Last minute science

You slink back to the lab, fully intending to bother Ryland since he was back to waiting. He was sitting at the table, scooping spoonfuls of taumoeba onto different slides. You took him in quietly, red jumpsuit tied around his waist, sleeves of his shirt pulling tight against his biceps. His glasses were sitting on his nose, actually on right for once. His hair was messy, sticking up in every direction like he couldn’t stop running his hands through it.

You approached slowly, making your steps loud enough for him to hear. He leaned back from the microscope and smiled your way, “Rocky asleep?” You nod, returning the smile and running a hand along his shoulder. He relaxes under you, head lolling forward against the equipment in front of him. 

“Keep working, I’ll make myself busy,” you murmur. You take a seat on the other side of the table, pulling out some xenonite samples Rocky had given you to study. If you could include enough information in the beatles for scientists back on earth to study, it might lead to some new breakthroughs. 

That was your intention, at least. But Ryland was a distraction. He pulled out a new pair of black gloves and blew air into them, pulling them onto each hand with a snap of the rubber. You couldn’t help but stare, something about those gloves stirring up feelings in you that you didn’t know were there. 

You watch as he adjusts his glasses, fingers dancing along the frames while he thinks. His hands return to the microscope, twisting dials and turning the sample until he finds what he’s looking for. “Whatcha working on?” He asks, eyes back on the scopes. 

“Nothing,” you answer easily, not even pretending to look at the items in front of you. “I can tell,” he smirks in your direction, peering at you over the frames of his glasses. “You’ve been staring at me since you sat down.” He’s right, you don’t deny it. 

You don’t apologize for it, shrugging your shoulders and smirking right back. “Do you want to keep pretending, or do you want me to make a move?” He winks at you, leaning back in his chair like he’s given up working for the moment. 

You think about it for a second, holding his gaze. “It’s up to you,” said with a flutter of your lashes. He stares you down, like he would possibly be considering any options other than bending you over the table. “Alright,” and he shoves his chair back, rounding the table to tower over you. His gloved hands raise, but before he makes contact with your skin he freezes. You’re only looking at the gloves, your breath catching. 

“Oh,” he whispers, drawing your attention back to his face. “It’s these, huh?” He wiggles his fingers, gloves squeaking with the friction. “That’s what had you staring so hard?” 

You suddenly feel embarrassed, like he figured you out too quickly, before you even figured yourself out. The rubber lands gently against your cheek, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down and watching it spring back into place. It’s like he can sense your hesitation to commit, “hey, you don’t have to be shy. I already know how much you like my hands, the gloves are kinda hot, I get it.” 

You can’t help the rueful laugh that tumbles out, incredibly aware that he knows what he’s doing. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, eyes wide as he lifts his other hand, stepping forward to crowd you into the table. “Is this what you want, sweetheart?” You nod slowly, brows knitting together when he kisses you soundly. 

The rubber feels strange against your cheeks but you plow forward, letting him lead the kiss with a dominating tongue. He surprises you by sliding his thumb between your lips, running it along your bottom teeth, pressing into the sharp points with hooded eyes. You can’t help but trace your tongue along the glove, the eye contact is intense and makes heat pool in your stomach. 

Ryland smiles, fully smiles, and puts pressure on your jaw, forcing you to close your lips around his thumb. “Suck on it, baby,” he murmurs, breath hitching at the feeling as you do what he asks. His free hand skims down your neck, careful not to catch on your hair, and he settles that thumb in the hollow of your throat. His lips trace the same path, licking against your pulse point, letting his teeth graze the soft skin. 

Your eyes slide shut, the taste of the glove and the feeling of his lips overwhelming your senses. He pulls you out of your chair, thumb leaving a wet trail down your chin as he reaches for the hem of your shirt. Quick eye contact affirms your consent, something he always does before undressing you, and he pulls your shirt off with a small smile. 

Nimble fingers push your pants down easily, rubber sliding over your skin and raising goosebumps. You reach for his shirt, throwing it to the side and wasting no time in getting your hands on his strong chest. He lets you play for a minute, knowing how much you enjoyed the muscles he kept hidden. When you slide your hand down to brush against his stomach, tracing the v line that disappears into his pants, he chokes out a moan. 

You palm him over his pants, feeling him harden beneath you, and slip a hand under his waistband. Gentle fingers work him slowly, gripping his length and stroking, thumb swiping over his tip and dragging a whine from him. His hands stay firm on your waist, trying to keep himself steady under your touch.

A particularly tender stroke has him groaning against your lips, hand grabbing your wrist to stop your movements. “Get on the table, sweet girl,” he lifts you easily, swiping papers out of the way and setting you down, his face burying in your neck. He traces a hand along the elastic of your panties, lips sucking a bruise against your neck. You unhook your bra, letting the straps fall and tossing it away. 

He shows his appreciation immediately, moving down your neck and chest, gloved fingers sliding under your breasts. Warm lips wrap around your nipple, licking and sucking while he pulls the other with his long digits. You arch into him, letting him take his time. 

He leans back and looks up at you, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “You okay with these inside you?” He wiggles his fingers, hearing how your breathing picks up. “Yes, please,” you whisper. He grins against your skin, pulling your head down for a kiss while he works your panties off. Sitting on the table, totally bare in front of him, you feel that heat already starting to coil tighter in your stomach. 

Ryland crowds into your space again, taking a moment to look at you, admiring the needy look on your face. “Open up,” he asks, fingers returning to your mouth. You do it and he dips in, coating his glove in your saliva and bringing it down to your center. The rubber makes contact with your clit and you shiver, letting your head fall back and your eyes close. “How’s that feel? Different?” His voice is rough, desire bleeding through. 

A moan slips past your lips, his fingers dip lower, circling your entrance and sliding two in. The stretch has you leaning forward, your head coming to rest on his shoulder. Your teeth sink into his skin, muffling your whines when he bumps your clit with his palm. He finds a rhythm with his thrusts, other hand holding your hips steady as they roll into him. 

You can feel how slick the glove is between your legs, can hear the wet slide as he pumps steadily into you. “You wanna come on my hand, baby? Gonna let me feel you?” You barely hear him over your own moans, but you nod against his neck and wrap your arms around his shoulders. He’s all firm muscle and tender care above you, giving you the space you need to focus, letting you chase your orgasm until you’re shaking around his fingers. 

Your hips roll into him, back arching enough to press your chest to his. He talks you through it, sweet praise and quiet groans falling from his lips. “So pretty when you come for me,” he lifts your head and kisses you. It’s rougher, teeth and tongue and heavy breaths. He lets you catch your breath, sliding his fingers out and lifting them to look. The rubber shines with your slick, stringing between his fingers when he spreads them. It drips down his palm, almost mesmerising him. 

His eyes go dark and he shifts forward, offering you the wet fingers. He doesn’t push, just holds them out to you, letting you decide what you want. Of course you want them in your mouth again, so you pull on his wrist, letting your lips close around his fingers and sucking your cum off of them. 

A breath rushes out of his lungs, fanning across your face. You reach out and tug his pants down, trying to convey with your eyes what your mouth was currently unable to. He gets the message, shoving his pants down enough to free his aching cock. You pull his fingers from your mouth just far enough to spit in his hand, guiding his arm down to stroke himself. He complies with a groan, leaning his head against yours. “Fuckin’ filthy, holy shit,” he breathes it against your lips. 

A smirk pulls at your lips, eyes falling just enough to watch his hard length beneath the glove. “Want you to fuck me, Dr. Grace,” you whisper, eyes flicking up to watch his roll back. “Yes, ma’am,” he whimpers, dropping his head to your shoulder. He lines up and pushes in, moaning at how easily your walls give way for him. You laugh lightly when he bites your neck, delighting in the combination of the stretch and his noises. 

When he’s fully seated, he leans back. You meet his eye and he brings a hand up to his mouth, teeth pulling the glove off slowly. He smirks at the way your jaw drops open, knowing he’s back in control. The glove falls to the floor and he moves the other hand up, pausing to offer it to you. You open your mouth, biting the rubber and letting him pull his hand free. Tender fingers weave through your hair, like he’d been wanting to do that the whole time. 

He kisses you again and pulls out, letting you feel every ridge of him as he slides back home. The movement has you both moaning, desperate hands grabbing any skin they can reach. He pumps into you, licking into your mouth and drinking down every sound you make. You let him have control, doing your best to meet his thrusts, holding his bicep and neck. 

It’s fast and rough, you spare a quick ‘thank you’ to the engineers who bolted the table to the floor of the ship. He’s working you toward your second release steadily, finding that spot inside you and hitting it over and over. His grunts and groans can be heard over your whines and moans, you bury a hand in his hair and tug lightly, feeling his hips snap harder at the sensation. You can tell you’re close, that coil tightening faster than you can keep up. 

“That’s it, sweetheart, let go for me,” he reaches down to rub a finger over your clit and that’s all it takes. Heat rolls through your body in waves, your back arching and stars bursting behind your eyelids. He keeps up his pace, groaning loudly in your ear as he comes. He stiffens, burying his head in your shoulder again, panting harshly against your skin. You run your hands up his back and over his hair, peppering kisses along the side of his face.

He pulls back to look at you, eyes hooded and a pretty flush over his cheeks. You’re sure you look just as debauched - he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, thumb tracing your bottom lip again.

The silence breaks with both of you dissolving into giggles. “That was, uh - that was incredible,” he manages between laughs. He wraps your legs around his waist and lifts you up, spinning you around before setting you back down gently. The movement makes you squeal, hugging him as tightly as you can. “I’m glad you didn’t think it was weird,” you mumble into his neck. 

“Weird? Sweetheart, that was so hot, what else have you been wanting to try?” He means it sincerely but it makes you flush again. “I’ll let you know if I notice you doing anything else that gets me going,” you laugh. 

“I have something,” he starts with no hesitation, pulling your head away from his neck so he can see you. “That toolbelt you wear when you’re working on the ship.” You raise a brow, waiting for him to continue. “Last time you put it on I had to excuse myself, it sits on your hips so perfectly, looks so fucking good on you.” He smiles at how you balk at him, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing. 

“Okay,” you giggle, “we’ll make a list.” He hums his agreement and lifts you up again, heading towards the bathroom to get cleaned up. “Careful, my list might be long,” he chuckles, pressing his lips to yours.

---------------------------

“Thank you so much,” he murmurs, leaning in to press a chaste peck to your cheek. 

A chorus of “ew,” “aw,” and gasps rumble through the class. Ryland closes his eyes for a moment before turning around to face the excited middle schoolers. Before he could say anything, though, one of the girls points forcefully in your direction, “that’s your girlfriend?!” 

“No way Mr. Grace pulled her,” another joined in.

“There’s a Mrs. Grace?!”

“There really is hope for all of us,” a boy laughs. 

“Wait, she’s hot!” They were all talking over each other, a mix of compliments to you and barely concealed insults toward their teacher. 

“Hey!” Ryland starts, clinging to what was left of his dignity. You wave to the room, introducing yourself with a grin. You were absolutely going to make fun of him tonight, and he knew it too. He was bright red but he fixed the students with a serious look, “back to your work, everyone.”

They didn’t even pretend to look at their papers, too interested in this new side of their silly science teacher that they never got to see. Ryland turns back to you, stepping through the doorway and leading you away from the windows with a hand on your lower back. “This is all they’re going to talk about today,” he sighs. You stifle a laugh and point behind him.

The kids were lined up against the window, pressing their faces close to the glass to try to get a glimpse of you two. He doesn’t even turn around, “I owe you dinner for these,” he shakes the papers still in his hand. “You’re not cooking in my kitchen,” you giggle.

“Takeout it is,” he smiles, landing one more quick kiss to your lips before he steps backwards, steeling himself for the torment he was about to walk back into. You whisper your goodbyes and laugh to yourself when you hear his voice carry through the hallway, “don’t think I won’t lower your grades on these papers!” 

~

He beats you home that evening, an array of Chinese food already set up on the table when you slink through the door. Ryland is in the kitchen fighting with that one drawer that just doesn’t open right. Loose sweatpants sit low on his hips, a big difference from his work clothes you last saw him in. “Hey! How was your day?” He’s chipper, the day must not have been so bad. 

“Same old, I’m more interested in your day, Mr. Grace.” You step beside him, opening the drawer and kissing his cheek. He fishes out the chopsticks you always use and ushers you to the table, he pulls out your chair and can’t help but drop a kiss to the top of your head. “My day,” he starts with a sigh, “was exactly what you expect with a bunch of middle schoolers who just found out that I have a beautiful girlfriend.” 

You giggle softly, opening the boxes in front of you and assessing just how much food he ordered. “Come on, I want details! If anyone is going to have good jokes it’s your students.”

“First it was the lingo, they called me unc and said something about pulling a baddie,” he laughed, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Then they said you were way out of my league, asked how I convinced you to give a nerd like me a chance.” You let out a belly laugh at that, knowing full well you were head over heels for him the first time you met. “Did you tell them that I’m a nerd too?”

“In so many words, but they wouldn’t have it. They decided that you’re the breadwinner of the relationship, something about being a CEO or owning a business,” he’s giggling now, too. “I told them you’re an engineer and Abby asked if you work for Lockheed Martin.” You gasped, choking out a laugh. “How does she know about them?”

“Her parents talk about a lot in front of her,” it’s said wistfully, like he wishes they would stop. “Then, they started using words I didn’t know. I wrote them down, hold on.” He grabs his phone, opening his notes app. “They said I’m ‘high-key a simp,’” a snort from you, “Tyler said, ‘Mr. Grace been hiding his rizz,’ which felt inappropiate coming out of a child’s mouth.” His turn to snort. 

“Oh! Jenny called me the Beaker to your Dr. Bunsen, that’s a crazy reference for a 13 year old!” That one bowled you over, you threw your head back with a loud laugh. “I still don’t know what this one means,” he holds his phone far from his face, pretending to struggle to read, “‘Mr. Grace lowkey ohio, but his girlfriend has goddess energy.’” He looks at you exasperatedly, “I’ve gotta ask their English teacher to translate all of this.” 

“I don’t mind ‘goddess energy,’” you wink at him. “The girls all agreed on that one, so I think it’s universally accepted,” he smiled softly at you, his tongue poking out to wet his lips. “My favorite one, though, was someone said we’re like fix-it Felix and that soldier lady Jane Lynch voiced in Wreck It Ralph.” 

“Stop! They did not say that!” Your cheeks hurt from laughing so much at this point. “They did! I think it was a disguised way to say that you’re out of my league again,” he’s so enamored with the way you’re laughing, he almost wishes he had more quips to read out. “I told them that one doesn’t work because Felix is shorter than the soldier, then they said I give short aura and that insecurity about being a ‘short king’ is a bad look. I’m six feet tall!” You’re struggling to catch your breath, you loved these kids so much and you’d only just met them. 

“That was a lot for one class period,” you wipe your eyes, food totally forgotten on the table. “Yeah, we didn’t get much work done,” he signs dramatically. 

He hesitates a little to tell you the next part, his ears burning when you notice the look on his face. “They- uh, they exclusively referred to you as Mrs. Grace, despite how many times I told them that we’re not married.” Your cheeks heat up at that, “that’s sweet of them.” The moment stretches, longing in his eyes that you recognize. He’s never brought marriage up before, but he often talks about spending the rest of your lives together. One thing about Ryland is that he’s a loverboy, it’s one of your favorite parts of him. You lay your hand on top of his, a gentle comfort after a long day of torment.

“Anyways, now that they know you exist, they’re going to ask to see you again. Maybe you could come in for career day? Tell them about the importance of paying attention when their teacher is talking,” he looks a little shy, it reminds you of how he looked when he first asked you out. 

“I’d love to do that, Ry, you just let me know when it is and I’ll make sure my schedule is clear.” Your smile is bright, excitement shining through at being included. “Yeah?” His expression is hopeful. “Yeah, I’ve gotta prove that they’re right, I am the breadwinner in this relationship,” you don’t even have time to laugh before he’s pulling you out of your chair and over his shoulder. He lands a hand against your thighs, ignoring your squeals. 

“You’re right, I’ve gotta earn my keep,” and he carries you all the way to the bedroom, “happy wife, happy life and all that.”

------------

You shake off the bottle, trying to prevent any drips on your shirt. It's stuffy, yes, but this was never your thing. Crowds, that is. Crowds of adults, to be more specific. The kids are no problem, they don't lay judgmental eyes on you and murmur about your ability to do your job. Mark, however, did both things with ease.

"We know who not to go to for a chaperone. You have a hard enough time managing the kids at school, hate to see how it'd go on a trip." Mark made himself more than comfortable talking shit about you while standing just inches away.

He's taking another gulp of his Mountain Dew, mustache brushing the tab of his can. You do your best to force an awkward smile, because what are you supposed to do? What did it matter if Mark made a comment? A comment that eats away at you in the middle of the night, sure, but still.

He can't stop himself. "I mean, really. Your kids were all over the place," his hand waves mindlessly, trying to depict the chaos. "There you are, little mouse voice." He puts on an extremely exaggerated voice, "Excuse me… excuse me, kids. Now kids, cut that out…"

Your cheeks burn. Was this necessary? No, but it had earned a few laughs from the surrounding teachers. You offer up a small chuckle, just trying your best to squeeze through to the end of this bit. Your eyes left Mark, too embarrassed about the idea that maybe you really did look like that. Did you?

Scanning for something else to look at, your eyes find Ryland again. The two of you had gotten separated by earlier conversations, and you'd give anything to get back to his side. He's not far away, just a few feet. All you needed to do was speak up to make your exit.

Mark doesn't seem capable of letting anyone else talk, though. "The kids were acting like bats out of hell, I step over and they all get in line! Just like that!" He snaps his fingers and earns some more laughter that will inflate his ego.

Ryland's eyes weren't on his own conversation, but on your's. On Mark, actually. But then he peels to you. His head tilts, checking on you silently. You hesitate on how to respond.

He wouldn't make a scene, but you knew he'd defend you. And honestly? You just wanted to silently step away from the issue. So, you send a small smile Ryland's way. Immediately, you see that he isn't going to be convinced. He is already giving polite smiles, hand out as he removes himself from his current conversation. It's motivation to speak up and leave before he comes.

Your voice is quiet, being mostly unused for the last several mintues."Hey—"

"Almost like the kids don't even hear their own teacher's fucking voice, man!" Mark laughs over you.

You probably could've just walked away with nothing said, Mark certainly wouldn't have noticed. But the two teachers he was talking to definitely would've. They'd been glancing at you endlessly, trying to take in your reactions. What did how you feel matter? They laugh regardless.

"Hey, Mark!" Ryland inserts himself with a big smile. Your head gently shakes, but he's focused on Mark.

"Grace, hey." Mark rolls out a laugh, still on his own high. "Came to collect?"

You. He meant you. And he always did that, just Grace, like he thinks it's some sly insult he can get away with.

"Came to butt in, you know it's my specialty." Ryland shoves one hand into his pocket, the other wrapping around your waist.

You'd have yourself convinced it was to 'claim' you, but with the gentle pressure of him pulling you into his side, you know it's to comfort you. His thumb is rubbing your side, just another reminder that he is with you.

"Is it?" Mark laughs awkwardly. He glances to the other two teachers, ready to earn more of their praise. "Isn't his thing more… riding his bike to work, alone… eating his lunch, alone… planning his lessons, alone?" He looks at Ryland again. "Thought your specialty was more so staying by yourself?"

The other teachers aren't quite as responsive now. As if seeing Grace with you made them think. Or maybe he was just becoming increasingly obvious. Now their laughs sounded like a quiet plea to end the conversation.

"You make it sound like you wanna see some more of me." Ryland smiles at him like absolutely nothing can phase him. You bump your hip into his to scold him, but the smile on your lips doesn't do much to help push your message. He just squeezes your hip.

Mark's eyes are scanning you again, though he doesn't have the same look. So easy to prey on when you're on your own. Both you and Grace, and you both know it. Ryland can take it when it's just him, Mark is more than welcome stomp on him like a doormat! And you, you can let it go when Mark tries to make your kindness seem like a weakness. He needed to be the hero of someone's story, even if it was a total lie.

"Hey," Ryland takes advantage of Mark's rare silence, finger waving like he is trying to remember something. "I just remembered, great job regrouping the kids earlier, babe."

Your brows raise, glancing at Ryland as he compliments you so suddenly. "Um… thank you?"

"Yeah, it was like magic!" He chuckles, kissing your temple. He turns to the other teachers. "The kids were coming from PE, you know… Mark's?" You could step on his foot. He continues, "Stepping out right behind Mark, acting so insane! Screaming, pretty sure I saw some smacking, definitely saw someone trying to trip someone else, some shoving… I didn't know you let the kids get that way, Mark?"

It was a true picture of how it all started. Mark couldn't deny it.

"Well," he cleared his throat, taking a quick drink of his empty can. "You know how kids can be."

The other two teachers glance at one another, knowing that Ryland was a much less bias storyteller, even if it involved you. All around, he's just a much more honest person.

"Right," one of them chuckled, nodding. "But you got 'em right away, right Mark?"

"Uhhh…" Mark shifted on his feet. You were starting to enjoy this conversation.

"No," Ryland had no issue resonding for him. He lips are dramatically downturned. "No, no. Mark had that deep voice of his, wagging that finger at them. You know how he is!" He laughs, going in to a very dramatic deep tone, "Cut it out! Cut it out, you want me to get the principal?"

And the other two laugh, easily falling for whichever side was winning. Getting another glimpse at Mark, you could swear he was blushing. What?

"Ah, you know Mark!" Grace laughs, waving his hand carelessly. "He just lets the kids have so much fun, no wonder they don't wanna calm back down for him. But, y'know, you came over…" his hand his on your shoulder, head tilted as he looks at you with his first genuine smile of the night. "The kids started cooling it immediately, whispering to one another that you were there. It was like you brought this calm with you."

To sell his story, Grace closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and raising his arms. "They just started calming back down from seeing you…" he exhales slowly, letting his hands slowly fall back down. One eye cracks open, looking at you with a grin.

"I dunno…" you chuckle, glancing around. It's hard to take the compliment.

The second of the two teachers speaks up, "No, it's true. You do have this really calm aura about you. I'm sure your kids settled for you right away."

They had smiles on their faces now, something genuine. It wasn't a snickering laugh, or a sly grin to show Mark they were on his side. And Mark! You could've forgotten about him. Actually, you did.

"Outta pop," Mark awkwardly held up his can. "Gonna refresh."

"Be a shame to lose you!" Ryland fakes, pouting and body turning as if he was going to follow the rude man. You tap his foot with your own as a warning. You see his lips twitch into a smile.

The other two had excused themselves too, probably going to find some new conversation to slink into. And here you thought you'd have to be the one to walk away.

"How do you do that?" You ask, watching Mark temporarily remove himself from any conversation.

"Hmm?" Grace's head whips around to face you, his arm falls back into place around your waist.

"You just turn a conversation like it's nothing." You reply, gesturing vaguely.

"You wanna get out of here?" He asks, strand of hair bouncing as he tilts his head and scans your face. You don't feel judgment from his eyes. Not like theirs.

"What?" Your brows furrow together, thrown off.

"Technically, it's our lunch." He pretends to glance at his watch. "You wanna go to the diner?"

"You're doing it again." You point out.

"Doing what?" He feigns innocence.

"Being ever the subject changer."

"Is it working?"

You can't help but smile. "Yes."

"Wonderful!" He takes your hand in his, kissing the back of it before heading out.

Thank god it didn't have to turn into some huge. Grace just has that energy about him, you suppose.

///

It was interesting how humans could be bored in any circumstance.

It's not like there wasn't plenty to do on the Hail Mary. Research was constant and - astrophage and taumoeba aside - even just hanging out with Rocky was enough to keep things interesting. First alien contact, and all.

And yet, you were bored. Not just kind-of-bored where you could maybe occupy your mind with something or other, but the painful bone-deep kind of boredom where - no matter how much you wanted to - you could not get yourself to even move.

Briefly, you thought of the full access database of…well, everything, that you and Ryland were given with your laptops. But even a Wikipedia deep dive didn't sound engaging.

Rocky rolled over to where you were sprawled on the floor, feet propped up against the bed.

"Why not working, question?" He asked, no preamble. You heaved a sigh.

"Don't want to." You said blankly.

"Something wrong, question?"

"No." You said. "I'm just bored."

"What 🎶 mean, question?"

It hadn't occured to you that Rocky didn't know the word 'bored'. You thought for a moment.

"It's a feeling you get," you explained, staring up at the ceiling. "When you really want to do something, but nothing seems interesting enough to do it."

Rocky was silent for an extended few seconds.

"That sound stupid." He said.

You turned your head against the floor to look at him. "Do Eridians not get bored?"

"No." He managed to sound judgemental, somehow. "Everything interesting, always. Many things to do and learn, always."

"Huh." You mused, turning your head back towards the ceiling. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"How stop 🎶 feeling, question?" Rocky asked. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking.

"I guess the best way is to force yourself to do something." You admitted, knowing Rocky would find this whole concept ridiculous. "It's easier when you can do it with someone else."

An idea sparked in your mind.

"Hey, Rocky." You said, lifting yourself up onto one elbow, turning to him. "Do you know what a 'prank' is?"

"No."

"How about 'joke'?"

He perked up. "Yes, Rocky know joke. Grace say joke is to make others laugh."

"Yes!" You said, smiling. "So a prank is similar. It's when someone tricks another person to make a joke. But it has to be harmless. If it hurts the other person then it's just mean."

"Trick not lie, question?"

"Sort of." You agreed. "But it's about something small. And the other person finds out about it in the end, so they can laugh about it too."

"Understand."

You grinned. "Want me to show you how a prank works?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Show Rocky human prank!" He wiggled happily.

"Okay, but you have to promise to not say anything about this to Grace." You told him firmly. "If he knows we're doing it, it won't work."

"Yes, yes, yes, promise, promise, promise!"

You pressed your fist against his dome. Rocky mirrored you.

@

You glanced to your right from your perch on the stool. Ryland was busy scribbling on the whiteboard he had moved into the lab room.

You looked down. Rocky was a few paces away from Ryland, soldering something or other.

It was a good time to strike. A few hours had passed since the three of you settled into your work, and the silence had stretched and streched until it became taught with stress and tiredness. But for some reason your heart rate picked up.

You fiddled with your laptop for a moment, trying to gather your will.

Ryland huffed sharply, and wiped half of the board clean. You watched as he restarted his calculations.

Well, no time like the present.

"So you know how the earth is flat?" You asked, trying to keep your voice light and casual. The marker stopped squeaking against the board.

"Excuse me?" Ryland frowned, looking over his shoulder at you.

You kept your eyes glued to the laptop. No going back now.

"I was just thinking." You continued, clicking to another tab. "Do the windmills act as propellers?"

"What are you talking about?" Ryland sounded like he didn't know if he should be concerned or confused. He set the marker down with a click, turning to face you fully.

"You know!" You waved your hand vaguely. "They're propellers so they're bringing us closer to the sun? I figure that's where global warming comes from."

There was a long pause.

You fought not to look at him. If you did you'd start laughing and give the whole plan away.

"The earth isn't-" Ryland started, then cut himself off. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Yeah?" You feigned confusion, risking a quick glance at him. He looked comical - eyes huge, brows pinched together, hands hanging limply by his sides. "Anyway, what do you think? It's a good theory."

"That is not a good theory." Ryland said, incredulous. "It's not even a theory - it's madness!"

"Why?" You clicked through more tabs, then lifted your hands to make quotation marks gestures with your fingers. "Because 'the earth isn't flat'?"

"The earth isn't flat!" He sounded distressed. "It's round! It's an orb!"

"Oh yeah? And how do you know?"

"We're literally in space!"

"Sure." You allowed. "But I didn't get to see earth. So, who's to say?"

Ryland narrowed his eyes and looked down at your feet where you were bouncing your heel nervously against the leg of the stool.

"How Grace know earth round, question?" Rocky piped up from his spot.

"Huh?"

"Grace say always test yourself. If Grace not test, how Grace know earth round, question?"

Thank god for Rocky, you thought in relief.

"Alright." Ryland placed his hands on his hips. "What's going on with you two?"

Before you could reply, Rocky spoke. "Nothing, lie."

You closed your eyes in silent anguish. It hadn't even occurred to you that Rocky wouldn't be able to lie out loud because of his syntax.

"Oh, 'nothing', huh?" Ryland demanded, looking back and forth between you and the Eridian. "'Lie', huh?"

"Grace, listen-" You started, turning on your stool to face him. Seeing his expression - shocked, offended, miffed - a snort burst out of you. You pulled your lips into your teeth to stop yourself from grinning.

"So the two of you just thought it would be funny to spew lies and conspiracy theories?" Ryland continued, aiming the question at both you and Rocky although his eyes were locked on you.

"Rocky was curious about how pranks work." You shrugged, still fighting back a smile.

"Oh yeah? And who told him about them, I wonder."

You rolled your eyes. "God, you sound like such a teacher right now."

"We're supposed to teach him correct concepts." Ryland said. "Not about underground lizard people."

"I never said anything about lizard people!" You objected. "Come on, Grace, we just wanted a laugh."

He looked at you silently for a moment.

"Okay." He said, folding his arms. "C'mere then."

You faltered. "I feel like I shouldn't."

Ryland didn't speak. Only waved his fingers in a beckoning motion and pointed at the floor in front of him.

Shit, you thought concisely.

Slowly, reluctantly, you slid off your stool and walked towards him.

"Hmm." Ryland hummed, scanning you up and down.

"What?" You demanded, flapping your arms out.

"If you wanted to have a laugh," he said, voice lilting. "There's a much faster way to get it."

Your heart skipped. Double shit. "Grace. That wasn't my inten-"

"Your intention?" He raised his eyebrows teasingly. "As if you don't know how to get exactly what you want out of me."

"I'm not having this conversation." You said with finality. "I'm leaving now."

Ryland's arm wrapped securely around your middle, pulling you backwards into his chest, as soon as you turned to walk away.

"Grace - wait -" You stuttered "-this isn't fair - ack!"

"What isn't fair?" Ryland asked calmly, squeezing at your waist. His other hand came up to scribble on the back of your neck, where you had dropped your head forward to hide your reaction from him.

"What about Rohocky?!" You hated how your voice pitched up into a whine.

"Rocky is innocent." Ryland said. "He was coerced into this scheme by your evil little mind."

"Yohou're the evil one!" You kicked your leg out, hoping to create enough momentum to break free.

"How so?" He asked, pulling you back to him as if it were an afterthought. His hand veered to scratch around your ear.

"You know how!" You accused, reaching up to pull Ryland's hand away from your ear by the wrist.

"The same way I know that earth is round?" Ryland teased, letting you pull his hand away. "Who's to say?"

With that, he pulled against your grip on his wrist, and took hold of your jaw.

"Grace, I swear to god, I will-" You intensified your pulling and kicking.

"You're not gonna do anything." He said easily, and blew a raspberry on your neck.

You laughed desperately, legs nearly giving out under you. Ryland broke off from the raspberry, cutting it short by his own chuckling at your reaction.

"Oh man." He said through his laugh. "That was adorable."

"No it wasn't." You gritted out, jerking your head out of Ryland's grip. He let you, instead using that arm to wrap it around your middle along with the other.

"No?" He pressed his cheek to your hair. "You're right, it wasn't just adorable. It was also very cute."

You growled, feeling your face flush. You angled your head further away from him to hide it.

"You're sweet, and silly." Ryland continued, squeezing both hands against your waist gently. Just enough to get you giggling. "And you had to come up with this elaborate plan when you could have just come and asked me to tickle you."

Through the haze, you thought: I'm going to die here.

"That wasn't the plan." Your objected, but it sounded weak even to your own ears.

Ryland hummed in faux sympathy. It made your stomach do a flip.

"Let me goho." You whined. You actually whined. The realisation made you flush hotter.

"Awh." Ryland clicked his teeth. "Hard to get away when you're giggling so hard, huh?"

"Whahat do you want from me?" You were not above begging at this point.

"There is one thing." He mused, shifting one hand higher to your ribs. "But I'm not sure if you'll be able to do it."

"I'll doho it!"

"Will you behave?"

"Yehes!" You nodded your head. Pretended not to hear his wheezy laugh at how quickly you complied.

"Will you stop telling Rocky conspiracy theories?"

"Thahat's more than one thihing!"

Ryland increased the speed of his hands. "Will you?"

"Yesyesyes!" You yelped, pulling at his arms.

"Alright." He chuckled lightly, stopping his ticklish attack on you, but held firm as you tried to catch your breath. "Good."

You let your head drop back against Ryland's shoulder, your chest heaving. He rubbed his cheek on the side of your head softly, letting you get your bearings.

"Rocky have question, statement."

You jolted, shocked by his voice. You had forgotten he was even there.

"Yeah, bud?" Ryland asked, maneouvering both your bodies slightly so he could look at him.

"What mean lizard people, question?"

"Oh noooo…" You groaned, flopping your head forward.

"This is your doing, squirmy." Ryland informed you.

"I plead the fifth."

"I guess I did make you promise not to tell him about conspiracy theories." He mused, releasing his hold on you, but keeping both palms pressed to your shoulders. "I'll handle this one."

"I'm just gonna -" You made the mistake of looking at Ryland's face. His expression told you he knew exactly what you were going to say. "- I'll be back."

You nearly sobbed (you should be asking him that), but choked back the sound by pressing your nose into his shoulder. In many ways, Ryland continuously reminded you that regardless of the situations he found himself in, he gave up his comfort (and his physical body) to help. He was a constant string of sacrifices, an endless loop of giving. 

It made an ugly feeling strike through your gut. When was the last time he asked for something in return? 

Closing your eyes, you sunk deeper into Ryland’s hold and hoped to convey wordlessly that he could hold you the way he needed to. That he could hold you tight; grip you selfishly.  

The seconds ticked by, and the awkward silence that had settled over the ship began to morph into something softer. You realised that Rocky was also in the room, but hadn’t made a single sound. Not even his translator echoed mechanically in the air, asking questions.

Ryland quietly cleared his throat. “Did you want to—uh, talk… about it?” 

His question was followed by his thumb rubbing a small crescent into your back. You turned your head to press your cheek against Ryland’s shoulder, gaze idly running along the floor. 

“No,” you murmured. “But thanks for asking.” 

Ryland nodded his head, exhaling through his nose. After a short moment, you felt his cheek press against the side of your head. 

You couldn’t say when the two of you began to sway, but, at some point, your heart rates had synced with one another, beating in tandem while your bodies rocked side to side. There wasn’t any music to accompany you; you weren’t sharing a romantic dance.

Your lips briefly twitched with a faint smile as you imagined Rocky asking you about it. 

Why Grace and Y/N move to side on repeat. Question. 

You weren’t good with numbers or molecular biology like Ryland, but you knew a lot about the human body. And you knew that people rocked themselves when they needed comfort. Maybe Eridians did something similar? You’d explain it to the overly enthusiastic alien, but the thought left you when Ryland moved his hand up your back, palm splayed against your spine.

“This is nice,” Ryland whispered.

You hummed, and tears crowded the edges of your vision. 

“Same time tomorrow?”

You let out a wet giggle, muffling it into his shirt. 

Ryland let out a soft huff, his smile trailing after his breath and hidden from view.

--------------------------------------------------

thank you for reading, God bless <3

CHEM 101.

The earliest class you could sign up for, that’s how you liked it anyway, so you could have the rest of the day to either work or get homework done.

The hall where the class was being held was bustling with students, even in the early morning, so you had to weave through the crowd just to get to your classroom. Some were walking to class, like you, and others just stood in the middle conversing with each other.

The last sight irked you, but you kept to yourself as you mentally calculated your route to the classroom after glancing at the map by the elevators.

You do your best to avoid bumping into others, holding your textbook close to your chest and watching where your backpack is, but it's inevitable. Your shoulder bumps into a tall man standing right outside the door, your focus having been on avoiding the couple that was taking up the entire hallway.

Heart spiking slightly, your gaze snaps up at the figure, finding his blue eyes already staring down at you. You feel your cheeks beginning to heat up in embarrassment.

His dirty blond hair was a mess, as if he had just rolled out of bed, his glasses askew on his face like you had never seen before, hanging off only his right ear. He was handsome, in a nerdy way, your mind instantly decided at the sight of him.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.”

The words slip quickly from your lips, guilt evident in your tone as you watch him adjust his stance, giving you a soft smile that begins to ease the nerves that had started tingling at the interaction. He waves his hand slightly, dismissing your words as easily as breathing.

“It’s no worries. It’s pretty crowded in here anyway.”

Your own soft smile appears on your lips, nodding along to his words, your eyes glancing to the clock hanging on the wall behind him. Shit, it was later than you thought, and you had even tried to give yourself plenty of time to get to the classroom and be able to find a prime seat.

“Yeah, it is. I’m sorry again.”

Nodding your head slightly at him again, you rush your way into the classroom, only to be met with a full auditorium. You didn’t realize how many other students really took Chem 101 in their first year.

Your eyes drift across the classroom, shoulders drooping as you try your hardest to look for an empty seat somewhere, anywhere. Every seat you looked at was either already filled with a person or had a backpack resting on it as a silent claim.

You were about to give up and head to your advisor for a different section of the course, when in the back of the auditorium, there stood two empty chairs side by side.

Moving quickly, you dodge and weave through people heading to their seats or talking with their friends, moving to sit in the empty seat before anybody else could even think of claiming it for themselves, placing your backpack on the floor beside you with a small sigh of relief escaping you.

The chair was unofficially claimed as your seat.

Your shoulders begin to relax, your racing heart moving to a normal beat, as you set your textbook on the desk and start moving to grab out your notebook and pencil pouch. You take your time, making sure you have everything you need before you feel a sudden presence make its way beside you.

Placing your last highlighter onto your notebook, your gaze drifts up towards the figure, finding the same man you had bumped into, staring down at you with a nervous smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He points to the empty chair beside you, his words slightly loud to accommodate the noise of the classroom.

“Is anybody sitting here?”

His question takes a while to process in your mind, which was still trying to get over how handsome he was. And he wanted to sit by you?

Well, there are no other seats open. A small part of your brain reminds you, and you’re thrust back into the conversation, shaking your head as a smile quickly appears on your lips.

“No, go ahead.”

He takes the seat with a grateful smile, setting his backpack on the floor beside him before beginning to grab out his own materials for class: a textbook, a notebook, and a pen.

Silence begins to roam across the classroom as the professor walks in, setting down their briefcase as they address the class, setting up the slideshow that would be used for the day. Your hands instantly open your notebook, ready to follow along and write down notes.

“I’m Ryland, by the way.”

A voice whispers from beside you, your hand freezing in writing the title of the slideshow in your notebook as you glance over at the male, finding him beginning to write the same. Slowly, your hands continue to write, your eyes moving back to the slideshow as the professor clicks to the next slide, a small smile forcing itself onto your lips.

And you softly whisper back your own name.

Ryland had quickly become your greatest resource in every science class you have taken since finding out his major was molecular biology. He had been a bit confused when you had told him that you were majoring in education and minoring in art.

“Why does an education major need all these science courses?” He had questioned one day while the two of you were in the library studying, your textbooks strewn across the top of the table.

“Prerequisites, Ry.” You respond with a small shrug, munching on the snack that you had brought with you since your study sessions usually lasted well into the night.

Ryland was your biggest reason for passing all of those courses, too. All of those late-night study sessions in the library always paid off as you would show him your test score with the brightest smile on your lips.

Slowly but surely, as the years go on, your courses together begin to dwindle. You going into courses that focus more on education and art, while Ryland went into courses that delved deeper into specific science topics.

But you always made sure to keep the late-night study sessions the same.

Ryland's eyes were fixed upon you as you sat across from him at the table you both had unofficially claimed as your study table, watching as you carefully dragged your pencil over your paper, drawing a project for one of your art classes.

The way your eyebrows furrowed when you had made a mistake, the way your tongue poked out just a little bit when you were focused, the way you gently tapped your foot along to whatever music you were listening to in the singular earbud you kept in.

He noticed things about you, things that he usually never noticed about people before. He knew your likes and dislikes, the things that made you happy, the things that made you tick with anger.

He spent more time with you than with his own science colleagues, for God’s sake.

As he continued to watch you, a simple thought popped into his mind, something he’d never really thought of before then: did he like you… more than a friend?

I mean, sure, you were gorgeous in beauty standards, but he was attracted to different things about you. The way your eyes sparkled when you got something right, down to the way your nose scrunched when you got something wrong.

Maybe he did.

And that thought terrified him.

What if you didn’t like him back? What if it ruined your friendship? What if he never says anything and regrets it for the rest of his life?

His lips part, his grip on the pen he currently holds tightening as the courage in him to tell you the truth builds and builds and builds.

Until you look up at him.

Your eyes meet his across the table, that soft smile he had grown so used to seeing tugs at your lips, and his heart stops. His mind freezes at just that simple connection; no sound would leave him, no matter how much he willed it to.

But he kept willing as you kept looking at him, until finally a jumble of words burst past his lips.

“I’m writing a research project.”

Damnit, that definitely wasn’t what he wanted to say. He watches as your eyes glance between him and the computer he had set out in front of him, giving him a nod to his words as you tilt the paper you had been working on towards him.

“My project is a little simpler than yours.”

Ryland’s eyes move down to stare at the drawing, the confidence he had built to confess slipping from his fingers as easily as it had come. And as he looks back at you, nodding with a soft smile, he realizes something. Something that causes a yearning to grow in his very core.

Maybe he could try again another time.

Yeah, another time. A better time.

That time never came, though.

After that one revelation, Ryland had gotten so busy in the throes of his research, of proving to those around him that his theory was correct and that he wouldn’t be the laughing stock of the science community.

It started with a missed study session, then it evolved into multiple, and then he started missing your calls.

All until Ryland Grace was but a memory.

You walked the stage, accepted your education diploma with a bright smile on your lips, but as you looked into the crowd, finding the happy faces of your family, you imagined another face in the mix, even though you knew he was not there.

You had made a life for yourself: an apartment that was all your own, a job, students who loved you dearly. You had everything you hoped you would when you first started college all those years ago.

But in the back of your mind, in the deepest parts of your dreams, you still see that dark blond hair and those blue eyes.

—

You had been an art teacher at the same middle school for a few years, creating connections with the students there and the other teachers who worked alongside you. You loved getting to see every single student in the school, building their love for art and everything that coincides with it.

The students chattered on excitedly about a new science teacher that they would be getting. After the difficulty of keeping a teacher in that position, you were pretty excited for them, too.

You’d seen how into science some of these kids were just based on their drawings.

Standing in the breakroom, you made yourself a mid-day cup of coffee, the students having been extra energetic today, meaning you needed a good pick-me-up. Your gaze was so focused on the slow pouring of your coffee, you didn’t hear the footsteps that came into the breakroom, but what did catch your attention was the shocked whisper of your name.

Your eyes perked over towards whoever had spoken your name, and you were very glad that you weren’t holding your coffee mug just yet, lest you drop it.

There stood a familiar head of dark blond hair, those same blue eyes that haunted you at night, those glasses that still hung so funnily off his face.

“Ryland?”

Your own call of his name was a similar shocked whisper. You couldn’t believe it. Ryland Grace was standing before you, the same man who had plagued your dreams ever since you last saw him all those years ago.

Here he stood, in a suit and tie, with a badge clipped to his front pocket. A school badge. Was he a teacher?

The urge to hug him was strong, to hold him tight just to show him how much you’ve truly missed him, but you held back; it had been a few years after all. Maybe a hug like that too soon might be weird.

You would never know that in his mind, he felt the exact same way.

The two of you move to sit at the breakroom table, conscious of the time to make sure that you don’t miss your classes. Your mug sat abandoned in front of you, your mind so focused on wrapping around the fact that your once college friend was now your coworker.

His words fly quickly from his nervous rambling, informing you of everything that had happened since he last saw you: the research paper, graduating with his doctorate, becoming the laughing stock of his peers, and finally, becoming a teacher. It was a lot to take in all at once.

After his words trailed off, he sits across from you, his eyes staring at you with something you couldn’t decipher. Like he wanted to tell you something else, but he couldn’t find the words to put it in. So, you break the slowly growing silence between you.

“I’m so glad to see you again, Ry.”

The words slip easily from your lips, as does the old nickname you called him. You watch as his face changes before you, almost slipping back into the look that he would give you all those years ago, but his smile softens on his face as he nods.

“It’s good to see you, too.”

—

It felt so good to be around him again, to be able to see his face every few hours and be reminded of the man that you had bumped into that one day in college. You never realized how much you truly missed him until you got to see him smiling at you when you first walk into the school in the mornings.

Or when he brings you coffee during his planning period, making it just the way he remembered you liking it.

Or when he would stay in your classroom after the end of the school day to grade his lab reports while you graded pieces of art.

Or… you get the picture.

Years before at the school were nice and all, but they were nothing compared to finally having Ryland around again. No other coworker found as much interest in the art project you were currently having the students do as he did.

No other person sent a flutter through your stomach as he did.

Coworkers were one of the worst bits of gossipers in the school, worse than the students at times. You remembered being in the staff supply closet, grabbing materials for the day, when a group of teachers passed by. They were whispering to each other, but they were still loud enough for you to hear.

“Have you heard about what Mr. Grace said about the art teacher?”

“No?”

“I overheard him talking to another science teacher about her, and he was just positively gushing about her.”

“Well, aren’t they close?”

Slowly, you peek out from around the doorframe, staring at the backs of the two teachers as they talk. You were never one to give in to such things, never finding an interest in gossip before, but this was about you. You and Ryland.

“Yeah. But he wasn’t just talking about her; he was basically flattering her with every sentence.”

Your eyes widen ever so slightly, that same flutter resounding in the pit of your stomach at just the thought of Ryland doing such a thing.

“You don’t think…?”

“Oh, he’s worse than the students when they have a crush-”

Crush.

Crush.

No other part of their sentences goes heard by you, your mind so focused on that one part of their sentence. Could it be true? Was it true? The bigger part of your brain begs it to be, while another part tries to rationalize.

But you were done rationalizing. Steeling your shoulders, you nod to yourself in the small supply closet, taking in a small but shaky breath.

You were going to act.

You wait until the afternoon, until Ryland comes in like clockwork with his stack of lab reports that needed to be graded before Friday, that same smile present on his lips. Your heart races at the sight, at the realization that you were really going to do this.

“Ry, can you come here and look at this real quick?”

“Hm? Oh, sure.”

He drops off the stack of papers onto one of the rows of desks that line your room, walking over to your desk to stand right beside you, staring down at the piece of artwork that you had been in the middle of grading.

“Need an extra set of eyes?”

“Yeah, can you look a little closer at the detail?”

This was it, your eyes watch as he leans down, closer to the student work resting on your desk, his cheek right beside your own to stare closer at the paper, a small sacrifice for the greater good. You would definitely give the student an A for their unknowing help.

Before you can convince yourself to back out, you lean forward, gently pressing your lips against his cheek. It was quick and chaste, barely a brush against skin before you pull back with heated cheeks.

You watch as he freezes, his entire body goes rigid, and his cheeks instantly darken into a deep red that takes over his entire face and neck. Your shoulders tense as his gaze slowly moves over to meet yours, and you have half a mind to apologize at just the look he gives you.

Shocked, unexpected.

“Ry-”

You begin, ready to back out of the whole thing with trembling hands and a racing heart, but you're interrupted when Ryland’s hands suddenly come up to hold your face, and he surges forward, his lips melding with your own.

His breath was shaky against your skin, as if he, too, had been afraid of the thoughts in his head. But he feels the way your body almost slumps into his hold, the way your head tilts into the kiss, how your hands come up to grip the front of his blazer and pull him even closer.

Both of your eyes flutter closed as your bodies instantly relax into the kiss.

Your lips fit together like missing puzzle pieces, molded together as if God himself had made them a perfect fit.

“Ry.” You whisper against his lips, the brush of your panted breath causing a shiver to roll up his spine, and the next set of words to slip so easily from him. You always had that effect about you. You always made his mind mess up.

“I love you. Always have.” He breaths out, never once pulling away, keeping his lips brushing against yours with every syllable.

Even with his eyes closed, he can feel the way your lips tug into a soft smile, feel the breathy chuckle that dances against his skin. You whisper your next set of words, before he surges forward and continues the kiss with you happily reciprocating.

You crouched down next to Ryland, “hey guys! Are these…” 

“Our eggs!” Rocky’s sing-song tones rang out happily. 

Adrian righted one of the babies that had fallen over, patting its xenonite suit with a proud arm. Ryland was a mess already, tears streaming down his face and hands reaching for the closest baby. “Grace leaking on pebbles already,” Rocky whistled, stomping a foot in faux annoyance.

“Pebbles!” You and Ryland repeat it back to him at the same time, a laugh bubbling out of you quietly. The little one finally lets Ryland make contact, he slides a hand under it with the intention to lift it up, but it weighs like 40 pounds so he settles for patting the top of its carapace like Adrian had. 

“They’re heavy!” Ryland exclaims through sniffles, laughing when one of the pebbles puts a leg on his hand. You take in the happy parents standing in the light, “congrats, guys, they’re adorable.” 

“Is many pebbles for one clutch, keep us busy, busy, busy all day and night.” Adrian steps all the way inside and plops down, the action screams tired parent. Rocky follows suit, pushing the little ones further inside and shutting the door so he can sit properly. 

They tell you about the egg hatching process, knowing you and Ryland were going to ask questions. What were engineers and scientists expected to do when presented with the chance to learn about how babies are made? The pebbles were blocked in on all sides by the four of you, rolling over each other and talking in high tones that you couldn’t translate. 

You asked what their daily routine looked like, what the babies got up to, anything that came to mind, really. Ryland seemed content to listen, too busy letting the pebbles climb his arms and legs. The smile never left his face, even after his tears dried. 

“We hoped this would help them sleep,” Rocky said quietly, watching as the biggest one landed upside down, it’s legs going crazy. You help right the poor thing, grunting with the effort. “They have not slept in days,” Adrian supplies, lying so still you almost thought they were sleeping.

“They can sleep here, we can watch them,” Ryland glances at you with a smile. You nod, more than happy to help where you can.

“Rocky Adrian sleep too, question? You watch.” Rocky sounds so tired suddenly, and you stand to usher them all into the bedroom. “Come on, the bed is big enough for everyone.” 

Adrian and Rocky practically throw all of the pebbles up on the bed, climbing up after them and caging them in between their larger bodies. Ryland grabs your hand and pulls you to the pile, sitting with his back against the headboard. You slide in next to him, head landing on his shoulder. 

A deep rumbling starts in Rocky and Adrian’s carapaces. They were putting the little ones to sleep, it made you smile. The pebbles calmed immediately, all four going still on the blankets. “They must have been tired,” Ryland whispers, a soft look on his face. “We’re babysitting aliens, by the way.” He turns to you, laughter threatening to break through the quiet room. 

“I guess it doesn’t matter what planet you’re on, caring for little ones takes a village,” you murmur against his shoulder. “I’m glad they came to us,” he presses a kiss to your temple. “They’re going to put me to sleep too, though, with that thrumming.” And he yawns, like he’s proving a point. 

“Get some sleep,” you run a hand through his hair, feeling him relax under your touch, “I’ll watch.” He tugs you down the bed with him, hugging you to his chest. You stay awake long enough to hear his breathing even out, taking a few moments to admire the little family you managed to find lightyears away from home.

--------------------------

ᯓ✦∘˙ RYLAND GRACE . . .

“Goodnight, Ry.” You leaned over, momentarily out of his grip as you flicked the bedside lamp off; darkness quickly swallowing the whole room as you settled back into his embrace.

His head was laid gently against your shoulder, hugging you from behind as he began peppering tiny kisses against the exposed skin, eliciting a pleasant sigh from your mouth as you settled down, ready to drift off into sleep. It wasn’t until his kisses became slower, more sensual, that you realised what he was trying to initiate.

“Ry.” You spoke sternly, a tone like you were scolding him.

“Hm?” He hummed innocently, pulling himself back from your neck as he began to fiddle with the hem of the pyjama shirt you were wearing.

“I’m tired, honey.” You sighed deeply, feeling a little deflated for rejecting the man. It wasn’t often that Ryland initiated sex, maybe once a month he made the first move himself, probably in fear of being shot-down like he just had. “Listen, wake me up before you leave for work, okay? We can sort something out.”

“Hey no, It’s okay you don’t have to—“ Ryland seemed to stop himself mid-sentence, imagination probably trailing off to the most wonderful places as he realised just how hard he was; a problem that would keep pestering him until he was able to get his release the way he wanted. “I’ll wake you up in the morning.”

The last part came out a little embarrassed, making you sleepily chuckle, now drifting off into a deep sleep.

Ryland had taken it upon himself to get up a little earlier that morning, allowing himself longer than usual in bed with you; Ryland wasn’t so much a fan of quickies, he liked to take his time, staring down at your face while he pleasured you. He could stay there forever.

Mindlessly, his fingers began fiddling with the hem of your underwear; pulling it and letting it gently smack back against your skin as he waited to see if you’d stir awake from the motion, sighing deeply when you didn’t. He didn’t really want to disturb you in that way, shaking you awake so you could have sex with him, something about it felt wrong to him — like everything was all about him, and he never wanted it to be that way.

He pondered for a moment, wondering how he could make it about you before his fingers paused against the hem of your underwear, an idea quickly coming to light. His fingers gently tucked themselves inside your underwear, flexing his wrist slightly to allow more precision as he pressed two fingers against the most sensitive part of you.

He shuffled upwards slightly, head coming to rest on your shoulder like it did the previous night; his fingers now softly circling, lips kissing up your neck. He noticed how your breathing seemed to speed up in your sleep, letting out a tiny whimper that caused his mouth to drop open, astounded at the effect you had on him just from making such a small noise.

He felt you growing wetter underneath his touch as you finally began to stir awake, a moan of his name leaving your lips.

“This is new.” Ryland could hear the smile on your face, peering over at you to catch a glimpse of it as you instinctively leaned back into him.

“Do you like it?”

He watched as you began to nod incessantly, mirroring the smile you were wearing perfectly as he shifted his focus back to his movements, intent on having you fall apart beneath his touch.

“Wanted to wake you up all nice and gentle like you deserve, baby.” His voice was raspy, feeling how when he circled over a spot your back arched up into him in a silent piece of reassurance he was doing a good job.

His fingers slowly began to speed up their circling, enjoying how you twitched into him, louder moans of his name now falling from your lips — repeating his name like a mantra, over and over again until his head started to spin.

“Mm, turn over. C’mere.” Ryland placed a strong-hand against your shoulder, pushing down on the skin to get you to lay flat on your back, quickly manoeuvring himself on top of you.

His lips caught yours in a passionate kiss, removing his hand from inside your underwear to slide the garment down your leg, discarding it near the bottom of the bed somewhere; his hand now trailing back up to your thigh as he sat upwards, settling himself inbetween you.

His hands gently steadied your legs over his shoulders, using his grip on the limbs to pull you closer to him as he begun lining himself up. Your hair splayed out majestically against the white-pillows, messing up in all the ways he enjoyed.

He entered you with a gasp, carefully pushing himself as deep as he could go before his posture faltered for a moment; feeling how your walls squeezed around him, shuddering at the greeting.

Ryland moaned out in a mix of desperation and relief as he begun thrusting in and out of you, intently watching every twist of your face, how your eyes were squeezed shut, mouth hanging open as noises slipped out every so often.

Wanting more contact, your hands begin gently grabbing at the air while you tried to reach him, eventually giving up with a whine. Ryland leant down closer to you, accidentally pushing himself impossibly deeper with a guttural groan.

He watched how your head shot back instantly, one of your legs spasming involuntarily on his shoulder as you let out your loudest moan yet.

“Geez.” He seethed through gritted-teeth, eyes shut as he cocked his head in pleasure, feeling your fingers now threading through his messy locks.

He acknowledged how you begin bucking your hips at him, a silent begging for him to resume his pace. And who was he to say no?

With the added pleasure of your fingers tangled in his hair, Ryland began thrusting just like before, his eyes locked on yours, which were now looking up at him in pure bliss.

“Ry— I’m really— I’m gonna—“

“I hear you, baby. Come on, let me feel it.” He encouraged in a tone that made your head spin, orgasm hitting you like a truck as he talked you all the way through it, barely even audible over the sounds of your repeated moaning.

Ryland finished as soon as you did, the squeeze proving all too much for him to keep it together. He pulled out of you slowly, carefully bringing your shaking legs to return to the comfort of the mattress as he collapsed next to you — his chest heaving.

“Feelin’ loud this morning, huh?” He joked, turning his head to face your annoyed expression.

“You better look the other way before I smack you in the face.”

ᯓ✦∘˙ SIERRA SIX . . .

“No, we’re not doing that, follow me.”

Six’s deep, authoritative tone echoed through your ears despite the overwhelming chatter of the crowd. His hand was wrapped tightly around your wrist, tugging you over to a dimly-lit corner of the room, growing further and further away from the target you were assigned to be uncomfortably close to by now.

Six was protective, he never wanted you to be in the line of danger, but most of all — he wasn’t a fan of sharing.

The agency had instructed you to seduce the target by any means possible: flirting, touching, nothing seemed to be off-limits to gain further insight into the mystery man. They hoped that you’d do just enough for him to trail after you upon leaving the party, allowing you and Six a perfect ambush.

Six was deployed as a fail-safe, a strong presence looming close, just in case anything were to go south with the mission.

However, for an agency that prides themselves on intel, they certainly hadn’t realised the sexual nature of your relationship with Six. The long nights in dingy hotel rooms, screaming his name until the sun came up, until your voice had given out — words coming out like a broken whisper by the time he was satisfied.

Six leaned suavely against a nook in the wall, a doorway space, but he leant on the leftmost wall; strategically placing himself in-line with the target’s vision as he held up two fingers, motioning for you to come closer to him.

He offered you a small nod of reassurance as he shifted one of his legs to extend outward, his combat boot planted firmly against the hard-wood floor whilst he flexed the muscle of his thigh. Six watched your expression carefully as he snaked his hands around your back, pulling you to hover just above his thigh.

“Do you trust me?” He spoke lowly in your ear, voice gruff and raspy as he fiddled with the hem of the short-dress the agency had provided for you, rubbing the silk material gently between his fingers as if it were a compulsion.

“Always.” All the oxygen had already left your body, breathless as you realised what he had planned, how he was going to get the target’s attention. In front of all these other unsuspecting party-goers who would catch quite a sight if they were to look over.

“Put your head on my right shoulder. He’s by the bar. Make sure he sees you looking at him.”

You obliged swiftly, laying the side of your cheek to rest against his shoulder as your eyes settled on the target, currently nursing a whiskey the bar staff had just handed him.

Six’s hands trailed from your back to your hips, quickly flipping your dress up for a moment as you settled against his thigh. As fast as he flipped it up, he flipped it back down, letting the material fall gently against his knee as your dampening underwear began to soak the harsh material of his jeans.

Whilst your head lay gently on his shoulder, strategically blocking his face from vision; his head was craned towards you, lips lingering just inches away from your ear.

Six guided your hips in a slow rhythm, pulling you up and down against his thigh as a string of small moans began falling from your lips at the friction — your body gently twitching into him.

The target’s eyes began to wander aimlessly around the room, scanning for nothing in particular until his eye-line began to trail in the direction of you and Six. If he continued following his current direction, his eyes would settle on the two of you, mainly you.

Quickly, you flinched away before his eyes could reach, trying to make it as subtle as you could when you absentmindedly happened to glance over at him whilst grinding down against Six’s muscular thigh, mouth agape ever so slightly.

In the moment that Six began bouncing his leg, you felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of your head, as if trying to melt straight through the bone in your skull. A louder moan fell from your lips, flipping your hair in a performance for your eyes to fall directly on the target, meeting his perverted gaze in feigned surprise.

A small smirk was tugging against the corner of his lips as you smiled coyly, making sure your eyes stared dead into his, locked in a gaze of seduction. Your left hand, out of vision, began to tap twice against Six’s side in an attempt to alert him that the target was looking.

“He lookin’ at you?”

You tapped twice again as confirmation, listening as he hummed in response, now muttering all sorts of husky praises in your ear to turn you on even more; in concordance, contorting your facial expressions in a way he knew would captivate the target. His words, mixed with the flexing of his thigh, pushed you further over the edge — the familiar knot beginning to tie itself in your stomach, now desperately chasing your high against his jeans.

“I bet he wants to touch you so bad, but he can’t, can he?” Six muttered in a condescending tone, teeth grazing against the soft skin of your earlobe as he pushed you impossibly further onto his thigh. “Cause you’re all mine, and you know it.”

Your eyes began to flutter closed, the feeling in your stomach growing more intense as it seemed to rock through your whole body.

“Look at me when you cum. It’ll drive him crazy.” Six instructed, feeling how your hips stuttered against his thigh, how your breathing became even more ragged by the second, trying to keep up with your own orgasm.

Finally, you offered a knowing smile to the target before pulling back to face Six, who now had his head leant against the wall behind him as he watched you come undone over his thigh; his hands on your hips not stuttering for even a second as your orgasm rattled through you, riding it out both metaphorically and physically.

Six allowed you a couple moments to recover before carefully loosening his grip on your hips, allowing you to get your bearings as you stood up slowly.

“Leave through the door next to him. I’ll be right behind you.”

Six watched as you nodded, easily sauntering through the crowd of people while honed-in on the target, who now came to stand up as you walked by.

Six was entranced, watching how your weight shifted from one hip to the other; strutting like a model, like this whole place was your runway — subtly offering a quick, lingering touch against the target’s hand as you walked outside.

Six smirked, watching how the target trailed close behind you like a lost puppy; eager for just an ounce of your attention.

In that moment, he realised he wasn’t all that different to the man.

ᯓ✦∘˙ HOLLAND MARCH . . .

“You sure you can handle me, old man?” You teased as Holland carefully walked you back toward his bed, the back of your knees coming in contact with its frame — toppling you back into the plush mattress.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll do just fine, sugar. Thanks for your concern.” He spat sarcastically, crawling himself on top of you as he leant down to your neck, leaving a trail of saliva and kisses wherever he went; your hands travelled gently down the front of his body, working on unbuckling his belt.

With an internal cheer of relief, you pulled the belt through its loops, ready to throw it somewhere on the floor until Holland harshly gripped at your wrist, your grip loosening at the contact.

The material slipped through your fingers as Holland smoothly took ownership of the belt as he retracted away from you for just a second.

He dangled the belt just beside his face, occasionally shooting a glance at it before glancing back to you, eyebrows suggestively raised in a silent question. He watched as your eyes darkened, a small smile now playing at your lips while he shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and complete arousal.

You offered your wrists out to him, already placing them just how he wanted them — both wrists now flush against each-other. The belt jingled quietly as he worked on wrapping it around your hands, quickly tugging on it to make sure it was tight enough to resist your attempts to break-free. Though, you didn’t particularly want to be free of the belt, at least for now.

Holland’s large hand enclosed over yours as he leaned over you again, pressing your two hands into the wall just above his headboard.

“Keep ‘em there.” He demanded, now working on undressing every inch of you, not just with his eyes, but physically too.

Your clothes were soon discarded along his bedroom floor, strung out in a way that felt almost poetic. Holland leant over to his bedside table for a moment, seemingly fiddling with something before holding a cigarette between his lips.

“Seriously? I’m naked on your bed and you’re thinking about cigarettes?” Holland flicked his lighter open, the flame gorgeously lighting up every inch of his face in a warm, comforting glow before returning the lighter to the bedside table; cigarette now lit.

He brought two fingers up to the cigarette, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly as he stared down at your impatient state.

“You ever smoke before?” He ignored your previous question, proposing another one.

“It’s the 70s. Everyone’s smoked before.” Your sass seemed to enlighten something within him, his free-hand snaking its way up your leg to settle in-between your thighs.

He gently ran a thick, rough finger through your folds — watching as your hips involuntarily bucked up into his touch, giving into you immediately as he pushed two fingers inside of you at once. Your breath hitched, a noise caught in your throat as Holland began pumping his fingers in and out of you.

He watched in a sense of amusement, noticing how you struggled against his fingers, trying to spit some sort of sarcastic remark that proved unable to leave your mouth.

He took another drag from the cigarette, an irresistible smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as his fingers never even faltered inside of you, in fact only growing faster by the second.

“Quiet now, I’ve noticed.” He pulled the cigarette from his lips proudly, cocking his head to watch as only small whispers of pleasure left your lips. The feeling he drew out of you was too much for your brain to even register, barely even letting a moan slip past your lips at the sudden assault on your senses.

Holland kept puffing on the cigarette until it was almost done, just watching as your body contorted, getting off so perfectly on just his fingers while he absentmindedly smoked at the same time. In fact, the sight of him turned you on even more.

Taking a final drag, he outstretched his arm to stub the cigarette out in the ash tray upon his bedside table. He finally leant down to hover his face above your own, tapping gently against your cheek; a signal to open your mouth.

All too willingly, you obliged as he grew impossibly close to you, his lips gently brushing against your own as he blew the smoke directly into your mouth — enjoying the scent of tobacco now filling his senses in all the right ways, watching how you inhaled the smoke before breathing it out again in a large sigh, his fingers curling themselves inside of you.

“You’re bad, you know that?” His free hand now came to caress your cheek, his knuckles grazing softly against your heated-cheeks, tinted a soft red colour.

The extra stimulation sent you reeling, still trying your best to keep your hands up as your arms began to ache in a way that was impossible to ignore. The sooner you came, the sooner he’d release your hands from the belt.

Your hips desperately bucked up against his fingers, riding them as he continued his relentless pace, feeling that familiar knot sitting deep, unavoidable in your stomach. Your moans progressed in their volume, now whimpering and whining in a way that dangerously inflated his ego.

In that moment, a shriek left your mouth; the dull ache in your arms, the movement of your hips, the pace of his fingers all became too much as the metaphorical coil inside of you snapped. Your hands accidentally smacked hard into the wall as you came, a force that would definitely leave a bruise when you woke up the next morning.

Holland smiled down at you proudly, his hands working on undoing the buckle of the belt, letting your arms now fall free either side of you as he gently massaged your hands — trying to soothe where you’d hurt yourself, wincing slightly as he did so.

The mix of fading pleasure and pain seemed to make you dizzy, eyelids softly fluttering shut as your head sank further into the pillow; enjoying the warmth, the cushion of the material behind your head.

“You’re stayin’ the night, I assume.” Holland chuckled, his hand coming to annoyingly ruffle in your hair; creating knots you knew you’d have to untangle in the morning.

“Not if you keep talking.”