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most mornings are like this. they were aboard the hail mary, and they are on erid now.

ryland's grip only becomes harsher on the muscle of your shoulder and back, when one of those mornings turned suggestive, until it wasn't much of a suggestion at all. until he was pulling you down and over him. almost eager once you finally drive into him. and admittedly, it had been a while. since college at least. feels every bit as good as he remembers. but there's something familiar, like a shriek that dies in ryland's throat. thankfully.

regrettably, it's replaced with a short cry that ryland isn't quick enough to stifle in the crease of his arm.

it's just too much.

he hadn't thought about it. with your hands brushing up his sides, skimming up his ribs, it was admittedly hard to think of anything. grace never had a chance to think back to all those little touches on the hail mary; hands that just barely grazed each other, and every bit the coward he couldn't remember, he never tried for more. never asked, despite wanting it; every clumsy bump while you got used to no gravity and how he flushed something horrible with each one, because it wasn't affection, but it was something. it was embarrassingly enough at the time, until it wasn't; every simulated night on the hail mary you spent laying a little closer than necessary. both of you were as willing to acknowledge it as you were willing to stop. so one of you, usually grace, slipped away in those faux mornings, picking up where he left off in the lab a few hours before.

ryland couldn't say when that avoidant streak broke. when all those gentle touches, when every bit of intimacy you both vied for, weren't so unspoken. just that at some point, before erid, it didn't feel so impossible to get out that 'i don't mind' when touch between you lingered longer than felt justifiable. ryland couldn't place when he came to expect you tugging at his arm, pulling him like it's easy. or when it became 'come to bed with me' instead of a passive 'you're running on fumes, man'. all in the same tone as your "don't." impossibly even, while he's entirely overwhelmed from the press of your dick inside him. while you push his arm from his face, leaving grace pouting and loud. "you're so," you don't say whiny, just trail off. but grace knows that's what you meant.

it'd have been awful if you'd said it teasing. or joking.

it might be worse that you didn't. that's it's said soft and earnest.

that was a lot. all of it always left him in awe. keeping his face flushed, leaving a tinge of red crawling down his neck and stowing away at the tips of his ears. all those touches that used to make him jump, that grace forced himself to relax into so you wouldn't stop doing them, they were so much. they felt like so much. and this was more

a good more. a lazy grasping at these mornings on erid, because neither of you were really willing to let soft moments like these just pass by, as of recent. there had been plenty that you'd never lingered on, that ended as quickly as they began. you deserved a few that stuck. that stayed, even you had to make them stay. the moments you can apricate in now that it feels like you're allowed.

so it goes. a cuddly morning becomes something more heated.

half cries, fueled by every touch, every thrust into him, pours into every kiss. panting, hesitant and sloppy against your lips while ryland grinds shamelessly down onto your dick. as much as he can pressed down onto his back. he's desperate for this, which puts a thought in your mind. "you're, fuck. baby, it can't've been since college." low and against his neck. you can feel that red that's smeared down to his chest.

it should be considered a feat of strength that you don't bite harder than ryland can handle when he speaks up. manages to answer what you haven't really processed that you said aloud yet. "s'just been toys, didn't think that counted."

You met Andrew "Pope" Cody a few months ago in Deran's bar. You were helping him set it up and get used to all the business aspect of the place after being his friend for a couple years.

He didn't initially intend for you to get to know his brothers, just to acknowledge their existence and not much else. But when you set your eyes on Pope you just couldn't get them off him.

There wasn't a moment that didn't feel like Pope was watching you, even if you knew he wasn't in the same place as you were. It slowly progressed into a somewhat relationship, even if he's hesitant to call it that. He doesn't want to 'trap you' with him, as he says.

You are in your house cleaning the dishes after dinner when he slides inside from the sliding backdoor. You turn around, seeing how tense he looks. "Hey, Andrew... Are you okay?" you ask, your voice soft. You know that when he's not completely on his right mind he needs some gentleness.

Andrew doesn't answer. Instead, he stares at you from the backdoor. You walk up to him, a hand on his face. "Come on, baby, talk to me." His eyes watch your face but doesn't seem like he's actually processing that he's in your home.

You grab his hand and make him rest it on your waist. Every time you're alone with him and he's not completely feeling like himself he finds grounding on physical touch. For some reason, the area he seems to prefer is your waist.

Pope lets out a deep sigh, his hand shaking a little. He squeezes your waist and moves his other hand to rest on your jaw. It's like he's trying to make sure that you're real.

You wait for a bit, watching him ground himself. You finally talk. "Do you want to talk about it?" you ask, keeping your voice soft and understanding.

Andrew shakes his head. He leans to bury his face on your neck, inhaling your scent. "I don't want to think right now," he mutters against your skin.

You both have been talking about trying to distract him using the things you already know he likes. You hold his hand and guide him to the bedroom and make him lay down in the middle of it. Andrew's hands hold your face as you kiss and your own rest on his waist over his shirt.

"Do you want to try the thing we talked about, Andy?" you whisper against his lips, your eyes watching his. He tenses for a second.

A couple days ago you mentioned that you wanted to try body worship with him. He seemed reluctant, much more interested on being the one worshiping your body while you tell him what to do. You looked at him with held down eagerness and your gorgeous eyes almost glowing, he hadn't had more option but to accept.

Pope nods and lets his hands fall to the bed. "Can I take off your shirt, baby?" He nods again. His breathing is heavy as your hands slowly unbutton his shirt, revealing more and more of his toned, pale torso. You kiss each new inch of shown skin, making him shudder a little.

When the shirt is completely open you let it fall on his sides. His hands grip the sheets while your own slide up to his chest. "You're so beautiful, Andrew...," you whisper, your voice low and sweet. He lets out a shaky breath. He feels tense, like he's about to snap just from your hands and lips alone.

Andrew lets out a low groan when your lips connect with his neck. His hands tighten on the sheets as you make your way down again. You kiss down the center of his chest until you reach his lower belly, slowly making out with his happy trail and covering it with small nibbles.

You look up at him. Your eyes are slightly closed but glow in the dim light of the bedroom lamp. Your lips slide back up a little until they reach his belly button. Pope can't take his eyes off you, as if he's hypnotized. He's been the worst sinner, committed countless crimes, but you're here, knowing all of it, worshiping him, adoring him like he's worth something.

Pope holds back a moan when you lean to kiss him, your tongue slowly sliding against his. His hands cradle your face to keep you close like he's scared you're gonna leave him behind. Your wandering hands touch his strong arms, feeling the hard muscle and veins under his skin.

"I wish I could draw you like this..." You say against his lips, a slight smile on your face. His hands bury in your hair to keep you close. "I can't keep worshiping you if you don't let go, Andy." His shaky breath hits your lips before he kisses you again, letting go of your face. Your hands move to unbuckle his pants without breaking the kiss.

You move down to kiss Andrew's chest, stomach and arms all over again. His head falls back into the pillow and he stops holding back the sweet sounds coming out of him. His breath becomes louder the lower you kiss and he lets out a whimper when you suck on his happy trail.

Once you consider it's properly marked you help him lose his boxers. His cock rests heavily against his thick thigh while throbbing softly. You hold the base carefully and begin to kiss from the top to the bottom of his balls, making his hips buckle into your touch. "Shh... Relax, Andy, let me take care of you." He nods desperately and tries to breath in a more steady way, but the softness of your lips against his trembling shaft is almost too much to handle.

There's something about recieving the worship instead of giving it that messes with Pope's head. He doesn't feel like he deserves it, like he hasn't done anything good enough to deserve your lips, your softness, your touch. But he is a selfish, bad man, he knows that (or at least that's what he thinks), so he can't help but buck into your face. You look up at him with a look on your face that makes him whimper pathetically. Your lips are covered in spit and his salty precome.

"Please... Baby, please, I need you," Andrew begs, his voice so desperate and small it squeezes your heart. You suck his balls for one more second before helping him spread his legs all the way, his body feeling too weak to do it himself. His cheeks are now in front of you and his little hole winks at you.

"You want my mouth on you, love?" Your thumb rubs the rim and he chokes out a 'yeah' between heavy breaths. Still holding the base of his cock, you connect your mouth to Pope's ass and you begin to suck slowly. You give it kitten licks and begin to introduce the tip of your tongue as he eases up.

It's surprising how a man that's usually so serious and silent can be so vocal when you got your mouth on him. Every lick makes a shaky breath come out of him; every tease of your fingers, a whimper escapes his mouth. You keep the pace slow, not letting him forget that this is about worship and not getting off. His cock throbs anyways, his precum leaking into your hand.

"Baby, please, I'm so close..." Pope begs, his eyes filling with tears.

"Come for me, Andrew. Let go." You whisper against his rim. His hips jump up as he comes, his cock throbbing and his cum coming out profusely. Your soft hands stroke his thighs as he paints his stomach white. "Good boy."

His legs shake like crazy and you get off his ass. Pope whimpers at the loss of contact but gets quiet when you press your lips on his happy trail, slowly going up until you kiss his lips.

"How do you feel, baby?" you ask as soon as you break the kiss, holding his face with your hands. He doesn't answer verbally, just nods and wraps his strong arms around your body to pull you close. You don't wince at the sticky liquid on his stomach and surprisingly neither does he.

It's already late at night and you can already feel Andrew slipping off to sleep under you. He keeps you on top of him as if he's scared that you're gonna let go of him at any moment. You indulge him, petting his hair while he falls asleep, much more relaxed than when he got home.