#kink stuff

Simon did not like to talk much about – for lack of a better term – his universe. There were the basics: the Quiet Rapture, the Blood Moon, the submarine, what had happened to his left arm and eye and face. What Grace and Rocky and the Eridians devoted to keeping the two of them alive absolutely needed to know to try and figure out what had happened (they still hadn’t, not really). He mentioned Eden, the Coalition. The One Tree. But only rarely, and even though Grace felt like he was about to explode with curiosity, he found out fast that asking questions was the surest way to get Simon to clam up. He didn’t like feeling like he was only being used for information which, given what little he knew, Grace understood.

But the more time Simon put between himself and the sub, the more he seemed to...unclench. Like a fist. And the information came slowly out of him in drops, like blood from a wound that refused to heal.

Space, like many commodities, had been at a premium on stations and ships, and that’d become massively more true after the Quiet Rapture, when suddenly, all the supplies and materials that existed were now the only ones that would ever be made. Simon had spent his entire life sharing bunks and showers and meals and air, even after being captured and convicted of something he was still vague about; the first and only time he had ever been truly alone had been in the SM-13.

“Seems like an insane amount of space for two people,” he commented quietly, looking out the window at the ocean.

“Well, it’s a planet,” Grace said reasonably, not pointing out it was really three people, given the amount of time Rocky spent in here. “Things are different. You can afford to spread out a little.”

Food was something else that came as a culture shock to Simon. Grace had expected to have to offer up a lot of explanation about what little was available, but Simon took to taumoeba and enriched shakes with zero complaint because, as it turned out, it wasn’t that far off from what he’d always eaten. Tank-grown protein, glucose, and fiber, printed into slabs and slurries, portioned precisely out to each person based on their bare baseline biological needs given age, mass, activity level, and job.

“I was a fighter. They fed us more than anybody else,” Simon said, which answered the question Grace had been struggling not to ask: how the heck had he gotten those muscles if the situation was that dire? “Seems a waste, given they were expecting us to die, but...I guess everything got wasted in the end.”

He wasn’t even bothered by Grace-burgers. The people of Eden ate most of their dead, both processed and holistic.

“‘Feeding the roots’ was a euphemism by the time I was grown up. There were crops when I was a kid, but they kept failing, and we could use the protein better other places. All the other stuff that went into soil and hydroponics, too.” Simon touched the seed hanging from one wrist, resin encasing it half-cracked and shot through with dark blood. “Except for the Tree. That...we kept going as long as we could.”

Food was not a source of pleasure for Simon, culturally or personally. He seemed faintly baffled by Grace’s excitement when the nutrition hive finally began to make breakthroughs – in plants, in flavors, in synthesizing ingredients and compounds. At least until he got him to try what were, in Grace’s opinion, some of the best foods that an Earth Simon had never known had to offer.

“Ancient humans couldn’t just read the labels on things to figure out what the calorie count or nutrition facts were,” Grace explained, recycling a lecture he’d given his students (as he often did), “so they evolved a highly developed and selective sense of taste. ‘Sweeter’ usually means ‘higher in calories,’ which is why sugar tastes so good to us; same for things that are fatty or rich. Salt was hard to come by for most of human history, even if you lived right next to the ocean the way we do now, so we’re highly attuned to that, too.”

“I think,” Simon mumbled around a mouthful of ice cream (milk proteins extracted from a bioengineered strain of fungus, sugar synthesized in an Eridian lab, strawberry flavor derived from citric acid produced by bacteria), “I get it.”

Capsaicin and fermentation were a huge hit, when the Eridians developed them. Grace imagined that Simon’s palate craved stimulation after a lifetime of the blandest diet his sect had to offer, and explained the capsaicin-pain-endorphins link to him. He seemed to find it interesting; he seemed to just like listening to Grace talk. Usually while he was eating. It wasn’t long before Simon seemed more excited for whatever the nutrition team cooked up next than Grace was.

Grace was trying not to treat Simon like a project. He knew that’d be a dynamic too easy to fall into. But he couldn’t help enjoying the fact that Simon had started to...well, enjoy life, and that he’d helped him get there. Instead of sleeping on his side with his remaining limbs tucked in and wrapped around himself, like someone who knew he was bigger than average and was trying to take up as little space as possible, he began to sleep spread all the way out in the bed. (“Could build bigger one,” Rocky commented once, seeing Grace trapped beneath Simon’s outflung right arm and leg. Grace assured, “No, this is perfect, actually.”) He still refused to so much as touch Grace’s ocean, but he at least came out of the house to sit on the porch and, eventually, the beach. And he seemed to finally not only realize that he could eat as much as he could hold, but that he wanted to. They weren’t going to run out, he wasn’t going to get in trouble...and the food was good.

“Overdo it?” Grace asked with a chuckle the first time Simon gorged himself to the point he couldn’t keep his eyes open. It was the day the Eridians had finally cracked deep-frying, after working around the issue of the increased atmospheric pressure. They’d dunked just about everything in there, and most of it seemed to have wound up inside of Simon.

“No, think I did it just about perfect.” Simon groaned contentedly where he had stretched out the floor. Grace’s shirt, always a little small on him, put the visible bloat of his belly on proud display. “Wanted to find out how much I could eat.”

“And?” Grace sat down next to him, reached out, put a hand on him to feel the warmth and movement of digestion. Simon did not flinch from the touch.

“More’n I thought.” But he kept testing his capacity. As a good scientist, Grace could appreciate that. Especially because it was clearly increasing.

“Simon okay?” the head food scientist asked anxiously from within their xenonite suit the first time they saw Simon doze off at the table, so full he slumped comfortably against Grace, chin on his shoulder. “Understand biology different from Grace, but didn’t think would poison - ”

“No, no, no, he’s fine,” Grace was quick to assure them. They’d been so proud about finally mastering baking they’d come into the dome to deliver the preliminary results in person; he didn’t want them to think they’d done anything wrong. “He just ate too much. It means he likes it. He sleeps after eating.”

“Like Eridian.” The scientist perked up considerably.

“Yeah! Like Eridian.”

That information quickly disseminated to the rest of the hive, who clearly took it as a compliment and began to almost aggressively cater to Simon’s tastes. Sour, spicy, salty, rich. Grace suspected Simon wouldn’t have needed the encouragement to eat, but he certainly wasn’t complaining about it.

Erid’s gravity was much higher than anything Simon would have ever been accustomed to. Both of them had much higher caloric needs than they would have on Earth (and Grace suspected Simon’s were higher than they had been before he’d encountered whatever mutagen the blood contained – he was aching to run tests, but knew better than to ask). But the fact remained Simon was doing very little besides eating and sleeping. Portions of the muscle he no longer needed to maintain melted off him, and fat gathered at his waist in a growing belly and love handles. Grace straddled his thickening thighs and rubbed the salve that they both used for the scars on their arms into the solid flesh of him, warding off stretch marks.

Grace still needed a coat or cardigan to ward off the PNW chill of the biodome, finally perfect after much temperature tinkering from the environment hive, but Simon could now make do outside in nothing more than a T-shirt. They sat together on the sand after the nutrition hive’s latest triumph, Simon nearly asleep, leaning heavily against Grace as Grace almost absentmindedly kneaded at his gut. There was something soothing about the weight of him, about the softness.

“You fall asleep, you’re gonna miss dinner,” he murmured to Simon.

“Simon bad at cooking, statement.”

“How the hell would you know that?” Simon muttered, watching the brick of noodles unfold in the boiling water. Instant ramen: one of at least a few things his timeline and this one had in common. But it had been a long time since he cooked it like this. Back home (as he’d come to think of it, despite the fact it was really no home at all), water was strictly rationed. They needed it to make air, after all. Scrubbers could only do so much. “Ryland’s worse than I am, he just eats this stuff hard. And your people don’t really cook, do they?” He glanced at Rocky, raising an eyebrow.

“Grace show Rocky Top Chef.”

Simon did not actually know what that was, but it was easy enough to figure out from the title. “Course he did.”

He cut the heat, added the flavor packet, stirred. Once it seemed properly mixed, he poured it into an appropriately-sized beaker. Crazy that they had sent instant noodles along, both in cups and the other kind, but no bowls. None that Simon had found so far, at least.

“Okay, we’ve got, uh…” He stepped back, pointing. “Four kinds of ramen, a whole bunch of candy, peanut butter and crackers, vegetables…” Fresh, actually, harvested from the small rack of plants on board the ship, which Simon had taken immediate charge of once he’d settled enough to want to be in charge of anything. “Think this’ll be enough to bring him over here?”

“If not, Simon pick up, carry. Two times Grace size.”

This whole thing had been Rocky’s idea. He was no stranger to Grace’s pushing himself past his limits in pursuit of answers and solutions; there had been multiple occasions when he’d quite literally had to force him to sleep in the past. Simon readily believed it. The guy seemed like a hell of a scientist; if the COI had had him, maybe the SM-13 wouldn’t have been a kludged-together piece of -

Don’t think about that.

Of course, the other side of that particular blade was that he got bored pretty easily without something to work on. When this particular problem was solved (and Simon had no reason to doubt it would be, things seemed to just sort of work out for Grace), that could become an issue, but they’d deal with one thing at a time. And right now, the thing was that Grace had been in his lab for going on twenty hours with no food, no sleep, and no breaks.

Simon did not know where he was pissing. It’d better be either in the recycler or a container that could be poured into it, or else he was going to lose his shit. “Plentiful water” did not mean “limitless,” especially on a fucking spaceship.

At least he didn’t have to go pick Grace up (which he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do anyway, given his weaselly vibe; he seemed like he’d be a squirmer). He had come through the doorway into the habitation pod, blinking at the food laid out in front of him. He looked frazzled, hair greasy, bags under his eyes, glasses askew – not that that last one was anything new. Simon wondered if he even had been pissing. He seemed dehydrated.

“What’s all this?”

“Rocky Simon make ♪♫♫♪♪.”

“Ooh! New word.” Grace pointed at Rocky.

“Means ‘feast,’” Simon said. “Or something like it, I think.” He didn’t know how to add words to system Grace had rigged up and didn’t care to learn. He wasn’t good with computer stuff.

“I’ll do it in a second.” Grace adjusted his glasses (they were still off-center) and squinted at Rocky. “What’s the occasion?”

“You haven’t eaten in almost two days,” Simon stated. “You need the calories. Sit down.” He led by example, balancing himself with his xenonite prosthetic as he sank to the floor. As he always did when he saw him using it effectively, Rocky made a little chirp the system didn’t translate. Simon figured it was the rock alien version of a smile.

“Y’know, we don’t have unlimited food…” Grace sat, thankfully.

“Sure we do. You already said the taumoeba would work for both of us. And this is almost exactly what you would’ve eaten if you’d had regular meals.” Simon fixed Grace with a steady look as he reached for the peas. “I’m not going to let you starve yourself if you don’t need to.”

“You could’ve brought it to me in the lab,” Grace pointed out, reaching for a beaker of ramen, then changing his mind and going for the candy instead. The glass must be too hot.

“I don’t think it’s good for you to eat in there.”

Grace made some noise early on about not even being that hungry, but that was belied almost immediately by how fast he began to eat. Simon watched him. On Eden, eating was a communal activity, but at least in part so you could make sure no one was getting or taking more than the share allotted to them. This felt...kind of like the opposite, honestly, despite the fact food was technically limited here, too. Even Rocky was eating with them, which Simon made an effort to appreciate. He’d had it explained to him how big of a deal that was for his people. He understood, having had to make his own adjustments.

“A-ahh…” Simon and Rocky had both finished eating by the time Grace finally sat back, leaning his weight on one hand planted behind him. He put the other on top of his belly, which had noticeably inflated beneath his stupid T-shirt. Simon eyed him. It’d been a long time since he’d seen anybody that full.

“When I said this was what you would’ve eaten if you hadn’t spent so much time in the lab,” he stated neutrally, “I didn’t actually think you’d eat it all at once.”

“Well, uh, you’re the one who put it out. And ramen doesn’t exactly keep.” Grace swallowed a belch, but didn’t look at all embarrassed. More sleepy, content. At least until a twinge of pain crossed his face. “Oh, jeez. Nope. Nope, that was too much. I’m feeling it.”

With his hands and then his elbows, he walked himself backwards until he could lay down. It pulled his shirt up out of the makeshift waistband of the knotted arms of his jumpsuit, and Simon saw a slice of taut, space-pale flesh and the honey-dark hair that ran in a wispy row up and down Grace’s stomach. It heaved with his strained breathing, and he reached down, digging his fingers into it and hiking his shirt up.

They had not had sex. How exactly did you bring that up to the guy who was probably going to be the only other human you saw for the rest of your life and gave exactly zero hints about his sexuality? Especially knowing that the fucking rock would definitely ask to watch and Grace would enthusiastically agree for the both of them. But Simon had never thought harder about fucking Grace than in that moment.

“Here, let me.” Simon stretched out alongside Grace, propping his head up on his right hand. He went to put his left on Grace’s middle, but remembered it wasn’t real. He went to switch sides, but Rocky stopped him, rolling over.

“Hand work,” he assured. “Not hurt Grace if Simon is gentle.”

“I’m more worried about...huh.” The arm was fairly new, and Simon hadn’t had much cause to practice fine motor control with it. He was, lucky for him, right-handed. But with only a little foreign feeling, he spread his fingers, crooked them, and placed the tips on Grace’s stomach. He pressed gently, and Grace sucked in a breath of something halfway between pleasure and pain. Raising an eyebrow, Simon looked at Rocky. “You’re a really good engineer.”

“Rocky know.”

Simon rubbed, and Grace slowly melted. He took off his glasses and tossed one arm over his eyes. He was loud about his enjoyment, grunts, moans; it was shameless. Simon almost felt embarrassed for him.

He thought about Grace well-fed. Bigger, solid. According to him, he’d already lost a lot of the muscle he’d had when he first woke up from the coma they’d stuck his lucky ass in, a combination of low gravity, low protein, and lack of any real exercise. He was lean, almost stringy. Simon imagined him softer, heavy curves of fat on chest and thighs and arms and belly.

Of course it wouldn’t happen. They had so little food, and taumoeba were about as close to empty calories as anything could be. They’d guarantee temporary survival and nothing else. But it was nice to think about.

“Probably oughta finish the licorice or it’ll get hard, huh?” Grace mumbled.

“So, it starts with mastication. We can fit much bigger whole objects in our mouths than you guys seem to – be able to.” Pausing only briefly for a hiccup and a wince, Grace pointed at his mouth. “We break it up mechanically, with our teeth and our tongue. See?”

“Rocky see.”

Grace had forced himself up into a sitting position, leaning back against the padded wall with his quilt around his shoulders. He hadn’t wanted to move, had felt the contents of his bloated stomach shift and slosh with every motion, but he’d known he would feel better once he was upright. The human digestive system had evolved to work in tandem with gravity, as he’d explained to Rocky when he asked why he was moving around when it obviously hurt him, based on the whimpering.

Rocky was between Grace’s legs in his xenonite ball, three legs folded beneath him like a loafing cat, two held out in front, claws spread against the panel currently pressed against the firm mound of Grace’s belly. He’d tugged his jumpsuit down and his T-shirt up in order to expose it, pale skin and dark golden hair, and it wasn’t the most comfortable position, but Rocky was curious...and warm, even through the xenonite.

It actually felt really good. Grace was kind of wishing he could sleep on his chest, but even in low-g, he’d probably break his ribs. Too bad.

“Rocky not have ‘mouth.’ Thought was wound, when first saw Grace.”

“Yeah, you guys are a sealed system most of the time; it’s cool. Anyway.” Arms draped over the top of the ball, Grace held back a belch. “Inside the mouth, there are glands that constantly secrete a thin mucus. We call it saliva. It keeps the tissue soft and wet – it doesn’t have many other protections, it’s epithelial tissue – and it also helps break down food further. There’s the moisture aspect, but it also contains enzymes. Chemical digestion starts in the mouth. That always…” Grace smiled wanly. “Surprised my students.”

“Grace sad,” Rocky observed. “Eat more now, question?”

“I think I’ve had more than enough, buddy.”

“Understand.” Grace had probably spent too much time with Rocky; he was starting to read emotions into the text-to-speech program he knew weren’t there. For example, disappointment.

“And from there, once it’s become a soft bolus, we swallow…”

Grace went on, past the epiglottis, down through the esophagus, to the stomach. Rocky listened, only commenting once to lament the sheer inconvenience of the digestive and respiratory systems sharing an opening. Grace agreed with him before continuing. Gastric acid (Rocky was terribly intrigued by the mechanism of hydrochloric acid contained in something as fragile as a human body), peristalsis, gallbladder, pancreas, small and large intestine, colon…

“And you - ” Once again, Grace stifled a burp, which he’d been doing all through the explanation. He’d really overdone it. “Know what happens after that.” It’d just seemed rude not to return the favor after what Rocky had let Grace watch him do.

“Why Grace do that, question?”

“Do what, question?”

“Hold air in.”

“Oh, right. So, that’s, uh…” Grace took his glasses off and rested his forehead against a pane of xenonite, closing his eyes. Warm. “Either air that’s swallowed while eating, or gas that’s produced by digestion. Causes discomfort, but it’s rude to let it out in front of other people.”

“Not rude for Rocky. Only disgust when Grace eat.”

“Thanks for that,” Grace mumbled.

“Grace not discomfort enough, question?” Rocky asked, and somehow, the TTS voice sounded dry to Grace.

“Okay, yeah, fine. Good point.” Grace forced himself to let out a belch, blushing slightly.Ugh, there were the sour Skittles.Of course Rocky didn’t care.

“Rocky see lot of air in digestive tract,” Rocky observed. That was one of many interesting things about Eridians: their echolocation was more like that of cetaceans than bats. They could see inside objects, especially objects as soft and penetrable as a human body. Like an X-ray. Grace sometimes wondered what Rocky knew about him he didn’t know about himself. Not this; he’d already been able to feel how gassy he was.

“Yep, that happens to me,” he mumbled.

“Grace do this before, question?”

“I’ve always been a stress eater. Surprised it took this long, honestly. With – everything.”

Grace knew that Rocky knew by now that he didn’t really like talking about Earth except in the most general sociological terms. That seemed to be fine with Rocky, who also didn’t seem to like talking about Erid, especially his mate or the dead members of his crew. Rocky changed the subject.

“Rocky not believe human stomach ♪♫♫.”

“Okay, that’s a new word.”

“Soft, shape change. Stretch.”

“Ahhhh, elasticity. Elastic.” Grace reached out with one hand, entered the new words into the database. “Yeah, it’s probably one of our more elastic organs. It was feast or famine for our distant ancestors, so we’ve still got the ability for it to stretch pretty far out.”

“Rocky tell,” Rocky said, and he didn’t have eyes, but Grace could feel him looking at his stomach. He might’ve said something snarky, but he burped again before he could. “Eridians not change shape like this. Carapace rigid. Grace round, soft. Fascinate.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us is enjoying this.” Eyes still closed, Grace rested his chin on the ball, feeling the warm points of Rocky’s claws against his belly. It made him feel a little better.