes wide behind his glasses, completely paralyzed by his own over-analytical brain.

You let out a soft, slightly resigned sigh. You let your hand drop from his chest, taking a slow step backward.

"Okay," you said quietly. The teasing edge completely left your voice, leaving behind something far more gentle and a little sad. "I can give you space to be professional, if that's what you really want. Goodnight, Ryland."

You turned away from him, your sneakers scuffing softly against the floor grating as you started to walk back toward the lab doors.

You only made it two steps.

"Wait."

His voice wasn't a stammer this time; it was slightly raspy, sudden, and urgent.

Before you could fully turn around, his hand caught yours. His long fingers wrapped around your hand, halting your momentum instantly. The grip wasn't painful, but it was incredibly firm - the grounding, desperate hold of someone who had just realized exactly what they were about to lose.

You paused, looking back over your shoulder.

Ryland wasn't pressed against the wall anymore. He had taken a sudden step forward, closing the distance you had just tried to put between you. The panic was still there in his eyes, but the hesitation was gone, overridden by the sheer terror of watching you walk away.

"Don't," he breathed. He tugged gently on your hand, pulling you back around to face him. "Please don't go."

"Ryland..."

"I'm not trying to be professional," he confessed, the words tumbling out of him in a rushed, breathless whisper. He stepped closer, using his grip on your hand to gently pull you back into his space. "I'm just... I'm terrified. I don't know what I'm doing, and you're so incredible, and my brain is just short-circuiting because I can't believe this is actually happening."

He lifted your hand, pressing the back of your knuckles softly against his chest, right over his racing heart.

"The data is flawed," he murmured, a shaky, self-deprecating smile finally touching his lips as he looked down at you. "It's not oxytocin."

He didn't give his brain another second to overthink it. He let go of your hand, only so his arms could encircle you. He bowed his head, his shoulders hunching slightly to accommodate the height difference, and finally pressed his mouth to yours.

The kiss wasn't perfectly smooth or practiced, but it was overwhelmingly sweet, dizzyingly eager, and completely unguarded. He kissed you like a man who had been starving for years and had suddenly been handed a feast. You felt his rigid posture give way entirely as he let out a soft, shuddering sigh against your lips. His arms wrapped securely around your back, holding you close, his warmth chasing away the chill of the lab. You slid your hands up to his shoulders, tangling your fingers gently in the hair at the nape of his neck.

When you finally broke apart to breathe, he didn't pull away. Instead, he just let his forehead drop to rest heavily on your shoulder, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. His chest heaved against yours as he tried to catch his breath, and you could feel the furious heat radiating off his cheeks.

"So," you whispered into his ruffled hair, a tiny smile playing on your lips as you rubbed soothing circles into his back. "Still think it was just a neurochemical misfire?"

Ryland let out a breathless, muffled groan against your shoulder. He held you a little tighter, completely abandoning any remaining pretense of being 'just colleagues'.

"Okay," he mumbled into your collarbone, refusing to lift his head and face his own mortification just yet. "Okay, fine. I admit it. My hypothesis was completely wrong."

You let out a soft laugh, resting your cheek against the top of his head. The tension that had been suffocating the ship for hours finally broke, replaced by a warm, comfortable domesticity.

"I'm glad to hear it," you murmured.

He stayed hidden in the crook of your neck for a long moment, just breathing you in, letting his nervous system finally catch up to the reality that you weren't going to reject him. When he finally lifted his head, the furious blush had faded to a soft, warm pink across his cheekbones. His glasses were slightly askew, and his hair was an absolute mess. He looked incredibly handsome.

He didn't pull away. Instead, his hands slid from your waist around to the small of your back, resting there as he looked down at you. The panic in his eyes was entirely gone, replaced by a deep, overwhelming affection that made your breath hitch.

"You're going to get a crick in your neck," he murmured softly, his thumb gently stroking the fabric of your jumpsuit at your spine.

Before you could ask what he meant, he took a half-step forward. With a surprising, quiet strength, he gripped your waist, lifted you effortlessly, and set you down on the edge of the metal lab counter behind you.

The change in elevation brought you perfectly eye-to-eye.

Ryland let out a small, satisfied sigh at the new arrangement. He stepped between your knees, stepping completely flush against the counter. He reached up, his hands gently framing your face. His thumbs lightly brushed across your cheekbones, tracing the line of your jaw with a reverence that made your heart ache.

"Much better," he whispered.

This time, when he kissed you, there was no hesitation. The desperate, frantic energy of his first kiss smoothed out into something slow, deliberate, and dizzyingly intimate. He tasted like the bitter ship's coffee and the minty toothpaste from the washroom, a bizarrely comforting combination. You wrapped your arms around his neck, tangling your fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer.

He let out a low, rough sound in the back of his throat, his hands sliding down from your face to trace the line of your neck, his fingers lightly brushing against your collarbone - a deliberate, lingering echo of the touch that had started this entire cascade. His lips trailed softly to the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw, pressing open-mouthed, heated kisses against your skin that sent a searing jolt straight down your spine. He wasn't dominant or aggressive; he was thorough, attentive, and incredibly observant, learning exactly what made you gasp and immediately repeating it.

The cool, sterile air of the laboratory seemed to evaporate, replaced by a heavy, suffocating heat. You tilted your head back, letting your eyes fall shut as his lips moved to the sensitive skin just below your ear.

"Ryland..." you breathed out, your voice slightly wrecked.

He paused, resting his forehead against your temple, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing. "Am I doing okay?" he whispered, his voice incredibly rough, still carrying that adorkable need for positive reinforcement.

"You're doing amazing," you managed to say, pulling him back in.

He smiled against your lips, a bright, genuine thing, and leaned in to kiss you again-

Beep.

The sharp, electronic chime of the PA system echoed through the quiet lab, instantly shattering the heavy silence.

"Observation. Human biological monitors are registering unprecedented spikes."

The deadpan, robotic monotone of the translation software blared from the ceiling speakers. Ryland froze instantly, his lips hovering a millimeter above yours.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," Ryland groaned, his forehead dropping heavily onto your shoulder.

"Heart rates are highly elevated," Rocky's voice continued mercilessly. "Body temperatures have increased by zero-point-eight degrees Celsius. Respiratory rates indicate lack of oxygen. Are you experiencing a medical emergency, question? Or is this the continuation of the mating ritual, question?"

You pressed your face into Ryland's shoulder, your shoulders shaking with silent, uncontrollable laughter. Ryland let out a long, long sigh, resting his weight against you for a moment before reluctantly pulling back.

"I forgot about him," he muttered, adjusting his glasses. "I completely forgot about the very smart, very nosy alien spider who has complete access to our biometric data."

You hopped down from the counter, smoothing out your jumpsuit while still biting your lip to suppress a grin. "We have to answer him, Ryland, or he's going to roll in here to administer first aid."

Ryland dragged a hand down his face, looking up at the nearest security camera. He hit the comms button on the lab console.

"We are not having a medical emergency, Rocky," Ryland said, trying to inject as much calm, teacher-like authority into his voice as possible. "We are... we are fine."

"Understood," the robotic voice replied. "Then it is the mating ritual. Does Earth biology require privacy for mating, question?"

Ryland's entire face burned a spectacular shade of crimson. He looked at you, utterly mortified, but you just nodded encouragingly, gesturing for him to continue.

"Yes," Ryland said, his voice cracking slightly. "Yes, Rocky. Human... human bonding requires a high degree of privacy. It is a very strict cultural imperative."

"Fascinating. Eridanians sleep in large piles to maintain temperature and security. Isolation is illogical. But I will respect Earth customs."

A series of musical chords filtered through the speakers, the raw audio of Rocky humming to himself, before the translator kicked back in.

"I have disabled the biometric alerts and audio-visual feeds for the human sleeping quarters. I will remain in the engineering bay. Have a good mating ritual. Words of encouragement.”

The comms clicked off, plunging the lab back into the low hum of the centrifuge drive.

You stared at the speaker for a moment, letting the sheer absurdity of the conversation wash over you, before you finally let out a loud, genuine laugh.

Ryland buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. "I am a respected scientist," he mumbled into his palms. "I have published papers. And I just asked an alien for permission to have privacy with my crewmate."

You walked over, gently prying his hands away from his face. His eyes were crinkled at the corners, a sheepish, hopelessly fond smile breaking through his embarrassment.

"Well," you said softly, linking your fingers through his. "He did turn off the cameras in the sleeping quarters."

Ryland looked down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The nervous energy was entirely gone now, replaced by a quiet, deep anticipation. He looked back up at you, the dark intensity returning to his eyes.

"He did," Ryland agreed, his voice dropping back down into that low, quiet register. He gave your hand a gentle tug, pulling you toward the lab doors. "We should probably go verify that his modifications to the security system are fully functional."

"Very clinical of you, Dr. Grace."

"Extremely," he murmured, a completely smitten smile on his face as he led you out into the blue-lit corridor.

The walk down the corridor was a study in sensory overload.

After months of navigating the Hail Mary with careful, professional distance, the simple act of holding his hand felt completely grounding. His palm was warm and slightly calloused, his long fingers interwoven tightly with yours. The ship’s night cycle bathed the narrow hallway in a deep, sapphire glow, and the only sound was the steady, heavy thrum of the centrifuge and the quiet scuff of your shoes against the floor grating.

When you reached the door to your quarters, the keypad glowed a soft green. The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and you stepped inside, the door automatically sealing shut behind you.

The sleeping quarters were not designed for romance. They were small, utilitarian, and dominated by the narrow bunk built securely into the bulkhead. The air in here always felt a little cooler, stripped of the residual heat from the laboratory equipment.

But as the door clicked into its lock, isolating the two of you completely from the rest of the ship - and from the universe at large - the sterile room suddenly felt incredibly small, and incredibly charged.

Ryland let go of your hand, only to reach up and gently cup your face again. In the dim light of the cabin, without his glasses slipping or his scientific brain frantically trying to categorize his emotions, he looked incredibly soft. The adorkable, frantic microbiologist was still there, but beneath it was a man who was looking at you with a reverence that stole the breath right out of your lungs.

"I can't believe we're actually doing this," he whispered, his thumb tracing the line of your cheekbone. It wasn't a question of hesitation, but a statement of pure, unadulterated awe. "I've spent the last months terrified that if I looked at you for too long, you'd figure it out."

"Figure what out?" you asked softly, leaning into his touch.

"That you are the absolute center of my gravity right now," he breathed, his voice rough and incredibly earnest. "And we are currently in a one-g spin."

You let out a shaky, quiet laugh, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. "That was a terrible physics pun, Dr. Grace."

"I'm a desperate man," he murmured, a smile curving against your lips just before he kissed you.

The gentle, tentative exploration from the lab vanished, replaced by a deep, aching certainty. He stepped fully into your space, backing you slowly until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. His hands slid down from your face, moving with a careful, deliberate focus to the heavy, industrial zipper at the collar of your standard-issue jumpsuit.

His fingers worked the zipper down, the metal teeth separating with a soft, rhythmic rasp. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the small cabin, punctuated only by the low thrum of the centrifuge and the quick, shallow rhythm of his breathing.

You could feel him trembling - just slightly - as he pushed the jumpsuit off your shoulders, letting the fabric fall and pool at your feet. The cool air of the cabin raised goosebumps along your arms, but the heat radiating off his body, pressed so close to yours, quickly chased the chill away.

"You're shaking," you whispered, your hands coming up to rest on his bare forearms.

"I know." He didn't deny it. His eyes met yours, dark and earnest in the dim blue light, his glasses slightly askew. "I know I'm not- I haven't- It's been a very long time, and I want this to be good for you. I want you."

You pulled him closer, your fingers working at the zipper of his own jumpsuit now. "So stop trying to hypothesize and just ask me what I like."

A shaky exhale escaped him. "What do you like?"

"This," you said, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "And this." Another kiss, softer, to his jaw. "And when you're confident. When you stop second-guessing and just take what you want."

His gaze dropped to your mouth, then lower, tracing the line of your throat, the curve of your breasts beneath the thin tank top you wore underneath your jumpsuit.

He reached for the hem of your tank top, his knuckles brushing against your stomach as he bunched the fabric in his hands. You lifted your arms, and he pulled it over your head, discarding it somewhere on the floor. His breath caught audibly as his eyes traveled over you - your bare skin, the way your chest rose and fell with quickening breaths, the flush spreading across your collarbone.

"God," he breathed, the word barely audible. "You're so beautiful. I've imagined this - l've tried not to imagine this, because it felt invasive, but-" He swallowed hard, his hands hovering just above your hips, not quite touching. "Can I-"

"Yes," you said, pulling him closer. "Ryland, yes."

His hands finally made contact, sliding around your waist, spanning the curve of your hips. His palms were warm, slightly rough, and they left trails of fire in their wake as they traveled upward, tracing the sides of your ribs, the underside of your breasts. He was looking at you like you were the answer to every question he'd ever asked.

You reached up, your fingers gently removing his glasses and folding them carefully, setting them on the small shelf beside the bunk before tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling his mouth down to yours.

The kiss was deeper now, hungrier. His tongue slid against yours, and you tasted the desperation there, the months of suppressed longing finally unleashed. His hands grew bolder, cupping your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. You gasped against his mouth, arching into his touch, and he made a low, rough sound in response.

"Bed," he managed, his voice wrecked.

"We should - the bed is right there-"

You nodded, letting him guide you backward until your knees hit the edge of the narrow bunk. You sat down on the thin mattress, looking up at him as he stood over you, chest heaving, his pupils blown wide.

"You're wearing too many clothes," you observed.

A shaky laugh escaped him. "Working on it."

He reached for the zipper or his jumpsuit, pulling it down with a steady hand that belied his nervousness. The fabric parted, and he shrugged it off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. Underneath, he wore a black t-shirt-and across the front, in block letters, it read:

I had potential.

You burst out laughing. "You wore that. Under your uniform. On a mission to save humanity."

His cheeks flushed crimson, but he was grinning. "It was a gift from my students. It's lucky."

"It's terrible."

"And yet," he said, tugging the hem of the shirt, "you're smiling."

He pulled the t-shirt over his head, and the laughter died in your throat.

Because beneath the nerdy exterior, Ryland Grace was jacked.

There was no other word for it. His chest was broad and sculpted, pectorals so defined they looked carved from stone. His shoulders were massive, capped with muscle. His arms were thick, biceps straining against nothing, veins tracing along his forearms.

His abdominal muscles were a ridged, symmetrical washboard, the kind you saw on fitness magazines, not on microbiologists. And trailing down from his navel was a dark line of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his boxers, drawing your gaze exactly where he clearly wanted it to go.

You stared. You couldn't help it.

He caught you looking and his flush deepened, but something else flickered in his eyes. Confidence. Heat. He flexed slightly - unconsciously, or maybe not - and his pecs shifted.

"See something you like?" he asked, his voice lower now.

"You've been hiding that under a baggy jumpsuit for months?"

He shrugged, and the movement made his shoulders roll impressively. "Didn't seem professional to walk around shirtless."

You reached out, trailing a finger down the center of his chest, tracing the line between his pectorals, then down each ridge of his abs. He shivered under your touch, his breath catching.

"Definitely not professional," you murmured. "Definitely a problem."

"I can put the shirt back on-"

"Don't you dare."

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and pushed them down, stepping out of them with an awkward haste that made you smile. He was hard - clearly, obviously hard - and the sight of him, completely bare and utterly vulnerable in the dim blue light, sent a pulse of heat straight between your legs.

"Your turn," he said, his voice dropping into that lower register that made your stomach flip. He knelt in front of you, his hands finding the waistband of your underwear.

"Can I-"

"Yes. Please."

He tugged them down your legs, his knuckles brushing against your thighs, your knees, your calves. He paused when you were bare, his hands resting on your knees, his eyes fixed on the apex of your thighs. His breath came in short, uneven bursts.

"You have no idea," he whispered, "how many times I've thought about this. About you. About what you would sound like. What you would taste like."

"Then stop thinking," you said softly, reaching down to cup his face, tilting his chin up so his eyes met yours. "And find out."

He needed no further encouragement.

He leaned forward, his hands sliding up your thighs, parting them gently. You let your knees fall open, making space for him, and he settled between them with a quiet sigh of relief - like he'd finally found where he belonged.

His first kiss was pressed to the inside of your knee. Then higher, to your thigh. Then higher still, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his breath hot and damp against you. You shivered, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he let out a low hum of approval.

"You're so responsive," he murmured against your skin. "I love that. I love that I can feel you react to every single thing I do."

His mouth found you - finally, finally - and your head fell back, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat. His tongue was tentative at first, exploratory, the same careful, methodical attention he gave to every experiment. But he learned fast. He always did.

He learned exactly how much pressure to apply, exactly where to focus, exactly when to circle his tongue and when to suck gently. He learned the sounds you made - the little whimpers, the sharp intakes of breath, the way you moaned his name when he did something particularly devastating. And every time he discovered something that made you gasp, he did it again, and again, until you were trembling beneath him, your thighs shaking around his shoulders.

"Ryland," you breathed, tugging at his hair.

"Ryland, I'm close-"

He didn't stop. If anything, he doubled down, his hands gripping your hips, holding you steady as his tongue worked you through the rising tide of sensation. Your back arched off the mattress, a broken cry escaping your lips as the wave crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming, your entire body shuddering through the release.

He stayed with you through it, gentling his touch as you came down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, the curve of your stomach. When you finally opened your eyes, he was looking up at you with an expression of pure, unguarded wonder.

"That," he said, his voice rough and raw, "was the single most incredible thing I have ever experienced. And l've seen a supernova."

A breathless laugh escaped you. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm honest." He crawled up your body, bracing himself above you, his forearms planted on either side of your head. His hair was a disaster, his lips were slick, and his eyes were burning with a heat that made your heart stutter. "I want to be inside you," he said quietly, no stammer, no hesitation.

"Is that okay?"

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, pulling him down so your foreheads touched. "Yes. Ryland, yes."

He reached down between your bodies, positioning himself at your entrance. You could feel him there - hot, hard, pressing against you - and the anticipation alone made your thighs clench around his hips.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he said. "Tell me if you want to stop."

"I want this." You reached up, cupping his face in your hands. "I want you, Ryland. Every overthinking, beautiful, brilliant inch of you. Now stop talking and fuck me."

The word hit him like a physical blow. His hips jerked against you, and a sound escaped him - half laugh, half moan - that vibrated through your chest.

"Yes ma'am," he breathed. He didn't push in immediately. Instead, he rocked against you, teasing, letting the friction build until you were arching up beneath him, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Ryland, please-"

He pushed inside you slowly - agonizingly slowly - inch by inch, his jaw clenched, a low groan vibrating through his chest. The stretch was exquisite, a fullness that made your eyes flutter shut and your nails dig into his shoulders.

"You're so tight," he breathed, his voice cracking. "God, you feel- I can't- fuck-"

"More," you demanded.

He gave you more. Another inch, then another, until he was buried to the hilt, his body pressed flush against yours. He stayed there for a moment, trembling, his face buried in the crook of your neck.

"You feel..." He couldn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.

You clenched around him experimentally, and he swore - a sharp, bitten-off curse that would have made his academic colleagues blush.

"Move," you whispered against his ear.

He did.

The first thrust was tentative, almost shy.

The second was deeper, harder. By the third, he had found a rhythm - slow and deep, each stroke dragging against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes.

"That's it," you breathed, your legs tightening around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Right there. Don't stop."

He didn't stop.

His hips snapped against yours, the rhythm deepening, quickening, each thrust driving him impossibly farther inside you.

"Like that?" he gasped, his forehead pressed to yours, sweat-slick and trembling. "Is this- fuck- is this what you wanted?"

"Yes," you managed, your voice breaking on the word. Your hands clawed at his back, nails raking across his shoulder blades, and he groaned - a raw, guttural sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his chest.

His hips never stopped moving, but the frantic edge softened into something deeper, more deliberate. He was making love to you now, not just fucking, and the shift made your chest ache.

"I'm not going to last," he admitted, his voice muffled against your skin. "You feel- God, you feel incredible- and l've been imagining this for so long, and I can't-" His voice broke, his hips stuttering as he fought for control. His forehead pressed hard against yours, eyes squeezed shut, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a wire about to snap.

"Don't stop," you commanded, your voice breathless but firm. Your legs locked tighter around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. "I'm close too. Don't you dare stop."

His eyes flew open. "You're-"

"Yes. So close. Please, Ryland-"

Something shifted in his expression. The desperate scramble for his own release transformed into fierce, focused determination. He wanted this for you.

Needed it.

"Okay," he breathed, adjusting his angle.

"Okay, tell me what you need."

"Harder. Right there-"

He obeyed. His hips snapped against yours with renewed purpose, each thrust deliberate, aimed, hitting that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyes. His breathing turned ragged, his control clearly fraying, but he held on. For you.

"That's it," you gasped, your nails raking down his back. "Don't stop, don't stop, don't-"

The pressure inside you coiled tighter and tighter, a spring winding toward its breaking point. He was trembling above you, sweat dripping from his temple, his jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jumping.

"I can feel you," he groaned, his voice wrecked. "I can feel you squeezing me- fuck, you're so close-"

And then his voice dropped. Lower. Darker.

That tone - the one that had started this whole thing back in the control room.

"Come for me," he murmured against your ear, his hips never slowing. "That's it. Be a good girl and come for me."

There.

The words hit you like a live wire. Your back arched off the mattress, a broken cry tearing from your throat as the orgasm crashed through you - white, hot and all-consuming, radiating from your core to your fingertips. Your inner walls clenched around him in pulsing waves, and the sensation of you coming undone around him, triggered by those two words, was the final thread holding his control together.

"God-" he choked out.

His hips snapped twice more, three times, and then he buried himself to the hilt and shattered. A raw, broken sound escaped him - half your name, half a sob-as he spilled inside you, his body shuddering through wave after wave of release. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his entire weight pressing you into the thin mattress, and he gasped against your skin like a drowning man finally breaking the surface.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

The ship hummed around you. The centrifuge spun. Somewhere in the engineering bay, an alien politely pretended not to have heard any of this.

Ryland's breathing slowly steadied. His heart hammered against your chest, wild and out of sync with your own. You could feel the dampness of sweat on his back, the fine tremor still running through his thighs.

"That was..." He lifted his head, looking down at you with glassy, adoring eyes. His hair was a disaster, his lips swollen. He looked utterly wrecked. And utterly happy.

"Clinical?" you offered, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

He snorted, burying his face in the crook of your neck again. "If I ever use that word to describe this, you have my permission to space me."

You laughed softly, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his sweat-damp back.

"Noted."

He shifted, pulling out of you with a gentle slowness that made you both wince. The loss of him left you feeling strangely empty, but he didn't go far. He rolled onto his side, pulling you with him, rearranging your bodies until you were curled against his chest, your head tucked under his chin.

"We should probably clean up," he murmured, his hand stroking up and down your spine.

"Probably," you agreed, making no move to get up.

He was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing the curve of your hip. Then, softly, almost hesitantly: "I meant what I said. About you being the center of my gravity. That wasn't- I wasn't just trying to be clever."

You tilted your head back, looking up at him. In the dim blue light, his face was open, vulnerable.

"I know," you said softly. "You're terrible at lying, Ryland. It's one of the things I like about you."

His lips twitched. "One of the things?"

"There are many things," you allowed. "We have a long flight to Tau Ceti. I'm sure I'II discover more."

He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "We have a few years," he said quietly. "Give or take."

"Plenty of time for research."

A laugh rumbled through his chest. "Is that what we're calling it now? Research?"

"Very rigorous research," you confirmed, your hand splaying across his heart. It was still beating fast, a steady thrum beneath your palm. "Peer-reviewed, even."

He propped himself on an elbow to look down at you, his nose brushing affectionately against yours. In the dim blue light, the earlier panic was completely gone, replaced by something steady, warm, and profoundly certain.

"Well, as a man of science," he whispered, a bright, hopelessly fond smile breaking across his face, "I'm going to need to replicate the results. Multiple times. Just to be absolutely sure the data is sound."

"Get some rest, Dr. Grace," you murmured against his lips. "We will still be here tomorrow."

He let out a soft, contented sigh, settling his weight back down beside you and wrapping his arms securely around your waist. He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, his breathing finally falling into a slow, even rhythm.

You were no dwarf, however your ancestors had been one of the handful to escape Dale. Not many men survived the day Smaug attacked that city, the ones that had were forced to relocate to a town on the nearby lake. Not your family. For as long as you could remember you’d been travelling merchants, convinced that one day - some day - your family could lay their roots back in Dale.

After all, even dragons couldn’t live forever.

You’d overheard the exiled dwarf-king Thorin speaking with the grey wizard Gandalf at an inn. An accident really. You were there on your own business, but you couldn’t help insert yourself into the conversation.

You had convinced them - though Gandalf was on board with a lot less convincing - to go back to your own kin and try and rally them to join too. Thorin was to meet with representatives from seven kinds of his kinfolk, and between them and your ever-growing clan of man you could amass enough bodies to take back both the city of Dale and the mountain. You’d left with a pep in your step, convinced yourself that it would be an easy feat.

It was not.

You’d forgotten the last person to be as convinced as you that your family would return home was your grandfather, and he was laid in an unmarked grave at a wayside. No one else thought it possible except you.

Remembering the feeling that settled in your stomach when they looked at you like you were a little girl with a foolish idea still made you feel sour and heavy. Worse? The feeling you got when Gandalf and Thorin and all those people in Bilbo’s house looked at you when you told them you were the only one of your family to come join them.

Soaking in the hottest bath of your life in a hidden elven valley made all that feel like an age ago.

You closed your eyes. Your limbs were weightless. Steam rose and kissed your cheeks and eyelashes. The scent of healing salts and relaxing oils filled your nose. Just about anyone could walk in on you at that moment and you’d care very little.

Eventually someone did walk in, two she-elves, and you spent the rest of your time in the bath with them both carefully untangling and washing your hair. They had the patience of angels, and fingers that worked like magic. They almost put you to sleep.

By the time dinner rolled around, you were wandering the halls behind your escort like you were walking on clouds. Your hair was loose, and they’d given you slippers and a temporary gown to wear while someone mended and washed your clothes. Both must’ve been made with the same fabric, coloured like starlight and softer than silk, flowing around you like chiffon. You’d come across fabrics of many kinds in your life as part of a merchant caravan, but never for your own use, and never anything like this.

You felt like you were in a dream. You felt like a princess, not the daughter of an exiled wanderer.

Walking into the balcony dinner was being served in, you stopped in your tracks. If you cared more you would’ve been embarrassed that none of your companions seemed to have had the same treatment as you.

They were still in their travel clothes, though their unwashed state wasn’t unusual - you came to learn they were messy eaters and often bathed after dinner, not before. Besides the elves, you were the only one in such fine clothes.

Though you quickly decided they must’ve declined any offer that you received of fresh clothes, and you also decided it was their loss. You’d never felt nor looked better in your life.

“Well well, don’t you sure scrub up nicely.” Bofur was the first to notice you, and the first to make a comment. You - having had any shyness melt off you during your bath - milked all the comments that followed for all their worth.

You winked at Bofur, twirled when Dwalin asked, even did a curtsy before turning away and walking over to the only unclaimed seat in the room at the table with Gandalf, Elrond, and Thorin - all with a big grin on your face.

“You made use of the hospitality.” Gandalf said, eyeing you with a cheeky look on his face as you sat down.

“I’ll have you know in some places it’s very rude not to let someone extend generosity. I wouldn’t want to disrespect our gracious host.” you replied.

“From what Mithrandir had told me you’ve all had quite a journey to get here. I’m glad to hear you made yourself comfortable.” Elrond said, gesturing toward the food and drink laid on the table. Gandalf picked up the conversation from there, you presumed about whatever small-talk they had before you walked in.

You couldn’t help how your attention drew to Thorin - it normally did, no thanks to the big fat crush you’d grown for him over your time spent on the road. This time your attention was his because he was being very, very quiet. When you caught his eyes - which wasn’t hard, since he was already staring at you - he cast his sight away at his plate so fast it was like he was burnt.

“Are you alright?” you asked, quietly, leaning closer to his side.

“I’m fine.” he said quickly, keeping his eyes fixed down, “Just trying to stomach this food.”

“Thorin,” you hissed, nearly kicking him under the table. You looked up at Elrond, who thankfully either didn’t hear or chose to ignore his comment, “These people have been nothing but kind to us, you could at least pretend to be grateful while in their presence.”

He looked at you. You were prepared for him to throw some anti-elf snark your way but instead you watched as his eyes filtered over your face and body and his face softened. He heeded your words, letting it go with a grunt.

If you wanted to get to the bottom of his strange demeanour - because he was acting strange outside the expected sourness - you’d need to corner him later.

Thorin physically felt like throwing up when you walked in on dinner. He could barely stomach any of the leaves on his plate after you sat beside him.

You were just so, so beautiful.

You were pretty, obviously so. Many of his company would treat you with more kindness or softness than they should because of it, and it didn’t go past his notice that he himself was like that too. Then you proved yourself worthy beyond your good looks.

Back when they camped at the ruined farm you’d chased after Gandalf when he and Thorin disagreed. Everyone let you go, convinced that since you held no dwarven stubbornness that you could persuade the wizard to not stray too far. It got late, and neither you or the wizard returned. It ended up being a blessing when everyone else got captured by trolls.

You’d burst through the brush and all but gorged out one of the trolls' eyes before they cornered you in turn. Thorin remembers as clear as day the way you circled on the spot and held out your sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, eyes keen and feet light. Some warrior goddess personally made by the smith sent to save them. You’d landed a few heavy blows, held your ground for a time all on your own, before your weapons were knocked from your hands - then Gandlaf saved the day and brought daylight a few inches closer before it was too late.

Thorin could also remember the way you turned to look at him - well, them all really - after. The way the sun shone past your features, like a halo with your skin glowing, and he believed for a moment that perhaps you were a she-elf who’d bewitched him. There was no way a daughter of a man could have his heart beating like a field mouse by just looking at him.

Then you walked into dinner here at Rivendell, and well… He couldn’t look at you at all.

The gown those elves put you in was a floor-length white, off-the-shoulder, with sleeves that were almost dramatically long. Showing off your collarbones as it shimmered in the evening sunlight, fitting you perfectly. It made his throat swell up and his chest tight and his palms sweat like a madman.

Not that Thorin didn’t love you in your regular travel clothes, but - wait.

Love?

Oh Mahal, this was more than just some silly fondness or superficial feelings. He was in love with you. He could feel it now, almost see it in front of him - the pull. The feeling all those before him spoke of but he was yet to believe. It tied around his heart, tight and strong and warm, and it stayed there all night long.

Even while getting Elrond to read the moon runes on map to the mountain, that underlying tug toward you once the realization awoke never once let up. It was always there, right from the moment he warmed up to you - a stranger - at the inn in Bree. It stayed all the while, lying in wait until he was able to give it a name, which by doing so he also gave it weight and, above all, power.

Dwarves were a very private kin, very rare occasions were marked for pomp and celebration, and this? This was something marked by a quiet conversation, and something to mark outwardly to only those who noticed. But you were no dwarf.

You were a daughter of man, and he had no idea how to confess that you were his One. He had no idea if you even knew what that meant.

“Thorin, can I talk with you?” Your voice jolted him from his thoughts.

You stood beyond him in the hallway, face and features lit by moonlight, which a look on your face as gentle as your words. Balin, who had been walking with him back to their temporary room, bid him goodnight. Thorin might’ve missed his quiet and knowing look if he was less careful.

Then he was alone with you.

“Is everything alright?” he asked, joining you as you shifted toward one of the alcoves. This place was full of hiding holes - if Thorin didn’t think any better he’d say they were for all the scheming of elves, but for this moment he was grateful for the privacy.

“Everything is fine with me,” you started, a wistful look upon your face before you seemed to remember why you’d called him over, “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, you were acting more stand-offish than I expected at dinner. And before you start I know you said you were fine but I don’t think you are.”

“Why might that be?” he asked, looking up at you carefully.

“Well, I don’t know. I guess I can just -”

“- feel it?” he suggested. You looked at him surprised, and slowly started nodding.

“Yes. I feel it. Is that too strange of a thing for me to say?” you asked.

“Not at all.”

“You answered that very fast.” you replied, smiling carefully, and Thorin felt his heart starting to beat faster despite how composed he was determined to remain on the outside.

“I suppose that just means I knew what to say,” he said. You hummed in reply, then lent back, waiting. “What?”

“You never answered my question.” you said. “Something is bothering you, isn’t it? You’re not usually one to beat around an answer. You’re normally so straightforward.”

“You never actually asked me anything,” Thorin was quick to say, then lent back against the wall and crossed his arms - as if that was a suitable defence for what was going to be your oncoming onslaught to his decision to keep his true feelings to himself.

There was no way he could just blurt out that he loved you, that his feelings were so deep it was as if he was made with them already engrained in his soul. He needed to wait for the right time.

“Well then, your majesty, tell me what’s bothering you.”

Thorin stood there for a moment, watching as you made yourself mirror him on the other side of your alcove. The soft look on your face, the kindness in your eyes, how that dress made you look more precious than any jewels he remembered from the mountain hoard. What was bothering him was easy to name, because it was you.

“Me?” you said, face freezing, and so did his heart.

Did he just say that? Out loud? That you were the one that was bothering him? You certainly were the one on his mind, making him act ‘strange’, but you’d never been a bother once in the whole time he knew you.

“No, I didn’t mean -” He started quickly, breathless.

“Thorin it’s fine,” you started, pushing off the wall slightly, and with your voice stiffer than before, “You’ve always been honest, I like that about you. You can be honest with me, if there’s something I’ve done to upset you I’d want to know.”

That weight in his chest, the feeling in his heart, felt like it was cracking with every word you said.

“You’ve never upset me,” he said, stepping forward as if he’d be able to stop you if you chose to leave. He would’ve reached for your hand if he wasn’t so concerned about you fading away. “You’ve never bothered me. It’s me, it’s all me. I can feel myself reacting in some certain way around you and tonight it just became too much. I didn’t know how to act, so I didn’t act in any way at all.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I feel for you is beyond love. It’s like how I feel was built into me, I’m made to feel this way about you and after years alone it’s strange how naturally it comes to me now.”

Thorin watched your face twist to one of hurt to confusion, then a hopeful kind of bittersweet, before you spoke.

“Love?”

Ah, he did say love, didn’t he.

“I suppose men have no other word for it.”

“Alright,” you started slowly, “So what word would you have for it?”

“Lansel. Amrâbulnâs. Take your pick.” He said, and he could tell from looking at your face that you had no idea what they meant. He sighed, taking a moment to translate before speaking again. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks before he even said it out loud. “Love of all loves. True love, or soul-mate.”

“Soul-mate?” you said softly, as if in a dream. He finally was able to meet your eyes again. “You believe in that?”

“We call them our Ones. That there is one person made for us and drawn to us, just us, to love. One great true love for a lifetime, only to be found once. Men do not have this?”

“For us it’s just a story. Fairy-tales. No such a thing exists for us.” Thorin felt his heart sink. Men did not have soul-mates, so they did not have Ones. Was he doomed to a one-sided all-consuming love for the rest of his long miserable life? “We do have something else, though.” you said, voice soft as you looked out the window.

“What is it?” he asked, daring to be hopeful one last time tonight before giving up.

“Black swans.”

“They do not exist.” He said, and you smiled.

“That’s what everyone thinks. One of my cousins said his father found a flock of them once, on a lake far far away. Men do not have all the knowledge in the world. Black swans can be seen as a sign that rare and unpredictable events can exist too, that impossible things aren't so just because they haven’t been seen to happen. Soul-mates may just be rare or unseen in mankind, so they perhaps are black swans too. Not non-existent, just unheard of.”

“You think yourself one of these swans?” Thorin could see your beauty liken a swan, soft and graceful.

“I think I’ve felt a pull to you since we met. I’ve felt it turn into love, a love of all other loves I’ve felt before.” you said, and Thorin could feel himself drawing closer to you as you repeated his earlier words. “It comes naturally, like I was made for it.”

“Are you sure?” Thorin asked, close enough now that he could could every one of your lashes, and every mark on your face. His question was double-edged. Were you sure about this? About him? Were you sure about how you felt?

“Yes.” you said, and he felt you lean closer. Now he could feel your breath on his lips, smell the wine from dinner and all the oils your hosts let you use on your skin during your bath. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life, more sure than when I forced you to say yes to me all the way back in Bree.”

He smiled. So did you, so wide and full he could almost feel it as much as he could see it. Your eyes were bright, and he felt young again.

“Alright then.” he said, feeling your hand slip into his, soft and cold compared to his large calloused fingers. “My One.”

“Amrâlime,” you said, whispering against his lips. He pulled back slightly, registering your word. He frowned, then smiled.

“You know Khazdul?”

“I’ve lived amongst you for months, and you all speak it all the time. I know a word or two.” you said, smirking.

“You could’ve said that before you made me explain myself.” he said, but all you did was laugh, light and carefree and Thorin felt his heart flutter in a way that made him feel more alive than he ever had before.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

You shuddered, pulling your thin blanket tighter around you. The temperature overnight had dropped to below freezing. You sat up, bleary-eyed, your eyes scanning the makeshift camp around you. A dwindling fire had been made in the center, its embers a faint red as they slowly died. The snow, which was blowing in from the opening to the mountain cave, had surely put it out faster than it was meant to. You crawled to it, your palms against the frozen earth as you blew softly on the embers, hoping for the slightest spark.

The fire reignited briefly, a single lick of flame extending above the soot. You quickly thrust your numb hands over it, desperate for its fleeting warmth before it quickly faded to ash once again.

You let out a small sigh of frustration, quickly followed by uncontrollable shaking as your body withstood a cold gust of wind from the opening in the mountainside. You grabbed your blanket from your sleep roll and sat as close as you possibly could to whatever was left of the fire, regretting having chosen the least protective spot in the mountain cave. You'd surely smell like smoke tomorrow, but it was either that or you freeze to death.

From the other side of camp, deeper within the cave, came the quiet crunch of heavy boots, echoing softly against the stone walls. You looked up to see Thorin, returning with a few pieces of salvaged wood. You weren't sure that he'd gotten any sleep at all yet, having wanted to scout out the deeper part of the cave for safety while the rest of the company got some much-needed rest.

"Move back," his voice came as a low rumble, hushed enough so that he wouldn't wake anyone else. You obeyed, watching him kneel by the pile of soot and ash. Where your attempts to rekindle the fire had failed, he got it flickering a little brighter in no time, blowing softly on the tiny flames as they grew.

He sat back a moment, guarding the flames from the wind with his body. You stared at them too, watching their little tongues feed on the fresh wood. It was quiet a moment, and all that could be heard was the faint crackling and muffled howls of the wind from outside.

"Have you gotten any sleep?" Thorin murmured, his eyes raised to meet yours. "It isn't safe to sleep so close to the fire."

You shook your head. "It was nearly dead, do not worry. It was the cold that kept me awake."

Thorin watched your face, the way your eyelids struggled to raise more than halfway, the whites of your eyes tinged with strain and redness, and the shadow beneath them. It looked like you hadn't slept in days. With this cold, it was likely that you hadn't. Thorin regretted not having noticed earlier.

"Will the fire be enough?" He spoke again, concern lacing his voice. It'd be no good for you or the company to be so sleep deprived. Everyone had to be at their full strength for survival until they reached the lonely mountain.

You nodded, gathering up your blanket and returning to your bedroll. It was the slightest bit better, but the tiny flames did no good for the cold that had already seeped into your bones, numbing your extremities, even casting a slight frost on bits of your hair.

Thorin kept a close eye on you as you returned to your spot against the cold cave wall, bundling yourself up to the best of your ability. But he noticed the way you continued to shudder, the fire hardly making any bit of a difference. Your eyes were closed, clearly pretending to sleep just to not worry the mind of the dwarven prince, but he couldn't watch you freeze any longer.

A warm hand peeled the blanket back from your face suddenly, and you opened your eyes to the Thorin's larger stature kneeling before you. "Come," he said quietly, his hand on your shoulder to guide you to a sitting position.

"It's alright, Thorin. It's not quite as cold anymore, I'll be able to sleep," you said quickly, not wanting to be a burden. You also feared any sort of special treatment. The other dwarves had already seen the way Thorin's eyes followed you wherever you went, trained on your every move as if to watch over you. He'd even confided in you before, speaking to you in a different way he did any of them. And they made sure you knew that they knew, teasing you any chance they got. Mainly Kili and Fili. Where it was amusing at first, it soon reduced you to a lesser member of the company, one who constantly required attention and protection from their leader. Although this was hardly true.

"You're shaking," he answered dryly, and you almost caught a bit of a smirk. Obviously you were cold, and it would be less than honorable as a prince to allow a valued member of his company to freeze in the night, especially when he could do something about it.

A pink hue flushed your features, but you accepted his arm which he offered, looping your trembling fingers around his bicep. As you stood, he draped his heavy coat over your shoulders, the heat retained from his body instantly relaxing your muscles.

He led you quietly over sleeping dwarves towards the back of the cave where his own bedroll was laid out.

"Will the coat be enough?" he asked, sitting next to his bedroll, leaving it open to you.

"Thorin, I couldn't possibly--"

"I insist," he assured, tugging on your hand slightly, beckoning you to lie down and get comfortable. "I've had more than enough sleep these past few nights. You need it."

You had to admit; the far side of the cave was significantly less freezing than where you'd been lying. And with his long coat draped comfortably over you as you curled into a ball on his bedroll -- you could almost say it was warm.

Thorin sat close by, keeping a respectful distance between the two of you. Just near enough so that the radiating heat of his body reached you, but giving you space enough to comfortably sleep.

You even began to get drowsy, your eyelids fully closing as your mind wandered.

But just as you were about the drift off into a peaceful sleep, a forceful gust of wind entered the cave, once again dimming the fire to mere embers. You stirred, making a small whimper as the cold wind stung your nose.

"Shhh," Thorin hushed you as his hand came to rest on your head, fingers softly massaging your scalp. "Go to sleep."