#wings au

It was late. The biodome had already transitioned to night, silver artificial moonlight spilling in through the windows. A quite warmth settling into the ground. Simon had heard of crickets, and while he hadn't actually heard what one sounded like until Grace had played him an audio clipping - he knew that a night like this would have benefited from their contribution. He could feel it in his throat.

Simon watched Grace furiously type away at his computer, a pencil hanging by the eraser dangled from his teeth, and a frankly absurd amount of papers scattered around him. The room was decorated with xenonite knickknacks and random things from the Hail Mary ship. The warm blue wallpaper was nice on Simon's eyes, as was the low lighting.

Still. It was bedtime.

Maybe Simon would have felt bad for interrupting him, but it was late. His wings were heavy and his body ached for company.

"Grace," He called, voice a low timber. He hung in the open door way and his wings swayed absently behind him. "Come to bed."

Grace looked up, crystal eyes bleary. He blinked, once, twice, then looked back down to his computer. His glasses were sliding off the bridge of his nose. "I think...I'm almost done." He looked up again, eyes pleading. "Twenty more minutes?"

Simon hummed, and walked over. He nestled in behind Grace and buried his nose in the soft, small feathers dappling Grace's neck. He draped his arms over Grace's and his wings tipped out lazily.

"Grace," Simon breathed, enjoying the warmth of Grace's body and the smell of his floral-coconut shampoo. "It's been twenty minutes,"

Whenever Simon came behind Grace like this he made sure that Grace's own wings had enough room to tip or flare and now wasn't any different. Grace's wings were drooping, but Simon would move easily if they came up anymore. It was easier then breathing. It was always easier then breathing. Being with Grace was easier then breathing.

"...has it?" Came Grace's quiet reply.

Simon hummed, pressing his lips against the soft, warm pulse there. "You work too hard," He muttered.

Grace let out a shaky trill. His ears were turning pink. His wings twitched and Simon wanted to run his talons through the downy feathers found there.

"I...uhm." One hand, one padded with special fat cells and cover in tiny, healed over nicks, came up to grip Simon's forearm. A thumb moved back and forth and Simon loved when that thumb pressed in the soft wet of his mouth. "Well, someone...has to?"

Simon thought of the pebbles Grace loved so much. The tiny, yammering things. They were always quick with questions, jumping and tumbling around. Being what they were. Kids. Cute kids. Simon liked them too but he also knew Grace was a chronic over thinker and over preparer. He knew that he could approach his lessons with much less and the kids would still eat it up. Palm over fist.

Though he also knew that Grace took pride in his work and that he really loved creating lessons that went above and beyond. It's one of the many reasons he loved this man.

Simon pressed a kiss to the curve of Grace's jaw and let it linger, his breath hot.

"You work too hard," He repeated. Affection and fondness and rough gravel.

A thumb back a forth on his forearm. Wings swaying. Silver light spilling in through the crack of the window. Warmth. Touch. Heat. Soft hands. Calloused hands. Roaming curiosity and a reassurance of love. Care. Attention. Feathers. Quills. Chirps and churrs and little peeps in the morning.

Simon loved this man and he was very, very tired.

"Please, come to bed." He drank in the smell of Grace, eyes half lidded and reverent.

Grace was quiet. A blush darkening even down his neck. There was a blush on Simon's face, matching Grace's. There was an element of nervousness came with being so bold but Grace never hated him. Never hurt him. Nervousness turned to confusion turned to intrigue turned to love turned to devotion. A honeyed wine that was shared, fingers brushing, lips touching. A sweet treat. A delicate gold leaf. Silk and quiet mornings. Softness. Care. Preening and gentle scratching and something of a tender always between them.

Grace was quiet and when he spoke he was even quieter. He breathed something shaky, pink mouth parted and his own exhaustion being recognized.

"...okay."

Simon pressed another lingering kiss to Grace's jaw and then another just a little higher. A rumbling croon came from the deep in Simon's throat and he tapped his head against Grace's. Grace huffed out a quiet laugh and the sun was real again.

They went to bed and the stars were real again.