grace rocky save stars

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.

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“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.”

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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.

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