Nekro Man

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knowing people enjoyed is what keeps me motivated!!

thanks 4 reading :)

lots of worship and religious motives, possibly blood…. possibly someeee teddy hyde sex with a ghost?!? yknow i have to include freaky shit im sorry.

i don’t know if it’ll completely follow canon. i know i want it to be played very day by day so some shit may be tweaked. i don’t know if i want infected Simon to in it— i’ll figure it out.

anyway we’re gettng tragic. lmk what you think and any ideas you have!

It wasn’t even about Grace specifically. Surely not that blabbering dork.

Grace looked down at the arrangement of rope crossing Simon’s chest, then at the accompanying illustration. The geometric lattice he’d spent the last ten minutes reproducing framed his upper torso in a way that was undeniably… intentional.

Grace’s thumb rested briefly against one of the horizontal wraps while he adjusted its position by a fraction of an inch. The rope shifted with it, settling snugly back into place.

Graces hands moved close together, his thumb brushing the rope stretched over Simons pecs. The instructions could have possibly been for a more narrow chest...

“…I don’t think…” he murmured to himself, “…I don’t think mine looks quite like the example.”

Simon didn’t hear him.

Grace’s hand remained against his chest for only another second, fingertips pressing lightly as he checked the tension beneath the rope. It sent Simon’s pulse stumbling awkwardly in his ribs. He hoped Grace couldn’t feel it through the fabric of his shirt. He wished he had taken it off before so he could feel Graces hands on his skin instead. So he could feel the rope digging into his tits.

Christ. What was he thinking? He should put an end to this before Grace realizes he a pervert.

Graces hands ghosted over his pecs, his thumb pressing on the fat that drooped over the ropes. Once, then again, with gentle strokes.

Simon sucked in a breath, his gaze falling to Graces hands as they went from tracing the ropes to subtly kneading his chest.

“Grace?”

Simon’s words broke the tension, and Grace practically jumped out of his skin. Simon watched Graces pale skin burn red. “Oh my god, im so so sorry- I don’t, i don’t know what i was doing- it’s just you- your- And I-“

Simon reached his hands forward, tugging on Graces shirt to pull him forward. To the best of his abilities, considering his hands were still bound together.

Grace fell closer, his words trailing off. “I… I um..”

Simon met his anxious eyes. “No, it’s okay. I liked it.”

Graces eyebrows raised. “Oh. Oh? do you… do you want me to..?”

read the whole fic on ao3!

Simon sat on the lower bunk with his knees spread to give Grace enough room to work between them, forearms resting loosely against his sides while he endured the latest in what seemed to be an endless parade of bizarre experiments.

Grace had stumbled across an old magazine while digging through one of the ship’s neglected storage compartments. Simon couldn’t even remember what it had been called. Grace certainly had, because he’d spent the better part of the morning enthusiastically explaining every page, speaking so quickly his thoughts constantly outran his words.

Simon barely caught half of it. Waking from a coma less than a week earlier, stranded aboard a spacecraft with a man whose brain was set three conversations ahead, made processing any of it nearly impossible.

Still, Simon humored him.

Grace talked about some interesting knot tying ritual from his magazine. To Simon, it sounded like torture preparations. Grace, meanwhile, talked like it was just another wholesome activity for two friends to learn together, like card games or arts and crafts.

One thing he noticed while on the ship, about Grace specifically, was his tendency to help. It often showed itself in the form of an arm quietly slipped around Simon’s waist whenever his recovering legs threatened to give out, or staying beside him during his particularly violent episodes.

It was infuriating. Simon had always hated being dependent.

One couldn’t deny the care was nice. Even now, as Grace sat between his legs, he tied the Ropes with a carefulness. Hed slip a finger under the ropes to make sure it wasn’t digging into his skin. Simon caught his eyes every now and then, providing the smallest reassurance without meaning to.

Graces fingers brushed his. They were more slender than his own, not dainty by any means, but softer. He could feel the warmth as they briefly held his. Held his wrists and maneuvered his hands with the ropes.

Simon swallowed. He wondered if Grace was regarding his hands in the same manner. thick, stubby fingers, bruises crossing his knuckles, every old cut, every patch of roughened skin. He hadn’t even looked in a mirror since. boarding the Iron Lung. Far before then.

He wondered, briefly, what Grace saw whenever he looked at him.

“There,” Grace said at last. “How’s that feel?”

Simon looked to Grace, then tested the ropes resistance. Firm.

“…Fine.”

Grace seemed pleased. “Great. Now the hard bit…” Grace scratched the back of his neck while staring at another diagram of intersecting lines. “These instructions are so confusing… I wish they showed examples.”

Grace measured the rope twice against Simon’s shoulders, mumbling numbers beneath his breath before beginning the first wrap just beneath his collarbones.

Simon watched Grace. He had a faint crease between his brows Simon had noticed before when he was solving equations. His glasses slipped lower down his nose until he’d unconsciously nudge them back into place with the heel of his wrist.

Simon hadn’t realized how long it had been since another person’s hands had rested on him without the intention to harm.

Grace’s hand brushed his side as he reached behind him to retrieve an end of the rope, and in that moment, Simon briefly wondered what it would feel like for Grace to hold him. To drag his hands across his bare skin. As soon as the thoughts bloomed in his mind, Simon realized his true desperation. God, did he want that badly.

It wasn’t even about Grace specifically. Surely not that blabbering dork.

Grace looked down at the arrangement of rope crossing Simon’s chest, then at the accompanying illustration. The geometric lattice he’d spent the last ten minutes reproducing framed his upper torso in a way that was undeniably… intentional.

Grace’s thumb rested briefly against one of the horizontal wraps while he adjusted its position by a fraction of an inch. The rope shifted with it, settling snugly back into place.

Graces hands moved close together, his thumb brushing the rope stretched over Simons pecs. The instructions could have possibly been for a more narrow chest...

“…I don’t think…” he murmured to himself, “…I don’t think mine looks quite like the example.”

read the rest on ao3!!