Possum Writes

The sound of dishes being washed fills the empty home, trying to make up for the lack of Grace’s voice. The blond should have been home by now, he said he would be before the dome started to cycle to sunset, and now Simon is overlooking a darkening sky as he’s elbow deep in suds. It wasn’t like Grace to be late when visiting Rocky and Adrian, Adrian was the most punctual person he’d ever met, and they knew how much Simon worried when Grace wasn’t where he said he would be. Oftentimes Adrian would be escorting Grace and Rocky while they were deep in conversation, herding them along like the two were sheep and Adrian was a border collie. 

Simon has been on Erid for a couple months now, and honestly it’s the kind of quiet paradise that he never thought he would have, even when he was completely indoctrinated and they spoke of The Heavens. He’d been saved by an exploratory Eridian ship, honestly he barely remembered much of the rescue, the quarantine, Rocky and Adrian coming to him with translating software has he recovered. They told him about another human, Ryland Grace, that lived on Erid. When he was able to walk again they brought him to the biodome, Rocky gushing over his best friend. Simon didn’t know what to think at first, he was still hesitant that this was all a trick and he was actually going to be delivered back to the C.O.I. What waited for him, however, was a tall, blond, blue eyed angel that smiled at him like Simon was the answer to life itself. 

Grace has been nothing but accommodating, nothing but kind, nothing but understanding. One of the first things Grace did when Simon was adjusted enough was to get Rocky to help make him a Xenonite arm. It was the most incredible piece of tech he’d ever encountered, it moved like it had always been with him. Grace even offered Simon his own house when they first met but the idea of being alone caused him to have an immediate panic attack, so the next solution was to have his own room in Grace’s house. He’d been allowed to decorate it any way he desired, and it was everything he’d ever wanted.

At first they started out as purely roommates, mostly friends, but they kept to their respective space bubbles. But somewhere along the way, after nightmares and soothings, they’ve transitioned into something more . . . nebulous. Touch is a constant presence in their lives, from afterthought brushes to borderline fusing. Simon couldn’t pinpoint specifically the day Grace’s room became more storage than a place he slept, but now Simon’s bedside table on the right of the bed holds a special dish for Grace’s glasses, a stack of his books, and a drawing Simon had done of the two of them. It was starting to really frustrate Simon.

Not that he didn’t like getting to hold Grace at night, feel his arms around him, know what it’s like when Grace’s head falls onto his shoulder, the way his chest rises and falls against him as he slowly falls asleep. He loves how close he feels with the other man, understands that the feelings he’d had from the moment he laid eyes on him was love. No, the thing that frustrates him is the way he wants more.

He’s starting to feel ravenous with the desire to touch Grace in the places hidden by clothing, to carefully, slowly, methodically undo him in ways he’s never wanted to with another person before. He dreams about it, fantasizes about it as he fists his hard, aching cock in the shower, biting down on his Xenonite hand to keep himself quiet. He thinks Grace would be needy, would make sweet noises for him as he took him in his mouth or fucked him into the mattress. Maybe Grace would look up at him with those blue eyes watering as Simon bottomed out in his throat, glasses still perched on his nose. Those damn glasses somehow turned from a mild annoyance to the sexiest fucking thing he can conjure. He often has to stop himself from getting hard when Grace looks at him just right from behind the lenses. Simon has always had a vivid imagination, and nothing was more vivid than the idea of Grace wearing nothing but those glasses.

Simon is lost in thoughts of breathy moans and rolled back eyes when the front door slams open. He jumps, looking towards the sound, immediately concerned.

“Grace?” He calls, setting the cup he was scrubbing down in the sink and wiping his hands off.

He doesn’t get a reply, instead he hears frantic footsteps as Grace follows the sound of Simon’s voice into the kitchen. When Grace rounds the corner Simon gasps slightly, taking in his appearance. Grace looks wrecked, his glasses hanging from one ear, he’s got only one arm in his cardigan, the other is flapping somewhere behind him. His chucks are untied, his pants buttoned but unzipped. He’s sweating and breathing heavily, like he sprinted to get here as fast as he could.

“Hey, are you all right??” Simon asks, taking a step towards him, his hands raised.

Grace stumbles back, a high whine falling out of his mouth, “Wait, please, before I -” he doubles over, clutching his stomach in pain and groaning.

Simon immediately rushes over, “Grace!”

Grace weakly bats him away, but Simon doesn’t let him. He helps Grace take off the rest of his cardigan, tossing it onto the couch, “You’re burning up, Grace, what’s going on?”

“An Eridian ship brought back some plants from a neighboring planet, Rocky asked me to take a look at them,” It takes a minute for Grace to get through the sentence, it’s like the words are secondary to something else, like he’s trying not to do something and talking is his way of distraction, “My gloves broke and I came in contact with spores from one of the plants.”

“Why are you here then?? Why aren’t you in a med facility??” Simon asks, alarmed, “I cannot believe Rocky or Adrian would let you leave!! Why didn’t anyone tell me??”

“I snuck away,” Grace admits, kicking off his shoes for another distraction, “I was in a med facility but I left when they weren’t looking.”

“Jesus Christ,” Simon groans. He watches as Grace shivers, actually shivers at this, which bewilders him, “Grace what is that plant doing to you??”

“It’s uh . . . it heightens certain . . . urges. Primal, urges.” Grace is looking anywhere but him. Simon watches as one of Grace’s hands comes up like he’s unaware that it’s even happening, palming the front of his pants. Oh. oh. Grace is hard.

Simon swallows thickly, suddenly hyper aware of how close he is, of his hands on Grace’s shoulders, of the size of the bulge in his pants, how quickly the blood is rushing to his own. 

“Grace,” Simon says softly, he feels himself become almost dizzy with want.

“Simon,” Grace whimpers, his gaze unfocused for a moment before sharpening on Simon’s face. His blue eyes are flooded with want, “Please, please listen, I don’t know how long I have before I give in. I want you, I’ve wanted you for so long, and I planned on telling you at some point, soon I promise, but not like this, and if you don’t want me back that’s okay, it’s okay, but you need to leave right now if that’s the truth. All I can think about is you, all I want is you, and they tried to keep me away because it’s the right thing but fuck!” another high whine breaks free, turning into a sob as tears start to well up in Grace’s eyes.

Simon thinks this is what a man lost in the desert feels at the first sip of cold water. Grace already looks destroyed, already looks like Simon has ruined him and he hasn’t even touched him yet. Grace is like this from the mere thought of him, enhanced by the alien plant sure, but because of him all the same. He briefly wonders if he’s dreaming, if he accidentally fell asleep on the couch, but Grace is gripping his flesh hand now and it’s so firm that there’s no possible way that could be true.

“Simon I understand if this isn’t what you want, if I’m not what you want, but I need an answer right now because I don’t think I’ll be able to stop myself soon.” Grace is pleading, sinking to his knees in front of Simon and staring up at him with desire blowing his pupils wide. 

“What do you want, Ryland?” Simon asks softly, fixing Grace’s glasses so they were sitting properly on his face.

Grace moans unabashedly leaning into his touch, Simon realizes the use of Grace’s first name kicks Grace into overdrive,  “You. God, Simon, I want all of you.”

Simon takes his time, palming Grace’s cheek with his flesh hand, marveling at the way Grace closes his eyes and nuzzles into it like his touch is the most soothing balm in the entire universe. He unbuttons his pants with the other hand slowly, the sound of the zipper being pulled down catches Grace’s attention, pulling his eyes and attention towards the motion.

“You can have all of me,” Simon smiles. He gently swipes his thumb across Grace’s lips, feeling the shuddering gasp Grace lets out. He slips his thumb into Grace’s mouth, gently prying it open as an instruction for what Simon wants, “Anything you want of me, I give it to you.”

“Fuck,” Grace breathes, quickly reaching up to Simon’s pants and pulling them down. When Simon’s cock springs free it’s already hard, thick and long and so, so ready for Grace. 

Grace starts by touching him almost reverently, feeling the heavy weight of him in his hand. Simon groans, burying his flesh hand in Grace’s hair and bracing himself on the table behind them with the other. Grace runs his hand along his length, slowly moving it back and forth, getting to know him. Then Grace opens his mouth, closing his lips around the head and running the flat of his tongue along the underside, his tongue poking out from his lips as he does. It sends Simon into a head spin, his knees already threatening to buckle from under him. How long had he wanted this? How many times had he pictured Grace on his knees for him?

It’s obvious Grace is trying to go slow, be gentle, but he starts to lose himself the more of Simon he takes in his mouth. He’s breathing through his nose steadily as he travels down Simon’s length, Simon’s fingers tightening in Grace’s hair as he watches his cock disappear and feels the tip hit the back of Grace’s throat. He feels the way Grace relaxes, swallowing around it, feels the tip of Grace’s nose hit the patch of curly dark hair at his base. It takes everything in Simon not to cum right then and there. By some miracle he doesn’t, but now Grace is bobbing his head up and down his cock at a steady pace and oh fuck oh fuck is that incredible. Grace starts to get sloppy, messy, losing himself in the haze of pleasuring Simon. Simon is not going to last long, he knows it, and knows how painful Grace’s own erection must be right now, caged behind his pants. He wants to make Grace feel like this too, like all the pleasure in the world was wrapped up in another person. He loves this, loves the feeling of Grace’s wet mouth and plush lips around his cock, the way the flat of his tongue caresses him. 

He looks down and Grace is palming his cock over his pants, obviously desperate for some friction. He makes eye contact with him then, and god yeah he was right. All his fantasies of this moment were correct. Grace was looking up at him with wet eyes, unfocused and hazy with lust, with unadulterated want. Simon would wager that there was nothing else Grace was thinking about other than Simon, and fuck he needed to pull out of Grace’s mouth right the fuck now if he wanted this to continue.

Simon holds Grace’s head in place by his hair and slowly pulls back, Grace releasing him with an obscene pop. Grace whines, gripping the back of Simon’s muscular thighs like a lifeline.

“Shh, gimme a second, Baby, you’re doing so good I don’t wanna end right here,” Simon smiles, chuckling as Grace preens under the compliment.

He stands Grace up, starting to maneuver him to the bedroom, “You like that? You like being told how much of a good boy you are?”

Grace gasps softly, a torn, ragged sound as the phrase goes straight to his already tender cock, “Yeah, yeah I like that, I like that so much.”

Simon nudges open their door and guides Grace in, stripping out of his shirt as he closes the door. It wasn’t like they needed the privacy, but it felt right to do. The rest of the house would be spared from the way Simon was going to ruin Ryland Grace. 

He turns and sees Grace already stripping, revealing a sweat slicked torso, then his math equation printed boxer briefs, and finally his needy cock. It’s swollen already, not as thick as Simon’s but longer, the head beaded with pre-cum. Simon walks over, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Someone’s ready, huh? You aching for me, Ryland?” Simon digs his fingers into the meat of Grace’s ass, tugging him close. Grace is a few inches taller than him so he does have to look up, but not by much. He’s never minded the height difference and he’s not going to start now, not when Grace is looking slightly down at him like Simon hung the constellation in the sky specifically for him. 

Without a word Grace grabs the sides of Simon’s head and crushes their lips together. There’s no finesse to it, no romance, only primal need, all teeth and tongues and want. It ignites a fire in Simon’s belly and his cock flexes on instinct, moving against Grace’s. Grace’s hands are all over him, running through his hair, down his chest, grabbing at his ass. He’s never been touched like this, like he was being claimed by someone who wanted all of him every single day. 

Simon breaks the kiss and gently pushes Grace onto the bed so he’s sitting with his legs dangling off the side, smiling at the way he bounces a little. He gets on knees and places his big hands over Grace’s thighs.

“You want me to touch you, Baby? Want me to make you feel good and take away the pain?” Simon coos, running his fingernails gently but firmly down Grace’s thighs, causing the other man to shiver. 

“Yes, god yes, please Starshine,” Grace moans, fisting the sheets underneath him, staring at him with wild eyes.

Simon’s brain stutters for a second, blue screen, error 404 Simon Operating System no longer found. Grace had never called him that before and it did something to him. He moans low and deep in his chest, more of a rattle against his ribcage, primal, hungry.

“Say that again,” Simon growls, digging his nails into the slight curve of Grace’s hips, bringing his head down closer to Grace’s crotch.

“What, Starshine?” Grace breathes, eyes fixed on Simon’s every movement. His glasses are starting to fog a bit at the top where he’s sweating, the slight fringe in front of his forehead plastered to the skin there.

Simon nods, the nickname eliciting another lewd moan, “Yes, Angel, that.” He darts his tongue out and licks from Grace’s shaft to the tip with the flat of his tongue, circling the tip once, twice, a third time, and then drawing Grace’s full length into his mouth, feeling it hit the back of his throat as Grace bottoms out. He loves the fullness of Grace, the way his throat greedily accommodates his length, the feeling of his soft skin underneath his hands. He could stay forever like this, he thinks, with Grace’s cock in his mouth, the feeling of Grace’s own warm mouth on his still lingering. Whatever else had been taught to him, this was the true heaven. 

He’s determined to take his time. He doesn’t want Grace to cum, not yet, he wants them to do that together, but he does want to burn this moment into Grace’s memory, cut through the haze of whatever plant is in Grace’s system, and get it through to him that this is everything Simon’s been wanting for so long, and now that he had it he was never giving it up. There was no way he would be able to feel this holy and continue to live without it.

He feels both of Grace’s hands bury into his hair, locking the long locks into a tangle with his fingers. They aren’t holding him in place, however, so he starts to move his head up and down Grace’s cock, closing his eyes and relishing the way it feels sliding in and out of his mouth. After a moment he hears Grace sobbing and he quickly stops, looking up at the other man and pulling back slightly, alarmed.

“No, no please don’t stop,” Grace whines, using his hands to bring Simon’s head back and jutting his hips out, fucking into Simon’s mouth, “You feel so good, Starshine, fuck, fuck, fuck!” 

Simon assesses for another moment, realizing Grace is sobbing from the overwhelming pleasure Simon is giving him. Pride swells through him and he abandons his plan to take his time and instead buries his face into the blond curls of hair on Grace’s pubic bone, driving the cock deep into his throat. Grace mewls a broken sound above him, choking out the nickname again along with another string of curse words, devolving into an absolutely ruined mess. 

Simon alternates between an unrelenting pace with his mouth and pinching just below the tip with his hand, allowing Grace to get close before forcing him to come down and lavishing his balls with attention. The noises are obscene, pornographic, and Simon’s cock is as desperate for relief as Grace’s, but he won’t let either of them cum until he’s inside Grace. The noises Grace is making now are just babbles, Simon can pick out his own name, the new nickname, yes, and fuck. It’s the most he’s ever heard Grace swear before and it’s delicious. 

Finally, finally, Simon pulls back with a final squeeze of his hand on Grace’s cock and the other man pulls his fingers out of Simon’s hair, traveling down to his shoulders and pulling him up, kissing him again with wet, salty lips. Grace tugs Simon down on top of him and the both fall back onto the bed. Their mouths move against each other, hands roaming again. Grace’s body is so, so warm against his, Simon thinks it’s a fever from how warm it is, a side effect of the plant. He breaks them apart and peppers kisses down the side of Grace’s beautiful face and down to his neck, nipping a little hard at the skin there and soothing it with his tongue. 

“Where’s your lube, Angel?” Simon whispers in his ear, then tugs on the lobe with teeth gently, “I need to be inside you.” Grace moans under him, flailing an arm towards his bedside table, unable to speak. He’s gripping Simon so hard he knows he’ll have bruises in the morning, and that’s completely fine with him. He would gladly be branded by Grace forever, claimed by him, belong to him. He was Grace’s from the start anyways. 

He extracts himself from Grace’s hold, trying to ignore the way Grace mewls at the loss of contact but he does pick up his pace. He quickly wrenches the top drawer open, hand wrapping around a decent sized bottle and pulling it towards him. Simon sets it next to Grace on the bed and then manhandles him, drawing a gasp from Grace as Simon positions him with head on a pillow and his legs spread open. Simon slots himself in between Grace’s thighs, sitting back on his heels with his own legs spread for stability, and lifts his Angel’s hips into the air, jamming a pillow underneath to raise them. Grace is watching him intently, mouth open as he pants, the glasses slipping down his nose. His eyes track Simon’s hand as they flick open the top to the bottle and pour a generous amount into his hand. He slowly covers his cock, jacking himself off a bit as he looks down at Grace.

“You’ve been so good for me, Angel,” Simon smiles, positioning himself in line with Grace’s ass, “Such a good boy for your Starshine.”

Grace gives him another high whine in answer, gripping the sheets again underneath him and nodding fervently, “My Starshine!”

“I know you wanna cum, pretty Angel, and I’m gonna let you soon. We’re gonna cum together, okay?” He pulls Grace’s legs up and rests them against his shoulders, “Tell me if anything hurts and you need to stop, okay? I don’t want to hurt my Angel.”

Grace nods quickly, “Yes, yes, I will!! Please Starshine, please fuck me!”

Simon guides the head of his cock into Grace’s ass, pausing to let him adjust around his length. They’d never discussed previous sexual encounters before so he isn’t sure if this is a first for Grace and he knows even in the haze of pleasure that wraps around his brain that he needs to give Grace a moment before he can start moving. 

After a moment Grace wiggles his hips, mewling under him, “Please, please more!! I need more!!”

Happily Simon obliges, snapping his hips forward and burying himself in Grace. They both moan so loud he distantly thinks the Eridians will be able to hear, but the thought is quickly overtaken by Grace chanting his name, his back arching off the bed.

Simon sets a slow pace, holding onto Grace’s legs with his Xenonite arm, the other coming down to wrap his hand around Grace’s cock, matching pace with his thrusts. Grace has a loose hold on the arm with one hand, just another point of skin to skin contact. He’s back to babbling, strings of nonsensical words falling from his lips, his face flushed with a bright pink as he stares up at Simon. 

“Feel so good, my pretty Angel,” Simon moans, picking up the pace, “Dunno how long I can last, you feel like heaven.”

“Starshine?” Grace’s voice is high and breathy, almost . . . reverent. The only reason Simon knows it’s a question is the way his voice ticks up at the end.

“Yeah, Angel?” Simon responds, bowing his head to kiss one of Grace’s calves.

“I love you,” he sighs out, like a prayer, like a truth held back so long the simple act of releasing it into the world brings a euphoric high. 

Simon’s hips stutter to a complete stop from shock, his eyes widening, “What??”

Grace squeezes his arm, nodding, his expression not serious per say, he was too hazy in pleasure and lust to be serious, but truthful, “I love you, Starshine.”

A sob fills the room and it takes Simon a second to realize it came from him. It’s like a dam has broken inside him, tears streaming down his face, “God, Angel, I love you too.”

Grace breaks out into a radiant smile at that. Simon resumes his pace, faster this time, his lips turning up into a smile to match Grace’s. He folds Grace in half as he leans down, hitting deeper and capturing Grace’s lips with a searing kiss. They cum together, Simon snapping his hips one final time before spilling into Grace, Grace’s cock exploding on Simon’s hand and across Grace’s belly and chest. They’re both panting heavily, staring at each other with love sick looks and residual lust. After a moment Simon pulls back, letting Grace’s legs fall back to the bed gently. He’s reluctant to leave Grace but he wants to get them both cleaned up, so he stands, heading to the bathroom. Before he can, Grace’s hand reaches out and grasps Simon’s wrist. 

“I meant it, you know.” Grace says after a moment, the effects of the plant now leaving him, bringing him back to himself.

Ryland Grace is first and foremost a scientist. He is a teacher next, a lover of skittles after, a human being with flaws and imperfections and things he’s good at and loves. The last thing he is and the last thing he cares about is his secondary sex, Alpha. He was never good at being one on Earth, choosing the comfort of loneliness over trying to find a mate. He casually dated sure, passively tried to find that special someone, but his instincts never really latched onto someone like he’d seen before with other people in his life. He’d actively decided to use suppressants every month, even with all the warnings of the side effects if he went too long without a rut. He just didn’t have time for it. Besides, all that sweating and chasing release was gross. 

The only good his designation had done for him was at first he’d been immediately ruled out for being on the Hail Mary, even though he had the coma resistant gene. They wanted all betas, because the idea of an alpha or an omega needing to go through a rut or heat for any reason while in space was the worst case scenario. Then the explosion happened and that went out the window. He’d woken up on the Hail Mary with military grade suppressants that would last him a decade if he continued to use them. He had used them until he got to Erid, and then didn’t see the reason to keep using them anymore. Ruts were manageable when there was no other human around, because his body knew there was no chance of mating. 

Grace never really paid attention to scents back on earth, he knows his is mostly parchment paper and raspberries with a bit of an evergreen undertone. It’s not a generally normal alpha smell, it’s not punchy enough. He’s been mistaken for a beta or even an omega before, not that he minded. He’s gotten pretty good at hiding his scent, making it not alpha potent. It’s second nature to him now. Very genuinely the last thing Grace cared about was this part of himself.

That sentiment continued even when he gained a new roommate via Eridian exploration ship. They’d found him floating in space inside a submarine and brought him back to Erid for Grace to take care of. 

At first Grace couldn’t smell any scent from Simon, no sort of inkling as to what he was. Not that Grace was trying to form a sense of hierarchy, more so trying to figure out what he was working with, if he needed to adjust his life around the new man. The lack of scent told Grace that Simon was either a beta or on some heavy duty suppressors, which meant he was most likely an alpha if that were the case. Grace had experience working in close corridors with other alphas, so he wasn’t concerned about how he himself would behave. 

Simon kept to himself mostly, sequestered away in his room in Grace’s, now their, house. He’d come out sometimes to have lunch or dinner with Grace or watch a movie, but most of the time was spent behind a closed door at first. Grace would have liked for a bit more companionship, but he did understand what Simon was going through. He decided to give him time, give him space, meet him where he was, and maybe they could develop more of a friendship as the time went on. He’d only been here a couple months, anyways. Recently he’s started to come out more, work parallel with Grace. Simon is a hands-on kind of person, only having one hand limited what he could do unfortunately, but he and Adrian were working on getting him a Xenonite arm. For now he was busying himself with learning how to garden, so he would often read about it on the tablet while Grace graded papers.

Simon had been over the moon when Grace told him about the small garden, wanting to see it. When Grace brought him there it was the happiest he’d seen the man since he landed, so naturally he offered the care of it to him. Simon had immediately taken him up on that offer with gusto, and the small garden flourished into a larger area with Simon’s attention and care. 

Speaking of a couple months, Grace knew he was due for a rut soon, and this would be the first one where a human being was within 16 light years of him, so he’s really not sure how it’s going to go. He’s never been unable to control himself before, so he’s pretty confident it will still be the case here. Maybe if Simon were an omega he’d have some worries, but he’s convinced Simon isn’t. From what little of his scent he can get the longer Simon’s been here he can gather it’s more earthen, like petrichor, with a hint of something like sweet citrus. It’s so faint though he’s all but convinced Simon’s a beta because he hasn’t seen him take the suppressors the whole time, and he knows Adrian isn’t making any because they would have wanted to talk with Grace about them. He’d also looked to see if Simon was claimed when they first met, the tell tale mark on his neck. Nonexistant, which furthered his thought that Simon was a beta. 

He decides to tell Simon when it gets closer, tell him that for about a week Grace will need to lock himself in his room for hours on end until he can be human enough to come out for a moment and eat something to regain his energy, just to go back into his room and start the process over again. He’s hoping that this is like the others he’s had on Erid, and he can get some work done during it: he really needs to get his lesson plans situated for next year. 

Unfortunately, Grace does not have as much time as he thought.

He wakes up with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and a twisting in his belly, the tell tale signs he’s actively going into his rut. He has nothing prepared, no water, no snacks, his lesson plans are in his office. He tries to stand and immediately doubles over, gritting his teeth to keep from making a noise. Taking stock of the situation, he realizes he’s the hardest he’s ever been in his life, so hard that it’s actually painful being trapped inside his pajama pants. This is going to be the worst rut he’s ever experienced. 

He needs to get water at least, already thinking about his 48 ounce bottle and the feeling of the cold liquid sliding down his throat. He’s getting feverish, a little disoriented, his scent starting to clog his own nose. God, how long has it been since it’s been this potent? A hormonal teenager experiencing his first rut maybe? Distantly he hears something clatter to the floor, but it barely crosses his conscious mind. First he needs water, then he needs protein, and then he needs to take care of himself for the first time in what’s almost guaranteed to be a long, long rut. 

The kitchen is occupied when he comes shuffling in, hunched over, wiping the sweat from his brow with the bottom of his shirt. He knows he needs to greet Simon, try and be normal. He hadn’t had time to warn the other man about this, so it was only right that he at least give him that.

“Morning, Simon,” he gives a valiant effort in remaining cool, but he can tell his voice is horse, strained. He doesn’t look at the other man as he reaches for a cup and fills it with water, downing the glass in three large gulps. It helps some, gives him a little bit of clarity back. 

Simon is completely silent, standing stock still next to him, not moving away like he normally would. After Grace fills the cup a second time he looks over at Simon, taking in his face. His eyes are wide, staring unblinking at Grace, gripping a spatula like a life line. Grace looks down and sees a pan of eggs scattered on the floor. Oh, that’s probably what he heard earlier.

“You okay?” He croaks out, motioning to the eggs. When Simon doesn’t respond he takes a deep breath and gets down onto the floor, starting to pick it up, “Did you burn yourself?”

“You’re . . . an Alpha.” Simon responds, seeming to find his voice. It sounds nervous, horse, a little scared. 

Grace looks up at him then, his brain trying to focus on Simon instead of the eggs, “Uh, yeah, I am . . . did I not mention that?”

Simon shakes his head and Grace smells him then, fully. It cuts through the self-absorbed haze he’s in like a knife. Simon’s scent is very genuinely the best thing he’s ever smelled in his entire life. It wraps around him, filling his nose, going straight to his gut. It takes Grace a moment to stabilize himself, he’s lost his balance as it hits him. He closes his eyes, taking it in, something inside of him begging to claim it for himself, to build a nest for the other man and keep him safe, protected, loved. He’s never, ever felt like this before about another person and it knocks the breath completely out of him. 

Then he gets to the emotion of the scent and smells Simon’s fear. Grace quickly stands and backs away, putting distance between them.

“Hey, it’s okay, we’re good, I’m under control, I’m not that kind of alpha.” He said, putting his hands up, “I take care of myself, I’m an adult.”

While he doesn’t relax, he does seem to believe what Grace is saying, given the way his scent calms down a bit. Grace is trying to figure out why his scent is affecting him so much, why he can even pick out emotions from it. Normally you can only do that with alphas and omegas, and if Simon was an alpha he would be trying to rip Grace’s head off right now. Oh. Oh no.

“You’re an Omega,” Grace breathes, understanding flooding through him, “oh my god I thought you were a beta!”

Simon shakes his head quickly, backing up just a step, “No I uh, I’m on . . . or was on . . . suppressants. Heavy duty ones, they last a year.”

Grace nods, trying to think through the haze that’s quickly forming in his brain. He needs to leave this room right now, he needs to lock himself in his bedroom and not come out until the rut ends. The understanding that Simon is an unclaimed omega makes his cock throb and his head spin. He starts to back up towards his bedroom.

“Okay, okay, I’m going to go to my room now, if you need to leave you can, I’m not going to stop you, I’m just going to stay in my room.” It’s fighting every instinct in him to distance himself from Simon, to not tug him into the room with him, but he can’t do that and he knows it. He’s just coherent enough to follow through and leave the situation. 

His back hits the door and he fumbles with the doorknob, still watching Simon. Simon takes a couple steps towards him, like he doesn’t realize he’s doing it, a low whine escaping him. When it reaches Grace’s ears he quickly opens the door and shuts it, unable to stop the slight growl from deep in his chest. He is so fucked. 

The door is barely closed when he quickly strips down, the feeling of clothing too much on his sensitive skin. He’s leaning against the door, head thrown back as he brings a hand to his mouth, drags it over his wet tongue. He then wraps his hand around his cock, giving it a few pumps, his tongue staying half out of his mouth as his eyes roll back from the feeling. Bringing his fist to his mouth he bites down on it, trying to muffle the noises he can’t stop from pouring out of him. He tries to think of anything other than the man on the other side of the door, but it’s like trying to stop a damn once there’s a leak. It trickles in slowly, flashes of Simon’s hair, his rare smiles, his eyes. Then the crack bursts open and all Grace can think of as he jacks himself off is the sound of slapping skin, the feel of hips under his grip, the sight of Simon presented to him as he rails the omega from behind. The rational part of his brain hates him for it, but the animal in him loves it so much he blacks out when he cums. 

He collapses to his hands and knees, panting heavily. Once he catches his breath he starts thinking just a bit more clearly. This is a very bad situation, possibly the worst situation. He is so hyper aware of Simon still, he swears he can hear the man’s breathing out in the living room. Grace gets himself cleaned up and sits on his bed, his head in his hands. He has no idea how he’s going to get through this because there is no way in hell he’s going to ask Simon for help. If he can get away with it he won’t even see him until the end of his rut, and then he’ll ask Adrian to make him suppressants. He thinks briefly of the studies he’d been read many, many times over the years by doctors every time he would get his prescription renewed. The first rut after so long without going one could be deadly if not managed right. Well, he’d just have to manage it right. 

So Grace gets up and does something he’s never done before. He grabs all the soft things he can find, blankets, clothes, sheets, pillows. And he makes a nest. 

—------

It’s been 24 hours and Grace finally gets a break from the constant heat in his belly and the stiffness of his cock. Nothing has been truly satisfying, but at least the fever has broken for now and he feels less like an animal and more like the calm, rational person he is. He needs food and water, maybe some juice. He hasn’t heard Simon move around this morning, so he’s hoping he’s still asleep. Grace throws on some cloth shorts, digging them out from his nest. There’s no way he’s going to be able to put on a shirt, it borderline hurts to wear the shorts with how sensitive his skin is, but in case Simon does come out he needs to be at least a little decent.

He opens the door as quietly as he can and stops short, looking down. There’s stuff outside his door? He doesn’t remember hearing any knocks, he knows there were moments through the last 24 hours where Simon came close to the door, his body told him every time he was near, but Grace thought he was just . . . hovering maybe? He wasn’t sure, he really wasn’t in much of a state of mind to think critically about it. 

Bending down, he sorts through the pile, seeing his 48 ounce water bottle he forgot to grab filled with ice water, a couple granola bars, and a shirt. The shirt is the thing that puzzles him the most. It’s one of Simon’s, one of the ones he had the Eridians make for him. It’s plain, a dark forest green, and when Grace brings it to his nose on instinct it is drenched in Simon’s scent. He groans softly, burying his face in it, inhaling deeply. The act makes his cock twitch, but he’s still in control of himself for now. Before he can really think about it he brings everything into the room and places the shirt in his nest, replacing one of his with it. He takes that shirt, wondering what the fudge he’s even doing, and deposits it outside of Simon’s closed door. He doesn’t stick around, doesn’t knock, just leaves and quickly grabs what he wants from the kitchen and heads back into his room. 

As he gets back into his nest makes a mental note to try and check the door outside, in case Simon leaves him more things. He also makes a mental note to staunchly ignore the way he thinks this is what having a mate might feel like as he presses his nose into Simon’s shirt.

—----

He’s in the middle of another feverish episode shortly after, humping his pillow, chasing a different release from his hand, thoughts of Simon flashing through his mind (they’ve been there the whole time, not a moment during these spells has he not thought of the man), when there’s a tentative knock on the door. His hips still immediately and he looks to the door, wondering if he hallucinated it. He knows Simon is standing at his door, can smell the nervous scent wafting under it and towards him. The knock comes again.

“Alpha?”

Grace immediately springs to his feet, ready to go and rip the door open and pull the omega into his room, but he stops himself somehow. 

“Simon? Is everything okay?” he calls, his own voice sounding pathetic and ragged to him.

“I uh . . . I think . . .” Grace is trying to focus on his voice, but there’s something different about Simon’s scent. It starts very gradually, just an afterthought, but the longer Simon stands there it grows. The sweet citrus undertone to his scent is slowly starting to overpower all the other notes, reminding Grace of skittles. What’s happening? What’s changing? Why is it changing?

He hears Simon sigh out and a light thump as Simon drops his head on Grace’s door, “I think I’m going into heat.”

Yes, that’s exactly what that scent was. An omega’s heat. Simon’s heat. 

“Fuck, Simon,” he groans, taking a step back, the back of his legs hitting the edge of his bed, “I thought you were on supressants??”

“I am, they should last for another six months, but I . . . I think your rut overrode them.” 

“Okay, okay, give me a moment,” he grabs a towel from his nest and wraps it around his waist, just ignoring the way his cock is still at attention, very interested in the omega outside his door. He chugs some water, squares his shoulders, and opens the door, stepping back quickly.

Simon is standing there in just a pair of blue boxer briefs, clutching Grace’s shirt in his hand. His hair is haphazardly up in a bun, the best he can do with his one hand, and his skin is flushed a deep red. Grace’s eyes roam over his body, taking in the scarring across his arm, his shoulders, under his pecks, across his thighs. It’s the body of a man who had to fight for survival, and it’s beautiful to Grace. 

“Just, stay right there for now,” Grace says when Simon takes a step forward towards him. He’s trying so hard to remain present, to not let the animalistic side of him take over. 

Simon nods, turning his head away slightly, baring his neck in a show of submission. Grace inhales sharply, closing his eyes, trying to shut out the sight. 

“What’s happening, Simon?” Grace asks, a bit helpless, “What do you want?”

“You,” he whimpers the word out, and Grace can smell the desperation in his scent, “I haven’t had a heat in years, and I can smell how bad your rut is. Neither of us can do this alone . . . and I trust you. You’ve been nothing but kind to me since I got here and I know you’ll take care of me, won’t  . . . hurt me or do things I don’t want you to.” 

“I can’t take advantage of you, Simon, I would never be able to live with myself if we did this just because our biology wanted us too. If we give into this now, there’s a very good chance suppressants won’t work and this will have to be a recurring thing. You understand that right?” his inner alpha is not happy with the wait, with this line of thinking, but Grace had to make Simon aware of what he was asking, what Grace was so close to giving. 

Simon nods, looking down, “Yes, I understand. I’ve uh, I’ve thought a lot about this, actually. Since I got here and realized you were nice, that you didn’t want to just use me because I was an omega. I had no clue you didn’t realize, that Adrian didn’t tell you. But then again I didn’t know you were an alpha. When you went into rut though, I was really scared that I’d misjudged you and once you figured out I was an omega you’d just . . . take what you wanted. But you didn’t, you locked yourself in here even though I could smell how badly you wanted me. I kept expecting you to give in but you just . . . didn’t.”

Grace scrubs his face with his hands, “I would never make you do anything you didn’t want to do Simon. I care about you, and that’s not the only reason of course, you’re a person and deserve your own agency and the ability to make your own decisions, but like, in this specific circumstance, I would never make you help me with my rut. I wasn’t even going to ask, I was just going to deal with it.”

“And that’s exactly why I decided that when you had a lucid moment I was going to sit down and talk with you about helping you through it. That’s why I gave you my shirt, for your den. But I was sleeping, apparently my body was preparing for a heat and I didn’t realize it. I wanted to wait again but I can’t wait anymore, Alpha. Once my heat starts I’m not going to be in my right mind. And I want you to know right now, while I’m still here, that I want this. I want you. We don’t have to bond now if you don’t want to, but I want that. I want to be your mate. I really, really want to be your mate.”

Grace takes a long moment to assess, to try and think through it rationally. Simon is here, asking him for this, he doesn’t seem like he’s under duress. In fact, his scent is radiating sincerity, a warm blanket pressing on Grace’s resolve. 

“Do you promise you won’t come out of heat and hate me?” Grace asks, his voice desperate, “Because I don’t think I could survive that.”

Simon takes a step into the room, and then another, and another, until he’s right in front of Grace, not touching, but Grace can feel Simon's breath on his skin. He’s itching to pull him closer, push him into the nest Grace knows he made just for Simon, even if he only just now realizes it. Instead he clenches his fists and keeps them right as his side.

“I promise I won't come out of my heat and hate you, Alpha. I could never hate you.” Simon smiles softly, baring his neck again.

This time Grace gently moves Simon to look at him, then lowers his head and rests it on Simon’s forehead, breathing in and out, trying to keep himself calm. His arms slowly encircle Simon, giving him more time to leave if he decides too. Simon wraps his arm around Grace and pulls him close, making the decision for the both of them and kissing Grace hard.

It starts rough, more teeth than anything, but then it softens as they find their rhythm, their bodies understanding what’s happening, what’s coming next. Grace hooks his hands under Simon’s thighs and lifts him up, holding him there for a moment as they kiss, feeling the way Simon grips his waist with his big thighs and his shoulders with his big hand. Grace makes a mental note to test his stamina in this position later, but he wants Simon in their nest right now. 

He gently lays Simon down and follows, slotting between the man’s legs, nuzzling into his neck, scenting him. He wants so badly to sink his teeth there, to claim him, promise to protect and love him forever, but instead he kisses, lips feather light, hesitant. Part of him still believes this isn’t real, or that Simon will get up and leave. The alpha inside him knows that the omega isn’t going anywhere, knows it from his body language and his scent. Grace isn’t good at letting his alpha side take over, years of stamping it down, making it less so he could go about his days unaffected. But as Simon grinds his hips against Grace’s, making the fabric of the towel press into his aching cock, he can feel it start to take over. 

Grace reaches under them and takes the towel off, casting it to the side. He watches Simon’s eyes travel downward and take him in, watches his eyes widen a bit. Grace isn’t massive by any stretch, but it’s above average, and thick. In the limited hook ups he’s had he never had any complaints. He preens under Simon’s gaze though, his lips curving up in a smile.

“Like what you see, ‘mega?” he teases gently, kissing Simon’s neck.

Simon doesn’t respond, but Grace wasn’t really looking for a response. Instead he starts to kiss his way downwards, intent on kicking Simon’s heat off by drawing an orgasm out of him. He kisses over the slope of Simon’s peck, down the plane of his stomach, coming to a stop just above the waistband of his underwear. He hooks his fingers through the top, ready to pull them down, when he feels Simon’s hand on his.

“Alpha, wait a second,” Simon’s voice is ragged, obviously not wanting him to stop, but something important was happening, “I uh, I need to tell you something.”

Grace waits, looking up at Simon, “What is it?”

He’s obviously thinking, trying to cut through the haze of the beginnings of heat. Grace is also making a valiant effort, his rut is trying to drive him to keep going, to bring his omega pleasure, but he can wait. He can wait as long as Simon needs. 

“I don’t . . . I mean I have . . .” He sighs heavily, “I don’t have the same . . . equipment as you.”

It takes him a moment to understand, but when he does he takes one hand from Simon’s boxers and reaches up to the scar under Simon’s left peck, tracing it gently. Simon is watching him warily, tensing a bit when Grace touches him there, but relaxing quickly.

“I don’t care about what you don’t or don’t have, Simon. I want you, however you are and in whatever way you’ll give me.” Grace smiles, bringing his hand back to the waistband of Simon’s underwear, “Now can I please, respectfully, eat you out?”

Simon chokes a bit and nods quickly, “Yes, please Alpha.”

Grace quickly tugs Simon’s underwear off, spreading Simon’s legs, taking him in. He’s already leaking slick, his body getting ready for Grace’s knot. He dives in, licking a long strip through the folds of his pussy, the taste of him driving him wild. He originally wanted to go slow, ease Simon into it, but there’s no way, not when Simon tastes like heaven and he’s a starved man. He drags his tongue up and down in quick swipes, gripping Simon’s hips tightly, holding himself there. Simon moans above him, a beautiful, obscene sound, driving Grace wild. He looks up, face still pressed into the apex of Simon’s thighs, tongue dragging up and down, and he sees Simon’s brown eyes blown wide with lust and just staring at him. He must look a sight, face half hidden, eyes heavy and lidded. Simon must like it, however, because he feels Simon’s pussy clench around nothing and a fresh wave of slick flow down his thighs. 

Grace moves up and latches his lips to Simon’s clit, sucking it and swirling his tongue around it in equal measure. He takes two of his fingers and gently eases them into Simon’s slick entrance, pumping them in and out, curling as he does to hit that sweet spot. He knows when he finds it because Simon cries out, clamping his thighs around Grace’s head. He loves the feeling of it, the taste of Simon on his tongue, the pressure of his thighs around his face. His eyes roll back a bit as his cock leaks pre-cum at the sensations. He has a feeling he’s going to find himself in this position many, many times over the course of their rut and heat. And honestly, probably after. Grace is quickly finding himself to be an eater. 

Simon cums with a strangled cry, squeezing his thighs even tighter around Grace’s head. Grace helps him through it, cleaning him up with his tongue greedily. 

“There you go, my perfect ‘mega,” Grace breathes as he sits up, smiling wide. He wipes the bottom of his face with the towel from earlier, then sucks on his two fingers, the ones that were just in Simon. Simon watches everything with wide eyes, chest heaving.

“Fuck,” he groans, putting his hand over his eyes, obviously a bit embarrassed, “If my heat wasn’t already starting it would now, jesus christ.”

Grace laughs softly and removes his hand, kissing his lips, “and we’re just getting started, I intend to make sure you can’t walk until your heat ends.”

That obviously does something to Simon, because he starts squirming, trying to get friction of any kind between his thighs.

“Need you, Alpha, need your knot.” Simon whimpers against Grace’s lips, his hand clutching at Grace’s hip.

He gently nips at Simon’s neck, drawing another moan from the other man, “You ask so nicely, ‘mega, how can I refuse?”

They quickly sit up, Grace ‘helping’ Simon present. Mainly Grace is kissing every part of Simon’s skin he possibly can, grabbing a pillow so Simon can rest on it as he presses his face to the bottom of the nest, ass up. Grace growls at the sight, thinking briefly of all the climaxes he ripped from himself to the thought of Simon in the exact position. He runs his hands over Simon’s ass gently, ending his groping with his hands tightening around Simon’s hips. Squeezing, he leans down and presses a kiss to Simon’s shoulder, grinding his erection against Simon’s pussy.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay? Don’t wanna hurt my handsome Omega.” Grace murmurs against his shoulder, nipping there softly after he’s done. He notices the way Simon reacts, the stuttered breath, the way his hips push back. He nips again, testing his theory, confirming it when Simon whines breathy and wrecked under him. 

“Fuck! Angel, Alpha, please I need you, I need you,” Simon moans, “need your knot, need your teeth, need you to claim me! Please, please, please, please Alpha!”

Grace is a man who prides himself on his self-control. He prides himself on his ability to not let his alpha side win, to lean into rational and critical thinking. He’d gone without a rut for so long because he felt like they were bothersome, he never saw the appeal of a mate, he was content with spending the rest of his life alone. All of that flies out the window the moment his sweet, perfect, handsome Omega starts to beg. 

He moans, releasing one of Simon’s hips and using his hand to guide his aching cock into Simon’s pussy. He sinks in slowly, feeling the way Simon shudders under him, hearing the high whine that escapes as Grace bottoms out. Simon’s walls flutter around him, adjusting to him, and Grace almost cums right then and there. He’s never felt anything so good in his entire life. He blesses every single moment in his life leading up to this feeling, wouldn’t trade any mistake or circumstance because it would mean he wouldn’t be here, in this moment, experiencing this with Simon. Grace was made for Simon, and Simon for him. 

After a moment of adjusting Grace drags his hips back and snaps them forward, feeling the drag of his cock through Simon’s pussy. It takes everything in him to not just fuck the other man into the mattress.

“Oh my god,” Grace moans, pulling back and snapping forward again, feeling the haze of his rut start to fully invade his senses, “fuck, ‘mega, my perfect Omega, you feel so good, so fucking good!”

He starts to set a fast pace, chasing the overwhelming sensation. Simon is a mess, dissolved into moans and whines, head buried in the wall of the nest in front of him. Grace cannot believe he’s ever gone without this, that this is the first time his body has felt just how good this could be. He knows he’s ruined, he’ll never be truly happy until Simon is his fully and completely. It’s something in his biology, his alpha laying claim in such a primal way. It should concern him, but it doesn’t 

Simon is babbling as Grace picks up the pace, rutting into him faster and harder. He bends down, trying to hear what he’s saying, kissing along his scent gland in the crook of his shoulder as he does.

“Alpha! Angel! Fuck, yes! Oh my god! Please! Yes right there, right there, right there!! My Alpha, my Alpha, my Alpha!” a constant stream from Simon’s lips, his eyes rolled back into his head. It causes Grace to feel a little feral, drive his cock harder and deeper into Simon, growling under his breath.

“Your Alpha, my perfect Omega! I’m yours, I’m yours, I love you sweet ‘mega, god! Fuck!” Grace’s skin is starting to overheat, a tightening in his belly confirming his climax is building very quickly to a crescendo. He mouths at Simon’s scent gland, the one he’d mark for mating. 

He hears Simon’s babbling pick up when he does, the constant streams of “Yes! Please! Make me yours, Alpha, I’m yours!! I’m yours!! I love you!!” doing nothing to help how quickly Grace is racing towards cumming. He wants to, he wants to so bad. Simon is begging him for it, almost sobbing with how much he wants it too. 

Grace feels Simon’s walls spasm around his cock and like a chain reaction it sets off his own release, releasing thick, warm seed, painting the inside of Simon. Just as his knot pops he sinks his teeth into Simon’s neck, claiming him forever, the alpha inside him proud of the noises it elicits from his perfect omega. 

They come down together, panting heavily, trying to regain their breath and their wits. Grace slowly, carefully, moves them into a more comfortable position as they wait for his knot to soften.

“-said he’s showing remorse?” 

Simon hears a voice he’s never heard from down the hall along with three sets of footsteps. 

“Yes, Mrs. Grace, but he’s still-“

“I don’t care, mark him down. Dr. Grace needs another set of strong hands. His file says he’s strong, right?” The voice is pleasant, more pleasant than anything he’s heard while in this cell. He doubts it’ll stay pleasant once it sees him, but it’s nice to listen to right now. 

“If that’s what you require, ma’am.” 

Huh, that was an easier deference than Simon is used to hearing. Normally these assholes put up more of a fight. Mrs. Grace must be important. 

His cell is a one person cell, light grey concrete floors, light grey concrete walls. His bed is built into the wall, just enough clearance for him to be able to sit up. He’s currently wrapped up in the single, thin blanket he was given, facing the concrete wall. The footsteps near but he doesn’t turn, doesn’t think they’ll be stopping for him. Though he was given a clean set of clothes this morning (given is generous, they were pushed through the slot in the glass that covers the front of his cell and he was ordered to change and push through his old ones). His old set had been the same color as the concrete walls, but this set is dark green. It’s the most color he’s seen in months. 

The footsteps do actually stop in front of his cell, and yet he still doesn’t turn. Maybe they’re just making a quick stop to talk more about the lucky bastard who’ll get out of here. 

“His name?” The voice asks softly. He can hear you pick up a clipboard, one that was hanging on the wall outside his cell, to the left, “no last name?”

“Didn’t give it if he does,” it’s one of the guards that aren’t as harsh to him, the one that brings him his half breakfast bar each morning. 

“Thank you, you may take your leave. I’ll call if I need anything.” 

The two guards you’re with hesitates but ultimately walk away. Once you're satisfied he hears you say his name. 

“Simon?”

He flinches a bit but doesn’t respond. It’s the first time his name has been used since he arrived. He was either called Convict or Eden Boy or Eden Scum. He’d almost forgotten what the sound of his name felt like in his chest. 

“My name is Y/N Grace, has anyone talked to you about the Convict Realization Program?” You ask, voice soft, warm, alien to him. 

“Yeah,” he doesn’t turn away from the wall but the mention of the program does draw out a word from him. A woman named Ava had been in front of his cell just yesterday, talking about the program. She’d talked about an exploratory mission to a moon that had been found, though, and he’d agreed to do it. 

“Great,” he can hear the smile in your voice, “I know you already agreed to Ava’s program, but I was wondering if you would be okay listening to what I have to offer instead? I promise it’s much better.”

“Sure,” comes the one word response. He still doesn’t turn though, maybe out of some notion it gives him a sliver of power, more likely because he’s just so tired. 

He hears the little slot open, “I have something for you, in exchange.” 

That peaks his interest enough that he turns and looks over his shoulder, sees a hand dangling inside his cell, holding a small silver foil square out to him between two fingers. He’s not sure exactly what it is. His eyes travel up the hand, up the arm, and to your face, and he has to stop himself from just staring. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, standing there in the ugliest place he’s ever been. You’re smiling at him, eyes flashing conspiratorially. 

“I know I’m not really supposed to be giving you anything, but I figured this might help break any tension. Ryland loves these, I had to sneak them out of his stash, but I know he won’t mind.” You laugh softly, and even your laugh is pretty.

Rolling over slowly, he stands and makes his way to the front of the cell, waiting for you to drop it and move away. But you don’t. You stand there, waiting for him to approach, and when he does you drop it into his outstretched palm. He brings it close and unwraps the foil, peering down at five different colored circles with what looked like crystals on them.

“They’re sour skittles,” You answer his unspoken question, “Well, homemade sour skittles. Real ones are probably all gone now, but Ryland likes them so he commissioned someone to make them for him.”

“What . . . is it?” He asks, voice rough from disuse, “Is it . . . a meal replacement?”

“Oh!” You laugh softly, and for some reason he knows it’s not meant to be a mocking thing, “No, it’s candy, just a little treat really.”

He’s heard of the concept, but never seen anything like it before. His earlier suspicions were correct, you and Dr. Grace are very important people, very wealthy people.

“Go ahead, they’re a little sour at first but sweet when you bite down,” You coax. Your hand is still in the cell, and he could grab it, tug on it sharply, see your face hit the glass, break your nose, but it doesn’t even cross his mind. 

Picking one up with his other hand, he places it on his tongue, keeping eye contact with you. You’re right, it is sour, he almost spits it out, he’s not used to real taste because of the bland meal bars he’s been fed for a couple years now here. But he remembers what you said and bites down on it, the sweetness bursting over his taste buds, soothing the sting of the sour crystals.

“What do you think?” You ask. He watches as you pull one out of another package and pop it into your mouth, “I can’t have too many, but Ryland will make himself sick off of them.”

“Good,” he says simply, closing the foil and tucking it into his pocket. He’ll stash it under his bed later, once you leave, savor them.

“I’m glad you like them! I’ll bring you some more the next time we meet,” Your posture is relaxed and you bring your hand in, resting it on the lip of the slot, elbow facing him, resting your chin on your wrist, posture relaxed, “Can I tell you my offer?”

He nods, standing at one step down from attention, facing you. You’re the first soft thing he’s encountered in a very long time, and he’d really like to hear what you have to offer him.

“So my husband, Dr. Grace, or Ryland, needs help around his lab, and I need help around the house. You’ll live with us, we have a bedroom for you on the other side of the house, so you’ll have your own space. Essentially we would like for you to split your time between the lab and our home. We’ll give you a communication device so if one of us needs you while you’re at the other place we can let you know. You’ll have free time at the end of the night, after dinner, and we can work out a day or two every month that you can have totally to yourself. Does that all make sense so far?”

Not really, actually. He doesn’t know a single man who would willingly let another man help his wife around the house, alone. It would make more sense if he was going to be relegated to the lab at all times, but to have his own room in their house? He nods anyway.

“Good! If you agree, we have to follow a protocol, meaning you and I will have to meet two more times here just to make sure you don’t show any aggression towards me, but Ryland and I are going to buy out your sentence, so even though you’ll be with us, you’ll be free from your sentence.” 

Free of his sentence?? Did he hear that right?? “. . . Free?” he asks, his voice breaking.

You nod, like it’s the easiest thing in the world, like you aren’t offering him a second life that he just doesn’t deserve. He eyes you, taking you in. Your clothes are nice, in good shape, fabric that needs to be washed regularly. You look well groomed, like dirt and grime has never touched your skin. If he was under your protection . . . he could be untouchable. 

“Yeah, Simon, free. Ava’s offer still stands, of course, I did kind of take your name off her list already because I think you’d be better suited with us, but if you wanted I could get you back on.”

He shakes his head, the fastest movement he’s made so far, “No, no I want your offer. Please.”

Your smile is the brightest thing he’s ever seen. 

—--------

You come around again the following week and he knows it’s happening because he gets another new set of clothes, this time blue. Your footsteps are unaccompanied this time. He still has one skittle left, he wanted to have it in your presence, to show you how much he appreciated it. 

The first thing he sees is your hand again, it proceeds you. Today your fingernails have polish on them, a bright red, and you’re holding a small cloth bag that has a star pattern on it with a yellow leather draw string at the top. When the rest of you comes into view he thinks you must have come from an event, because you’re dressed up. You look beautiful.

The slot is opened and you thrust the bag through, a smile on your face, “Evening, Simon!” 

He was waiting for you a few feet behind the glass, holding the open tin foil in his hand, ready to pick up the last skittle. Instead he steps forward and gently grabs the bag from you, finger tips brushing yours. The touch of your skin sends shivers down his arm: when was the last time he touched another person? A very long time, he thinks. 

“Promised I would get you more skittles! Ryland even gave me this bag so I could give you more, he’s very excited to meet you, you know. But he’s really busy right now, says he’s on the cusp of a break through. He tried to get the warden to let us bypass this whole two more meet up thing but he didn’t budge. Did say I could come back next week though, normally they want at least a month in between visits but Ryland helped him out a while back and so he owed us a favor.” You ramble idly, watching as he opens the bag and sees the bag is half full of those skittles. 

“Thank you,” He bows his head slightly, adding the singular skittle to his new pile. He realizes halfway through the head bow that’s an Eden thing, not a C.O.I. thing, but when he looks up you aren’t looking at him with disgust, you’re still just smiling pleasantly. 

“Of course! Have they been treating you better?” You ask, “I asked them to give you more than half a ration for meals because we need you to not be starving and have your muscles waste away.”

He nods, because yeah, they actually have been treating him better. As soon as his clipboard was updated with his intended designation the half ration bars became full and they were no longer chucked into his cell in passing. They were still dropped in, but now it didn’t feel like they were trying to whip him with them. He’d also been given a new blanket, the same color blue as the outfit he’s wearing now.

You peer into the cell and your eyes light up when you see the blanket spread out over his bunk, “Oh good! And they gave the blanket to you, I was worried they wouldn’t.”

“It’s very nice, I am in your debt.” He has to stop himself from bowing his head again.

You wave him off, “Don’t worry about it Simon, we’re in the process of getting your room together right now and Ryland bought it for you because I told him how thin your blanket looked. We weren’t sure what your favorite color is, so he picked mine.”

“Blue is your favorite color?” He asks, “Why?”

He can tell you’re delighting in the full sentences he’s giving you because of the way your eyes sparkle, “Ryland’s eyes are blue. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green, like plants.” He wants to meet this Ryland, he’s not sure if he trusts your perception of him, if him being your husband gives you rose colored glasses. He hopes Ryland is as good as you say he is. 

“Oh! Do you like plants?” You ask quickly, interested, “I have the opposite of a green thumb, I can never get them to stay alive, and Ryland has too much going on in his head to water them.”

He nods, looking away as he thinks of the sprout that was taken from him. The chord is still on his wrist, he rubs at it absentmindedly, “Yeah, I like plants.”

“Would you like me to get some for you to take care of? I would love some more greenery in the house.” You’re asking him what he wants, it’s so foreign. The ask seems genuine, so he nods. 

“I would, thank you. Will Dr. Grace be okay with that?” He’s not sure how the ownership of the plants will work, if they’ll actually be his or if they’ll be the Grace’s and he just takes care of them. It doesn’t really matter either way in the end. But it’s better to double check if this is something that might be taken away from him. 

You wave your hand, not dismissive of him, but of the thought that Dr. Grace might care, “No, he won’t mind at all. It may take him a while to even notice plants,” You laugh softly, “Also, you can call him Ryland.” 

He will not be doing that, just like he won’t be using your first name either, but he nods anyway.

“Okay so I need to get you plants,” he watches as you take a little notepad and pen out of your pocket, “I wanted to write down some stuff you think you’ll need so I can finish the shopping tomorrow.” He watches you scribble.

Simon has no idea what to say right now, which seems to be a common occurrence around you. You’re treating him like he’s not a convict, like he didn’t blow up a station and kill 62 people that you may or may not have known. You and/or Dr. Grace are high up here, that was obvious, but what exactly did either of you do for the C.O.I? You’d mentioned a lab the first time you were here, was Dr. Grace a scientist? If so, what kind? 

“What else do you think you’ll need?” You ask, smiling at him, pen poised, “We’ve already got things like your bed and some furniture. I’ve already got some clothes being made for you, they’ll mostly be in our family colors because, well, you’ll be part of the Grace family. I did actually want to ask about that, you don’t have a last name right?”

He blinks rapidly at you, thrown by the rapid changes in the conversation. He’s not used to people talking to him, let alone asking questions. He’ll need to try and be better about keeping up with you, hopefully Dr. Grace doesn’t do this as well. Maybe he’s more of the strong, silent type. He doesn’t miss the talk about family colors, though. That’s another notch in his theory that you and Dr. Grace are way above any station he’s ever dealt with. 

“Uh, no, I don’t.” You should know that he’s from Eden, it’s his chart. There’s no last names on Eden, only designations. He’d been ‘Simon, Son of Eden’ there. Now, without Eden, he was just Simon.

“Would it be okay if we started signing your documents with Grace as your last name? It’s completely fine if not, you can always pick your own, it’s just making this a little more difficult because they’re just so into full names here.” You huff out an annoyed laugh, “I was using Grace before we were properly joined just because of it all.”

What would be the price for using Grace as his last name? Would he have to give more of himself? “What, uh, what would I have to do if I did?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, tilting your head to the side, confusion on your face.

“Sorry, I’m not great at . . . talking.” He cringes a bit, “I was wondering what kind of debt I would be in, taking your last name.”

“Oh! No debt, it would be a gift, mainly just a tool really.” You shrug, “Like I said, you can just pick one and I’ll say you told me while we were talking today. Ryland is okay with it, if that’s also a hang up. He actually suggested it over dinner last night.”

Before he can respond something beeps on your wrist, and he realizes you're wearing some kind of watch, “Shoot, I have to go, I’m so sorry but we have this stupid dinner tonight with the Talbot. I really don’t want to go but Ryland is so bad in social situations like this, he’ll freak out if I’m not there.”

Talbot is the captain of the space station they’re both on currently. That’s . . . okay yeah that’s a really big deal. 

“I am going to see if I can take you home sooner than next week though, his partner and I are - not quite friends? But friendly enough.” You stick the pad of paper and the pen through the slot and he stares at it for a moment, “Write down the things you want and give it to your guard? Like I said, I really want to try and have your room ready for you.”

He takes it gingerly, looking at where you’ve scrawled his name at the top and the words plants, underlined neatly, “Okay, I can’t promise the guards will give it to you, though.”

“They will,” You smile cheerfully, your tone has no room for argument, like you know that if you ask the guards will just do it, “Take your time, of course, but if you could give it to your morning rotation guard that would be super duper helpful!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Grace,” another head bow, rotten soil, why can’t he stop doing that??

You bow your head back, a smile curving at your lips as you turn and start to walk away. He hears your footsteps stop then double back, “Oh! Our family colors are blue and yellow, by the way. I really hope you don’t hate either of those!” and then you’re hurrying down the hall. 

—-------

The next morning he’s waiting for the morning rotation guard. He spent all night trying to figure out what to write, what he thought he might need. He’d written down things like ‘food’ and ‘water’. He’s pretty sure you would give those to him regardless, but he had nothing else in his mind that he could think to ask. Of course he wanted homey things, like maybe a plant for just his room, a clock, an extra pillow, but how was he going to ask that of someone who’s already done so much? He’s wrestling with the idea that he’s going to be in a far greater debt than he ever was here through yours and Dr. Grace’s generosity. Well, at least he would be in debt to a pretty face.

He hears the footsteps of the guard as he walks down the hall, and he rises to his feet, making sure his skittles bag is hidden under the thin pillow. He’d been taking one at a time from the bag and chewing them thoroughly, savoring each one. He was determined to make them last, just like he’d done with the first ones he’d been given. The guard's footsteps slow as they reach his cell, and he waits in the customary spot, in the far left corner, hands in front of him. He’s got the notepad and pen in full view, and he’s looking at the floor.

“Okay Simon, change of clothes. Dr. Grace will be here today to get you.” The guard says, and Simon can hear the sound of fabric being shoved through the slot and dropping onto the floor. 

Simon looks up, stunned. Today? He was being freed today??? 

“Don’t look so surprised,” the guard, he thinks his name is Marco, stands at the slot still, arms crossed, “You’re a lucky bastard.”

“I -” He starts before immediately shutting his mouth. He almost asked a question, which would have gotten his ass beat.

Marco motions for him to continue speaking, “You’re technically a free man now, I’m not allowed to lay a hand on you. Paperwork went through last night after hours. You want to ask me a question about the Grace’s, don’t you?” Simon just nods, eyes drifting to the fabric on the ground. Instead of sweat material he sees a pair of thick navy cargo pants and a bright yellow t-shirt. Both look like they’re exactly his size, made with proper material. He also notices a pair of clean, thick white socks, a pair of navy blue boxer briefs, and Marco is holding a pair of dark brown boots made of what he thinks might be actual leather. 

“Dr. Grace is the leading scientist here. He’s the reason everyone stays alive. He’s eradicated most illnesses, aside from the big ones of course like cancer and shit, but the reason why no one gets a house cold anymore is because of him. In terms of importance, even the captain will defer to him on some things.” Marco shrugs, “He’s been here for a little bit, her not so much, both of them are outsiders. Dr. Grace went to a different station to collect some data and he apparently met her there. Brought her back and said she was his wife. No one questioned it, of course, and no one really knows where she came from, but she’s nice and she’s pretty, so-” 

Simon nods, “So . . . what you're saying is my sentence was bought out by one of the most important people in the C.O.I?”

“Ding, ding, ding! Looks like Eden scum can be smart, after all,” Simon tries not to flinch at the insult, it should be normal, it shouldn’t make his heart race and make him feel like a stain on the floor, “Dr. Grace never lets anyone into the lab to help him, so when Mrs. Grace came down saying they wanted to be a part of the Convict Realization Program so he could have some help, it sent everyone in a fucking tizzy. The amount of paperwork the two of them had to sign was astronomical. Not to mention the fact that they’d been given a list of prisoners that were deemed ‘acceptable’ and Mrs. Grace plucked the full list of prisoners off the warden's desk to read and they just let it happen. You weren’t on that original list, by the way.”

“I figured I wouldn’t be,” he murmurs, drifting towards the pile of clothes on the floor. He strips off the sweatshirt, chest bare save for the harness they let him keep. 

“They tried to get her to change her mind, even tried to circumvent her and talk to Dr. Grace, but he said that all decisions would be going through her. Ain’t that something?” Marco whistles low under his breath. He’s looking away from Simon now, he’d always been the most respectful one of the guards. Not that Simon cares anymore, at this point every single guard has probably seen everything he has to offer. 

He nods, shucking his pants off and putting them next to the sweatshirt. He’s about to take off the underwear too when Marco stands up straighter, and Simon hears hurried footsteps down the hall. The gate is different from yours, it sounds like the person has longer strides, but it’s also not the rhythmic footfalls of a guard. 

“So sorry I’m late, I had to sign even more paperwork. Which is kind of ridiculous, since Talbot sent word that this was all okay." The voice is masculine, hurried, bright, it sounds nice in Simon’s ears, which surprises him, “Talbot wanted me to get him, it was part of our agreement, just in case. Where is he?”

Marco motions to the cell Simon is in and steps to the side. Simon remembers a little too late that he’s almost naked when what he assumes is Dr. Grace steps into view. Dr. Grace is just as pretty as you, and the breath leaves Simon as he remembers how violently bisexual he is. He’s a little taller than Simon, but slimmer, with a head of blond, tousled hair that falls just to his ears, pushed around like he’s been running his hands through it absentmindedly. His gold, wire rim glasses accentuate ocean blue eyes, and Simon understands why you said blue was your favorite color. Dr. Grace has on a pair of light wash jeans, a tucked in matching jean button down, and a cream colored cardigan with foxes on it over top. 

Dr. Grace looks over into the cell, a smile on his lips, before taking in Simon’s state of (un)dress. A blush flashes over his face and he immediately turns away, covering his eyes with both hands, “Oh cheese and crackers!! Simon I’m so, so sorry, I didn’t . . . fudging fudger!” He watches Dr. Grace do a complete 180, “Please let me know when you’re done changing!!”

Simon’s lips quirk up at Dr. Grace’s antics, unused to people being flustered by his body. He changes quickly though, folding the clothes he’d been given last night. Like he suspected, the clothes fit perfectly and feel good on his skin. 

“I’m done,” He says, turning to the bed and grabbing the blanket you had given him. It’s already folded and he puts it under one arm, holding it tight to his body, slipping the notepad and pen into one of the pockets of the cargo pants. He grabs the bag of skittles last and slips that into another pocket on the other side. 

Dr. Grace turns around, the blush still firmly on his cheeks, but he’s got that smile back, “Great! As soon as you get your boots on we’ll be heading home, Y/n is waiting for us with some breakfast.”

He nods, staying back as the door to the cell opens. It’s such a weird feeling seeing that cell door open not for the purpose of showering or using the restroom. He’s not sure if he fully trusts that he won’t be back here just yet, but Dr. Grace seems to be as nice as you say he is. That might change once they get to their house, but for right now he can at least step outside the cell in real clothes, wearing real boots, and towards a man saying they were going home. 

Dr. Grace takes him through the maize of the prison system and up an elevator. He’s been quiet, but Simon can tell he’s buzzing to talk. He likes hearing people talk, but he’s not really sure how to get the blond to start. 

“Um, I wanted to say thank you,” He starts, clearing his throat before he speaks.

Bright blue eyes turn to him, “Thank me? For what?”

“Buying out my sentence,” he gives Dr. Grace a little headbow because he’s kind of just decided fuck it, they know where he’s from, and you hadn’t had a bad reaction when he’d slipped up and done it twice to you. Besides, this may be a good test to see how Dr. Grace will react to being reminded he’s from Eden. If Marco was correct it didn’t sound like he had a real say in him being picked.

“Oh, yeah, you don’t have to thank me for that,” Dr. Grace laughs softly, “It felt weird to bring you into the family while you still were incarcerated by the C.O.I.”

The way he says ‘the C.O.I’ pings something in Simon’s brain, like Dr. Grace doesn’t count himself among them. He doesn’t ask though, he doubts Dr. Grace would give him that type of information freely. 

“Well, thank you then, for . . . bringing me into your family.” That felt even weirder to say. It would have been so much easier if they referred to him as the help or the servant, or even the convict they bought, but to be labelled as family already? After barely meeting you twice and Dr. Grace once? It was just weird. 

Dr. Grace shrugs, “We needed another set of hands, and Y/n said she fell in love with you the moment she saw your photo on file. Said something about how you looked strong and capable. I mean, I agree, of course, I’m excited to work with you in the lab. Oh! Y/n kept forgetting to ask, do you know anything about molecular biology or botany?”

“I know about botany, actually. I was trained to be a Gardner.” Simon didn’t realize the elevator would take this long. How deep in the station had he been? The very bottom?

“Great!! That’s incredible!! I’ll put you in charge of the plant studies then, we’ve been trying to grow different types of plants here, including trees and such. But the soil kind of sucks here so I think we need to try and see if we can genetically modify either the plants or the soil. I have a bunch of research material you can go over, probably some classes as well that you can take on the computer, just to fill in any gaps. Do you know if Eden teachings are pretty comprehensive? Like did you learn about the molecular structure of plants?” Dr. Grace is talking so quickly, and Simon realizes that it’s both of them that does that. And the way he so casually asks about Eden? Like it’s nothing? Like he knows anything about it and is comfortable with it?

“We did a little bit, enough to understand what the different plants needed.” He responds, the elevator finally signaling that they were at the top of where they needed to be, “But I’d like to learn more, if you would allow.”

The doors open and Dr. Grace turns to Simon with a serious expression, “Simon, you never have to get permission from me for something like that. Both Y/n and I love to learn, and anything you want to know, you can either ask us or ask Arm-ando, okay?”

“Who -” He stops himself, if no one had mentioned another person living with them, then he didn’t need to know about it. 

“Whoops, sorry, Arm-ando is our robot,” Dr. Grace laughs softly, starting to walk to a four person utility vehicle. Simon watches as he pulls a set of keys out of his pocket. They have a little beaded fox charm on them, “He helps with our health and can get you almost any answer you’re looking for that isn’t like, how we feel about something or whatever.”

Simon follows, waiting till Dr. Grace is settled in the vehicle before climbing into the passenger seat himself. There’s a little high walled basket under the dashboard in front of him. It’s dark green and looks to be made of a sturdy cloth.

“That’s for you, by the way.” Dr. Grace says, motioning to the basket as he starts the vehicle and guides it onto a pathway designated for them. 

“For me?” Simon’s brows knit together as he smooths the blanket on his lap, bending over to pick up the basket. 

“Yeah, Y/n wanted you to have it as soon as possible. I told her it could probably wait till we got home, but she insisted. And since Talbot wouldn’t allow her to come get you today as part of the agreement to let you come home early, I figured it wouldn’t hurt. She really sweet talked Talbot, you shoulda seen her.” Dr. Grace has a look of such fondness on his face, it’s obvious how much he loves you. It makes Simon’s heart clench a bit, and he’s not sure why. 

He peers into the basket and the first thing he notices is his mother’s sheath. He can’t help the small gasp that escapes his lips and he reaches in, stroking the leather with his thumb. How did you know about this? He thought it was lost forever, that they’d gotten rid of it with the rest of his clothes. 

“She’s really smart,” Dr. Grace says, conversationally, “She has this incredible knack for finding things out, getting information. I guess it has to do with her upbringing, she said she had to learn it. I’ll let her tell you her story, of course, but I think this is her way of trying to tell you that you're not alone, not anymore.”

Fuck, he doesn’t know how to respond to that. What was there to say? He could possibly blame the wind from the fast pace of their vehicle in his eyes for the tears that spring, but even if he tried Dr. Grace wouldn’t believe him. 

The next thing he pulls out is a small, dark green journal with a lock and key attached to it and a set of black pens. 

“I suggested it might be a good idea for you to have a place to put your thoughts that no one else can see. Y/n does the same thing, though she leaves her key in the lock because she knows I won’t invade her privacy like that. But we can get you a chain or something for yours so you can keep it close to you. I promise we won’t go through it, but I understand the trust isn’t there yet.” Dr. Grace shrugs a shoulder, taking a turn down a section of the station that’s much better lit than the common areas. 

Simon just nods and sets the journal to lean against his stomach. He almost doesn’t catch the way Dr. Grace’s eyes linger on his stomach, move up to his pecs. That’s an interesting development. Was Dr. Grace gay? Were you two in a marriage of convenience? Or was he possibly like Simon? He distracts himself with the next item, which is another large bag of sour skittles.

“Y/n said you really liked them, so I had a bigger stash made for you,” Dr. Grace smiles pleasantly, “We have more kinds than these, but these are my favorite, as she probably told you, so you’ll see more of them around the house. This one is for you to keep in your room and refill whenever you want. If you ever see that we’re out in the kitchen, just let one of us or Arm-ando know so we can place the order for more.”

Finally they get a section of the station with parking spots. Dr. Grace maneuvers to one that has ‘Grace Residence’ carefully painted on the outside of a large white box. There’s another one already parked, and Dr. Grace stops right next to it. He turns off the ignition and slips the keys back into his pocket, stretching as he does. 

“Do you by any chance know how to drive one of these?” Dr. Grace asks as Simon gets out, holding the basket and blanket close to his body.

He shakes his head and Dr. Grace purses his lips in thought, “That’s okay, we can teach you. You’ll need to be able to use one to get back and forth from the house to the lab. Unfortunately the lab is almost all the way across the station. It sucks but it’s a necessary evil. Once you learn how to drive one we’ll get you your own.”

“My own?” The words slip out of his lips before he can catch them, and he immediately wants to stuff them back inside. Why is he questioning anything right now? He needs to just be silent, let Dr. Grace talk to him, take in as much information as he can about who owns him now. 

Dr. Grace nods, motioning for him to follow down a hallway, “I need mine to get back and forth from the lab, Y/n needs hers for her errands, and you’ll need your own for the lab and for anything Y/n may need you to run out and get while she’s working. She’s probably already started making a charm for you.”

Simon watches as he pulls out his keys again and dangles the little fox charm, “She made me this a while ago, held up really well honestly. It helps us distinguish whose keys are whose. Very helpful early in the morning when I’m half asleep and the coffee hasn’t kicked in.”

It’s been a while since Simon has seen real beads or thought about coffee. 

It’s a trek down the hallway, they pass a handful of doors coated in different colors with different names. The only one he recognizes is the Talbot Residence. He quickens his pace as he walks past that one. Finally they make it to a yellow door, Grace Residence in script font affixed to it. Dr. Grace pulls his keys out again and slides a large one into the lock, turning it swiftly. 

“Darling?” Dr. Grace calls, stepping inside, leaving the door open for Simon to walk through. 

The inside is luxury unlike anything he’s ever seen before. He thinks this is what a real home on earth would have looked like. The floors are a medium stained wood, the walls a beautiful light blue, it reminds him of what the sky looked like in the documentaries from Earth he’d watched on Eden as a kid. Straight in is a white, fluffy carpeted, recessed living room with a step down into it, a dark grey sectional couch with fluffy cushions and blankets folded on it, a large TV mounted on the wall, and glass windows that have a simulated scenery of cliffs and waves playing. To the left is a decently large kitchen, and to the right is a dining room. The tables been set with three plates and three sets of utensils, as well as empty cups. 

There’s a hallway to the left and another to the right, but from where he is he can’t see down to take in what’s there. There are personal effects everywhere: pictures of Dr. Grace and you, a bookshelf half filled with science books and the other half filled with different types of literature. Against the glass window there’s also five different plants. He immediately spies a monstera, a pothos, a bird of paradise, a jade plant, and something he does recognize. They look brand new, a little neglected from where they’d been bought, but nothing he couldn’t get to perk up soon with a little care and attention. 

“Coming!” He hears our voice from down the hall to the left.

“So, what do you think, Simon?” Dr. Grace smiles, hands on his hips as he looks around as well, “We tried to make it as homey as possible, try to put as much of ourselves into it as we could while we’re here. You’ll have to tell us things you like too, so we can get some of you in here too.”

“It’s very nice, Dr. Grace.” Simon responds as he looks around again. He’s not sure what ‘some of him’ could mean. He wasn’t really much of him right now. So long in a jail cell will do that to someone. 

“Did Y/n not tell you you can call me Ryland?” He asks. At first Simon thinks it’s a rhetorical question, a type of question where they both know the answer and this is more of a reprimand than anything. But he takes a peak at Dr. Grace’s face and it’s open, earnest, confused. 

“Uh, yeah, she did.” He looks away, unable to meet Dr. Grace’s eyes. He doesn’t want to be asked why he won’t ever call him Ryland, why he won’t ever use your name either. You and Dr. Grace own him now. It wouldn’t be proper, wouldn’t be right. It would blur the lines too much, and the generosity between the two of you has already blurred a lot of things for him. 

Before Dr. Grace can ask though, you come walking in, wearing blue sweatshorts and a matching sweatshirt. The shorts are shorter than he’s seen any other person wear, and they cause a blush to creep to his face and he has to look away quickly. 

“Simon!” You cry, smiling wide, running over and throwing your arms around him in a big hug. He stiffens immediately, unsure what to do. He’d touched your skin in the cell briefly, but feeling it like this is causing electric pins and needles to sweep through his whole body. He wants to push you away, he wants to hold you closer. He does half of each, putting his arms around you and just holding them there.

He looks over at Dr. Grace, who's watching with a soft smile. He must be incredibly secure in his relationship with you, and the look he’s giving you makes him sure that he’s not fully gay. Dr. Grace’s eyes travel from where Simon’s hugging you to the swell of your ass, and yeah, Dr. Grace is definitely not fully gay. He’s most likely like Simon, half gay. It sends a little thrill through Simon for some reason, amplifying the electricity from your touch. You pull back too soon and cup his cheek with your hand, smiling blindingly at him. “I’m so happy you’re here and not in the cell anymore! I hated thinking about you being there.” You say, and he thinks the feeling of your palm on his cheek will be imprinted into his DNA forever. 

“She’s right, she ranted a lot about it,” Dr. Grace chuckles, dodging your swatting hand. 

“Honey, will you grab the stuff from the kitchen for breakfast while I show Simon around?” You ask Dr. Grace, and Simon is convinced that Dr. Grace will get huffy, that he’ll refuse, because kitchen duties aren’t a husband’s job. Instead though, Dr. Grace nods and the smile stays on his face as he walks into the kitchen. 

You grab Simon’s hand and tug him towards the hallway on the right, “C’mon, I wanna show you your room and bathroom first!”

His room and bathroom? He got his own room and bathroom?? Sure enough, straight down the hall is a closed door that you open, showing him a room bigger than his cell. There’s a large bed with silken looking black sheets, and a thick dark green comforter with plants etched in embroidery in the middle of the room. On either side are dark wood side tables. The walls are a rich, deep green, and there’s a false window set to the same rocky beach scene that’s out in the living room. There’s actual warm lights, a matching dark wood desk with a chair, empty shelves, and a closet with an open door, showing off all the clothes inside. The floors are that same wood from the front, but there’s a black rug under the bed that encompasses a good portion of the room. 

“This is you! I had the walls painted, if the color isn’t what you want just let me know! Also, since this was such short notice, I obviously never got your list, so I wasn’t sure about the things you wanted in here. We’ll go shopping tomorrow, I think today should just be about you settled in.” You’re bustling around the room, smoothing the sheets down, fluffing one of the four pillows on the bed, “However you want to decorate this room is up to you! I want you to feel at home, you know?” 

No, he doesn’t know. Even on Eden he’d never been given anything like this. A room of his own, with a lock? With a bed that looks like it could fit three people? Clean sheets, a wardrobe full of clothes, space for his few, meager possessions? What can he say to this? What would be enough of a repayment? 

“I - this is - I’m not . . . I’m not used to this.” He forces out, looking down at the blanket that’s still in his hands. He’s still holding the basket and the blanket. Part of him is terrified that if he sets them down they’ll disappear, that if he acknowledges that all of this is for him and he accepts it, that he’ll wake up right back in that cell and the guards will tell him neither you or Dr. Grace exists.

You pause your flitting, looking down at the bed and smoothing it again with your hand, thinking, “They don’t really prioritize comfort on Eden, do they?”

He shakes his head, “No, uh, they don’t.” 

“Well, Ryland and I prioritize it here. We’ve both been in situations where comfort was an after thought, and we made a vow that we would find comfort wherever we are, and that vow now extends to you, Simon. We want you comfortable here, okay?” You smile warmly at him, “I mean it, I know you won’t believe me for a little while, I understand what Eden’s indoctrination does to a person. But I’m going to do my best to show you every day, okay?”

That’s the first moment Simon thinks he might be in a different kind of trouble. 

—-------

The first few weeks are a whirlwind of getting settled into the sporadic routine of the Grace household. During the week Dr. Grace will leave early in the morning, before you’re awake generally, and come home before dinner. Simon has started making sure he’s awake before Dr. Grace is so he can have coffee ready in a thermos after the fourth time Dr. Grace came home complaining about having to go to the cafeteria for his coffee ration. The first time he did it Dr. Grace had jumped when he noticed Simon in the kitchen, he wasn’t expecting to see him there. 

“Oh! Hey Simon, is everything okay?” Dr. Grace had asked after jumping out of his skin. 

Simon held a thermos out to him that he’d dug out from the bag of the cabinet, it was blue with stars on it. It held more coffee than the one Dr. Grace always forgot so Simon thought it would be better received. 

“Is . . . is that for me?” Dr. Grace asked, gingerly taking it from him. He slid back the top and took a sniff, “Oh! You made me coffee??”

Nodding, Simon shifted from foot to foot, “Yeah, you, uh, complained about forgetting it and I’m normally awake at this time,” he was not, “so I figured I would just have it ready for you.”

“Ugh you’re a fudging angel, thank you so much!” Dr. Grace had taken a sip as he walked out, “Bye Simon, have a great day!!” 

That was about a week into living here, and every morning he wonders when Dr. Grace is going to take him with him to the lab. So far he hasn’t, which has left Simon to find things to do around the house. He’s fixed everything already, there had been a few small leaks here and there, the air conditioning was sporadic, he’d also learned how to mount the TV on the wall and how to hide the cords. Yesterday he was so bored he sorted the books on the shelf by authors last name while keeping respect to the fact that the science based books were kept separate. 

You didn’t have as strict a schedule as Dr. Grace, so it was hard for Simon to pin down when you would be out of the house or not. It seemed like you did a lot of random work here and there, mainly keeping people company. You mentioned to Simon that you used to have people over often, but wouldn’t for a while until he was fully settled in. He was grateful for that, he didn’t really want to deal with people staring at him or being weird towards him, didn’t want to put either of you in that situation. 

Simon was quickly growing . . . fond of you and Dr. Grace. It was weird, how quickly he felt like he assimilated into your lives. You never forgot to set out a third place setting, never forgot to make a third portion of food. You’ve added him into the movie night picking rotation and he’s gotten to watch whatever he wants with you and Dr. Grace. He has his own blanket on the couch including the blue one he’d first gotten in his room. It’s all very . . . domestic. 

It’s early in the morning a month in and he’s waiting for the coffee pot to percolate, Dr. Grace’s thermos freshly washed out by it. His thoughts are hazy in the early morning, the after images of his dreams flitting through. Images of soft skin, blue eyes, a warm feminine voice. It’s interrupted by slow footsteps heading towards him from the hallway. He turns to look, seeing Dr. Grace in an oversized sleep shirt and short boxers. 

He’s seen Dr. Grace in an outfit like this before once, when Simon couldn’t sleep and he’d been reading. Dr. Grace had come out to get a glass of water and hadn’t noticed Simon on the couch with a little reading light you had given him that day. He’d let himself watch Dr. Grace move over the top of his book, ready to look down if he saw him. Even if he had wanted to, Simon wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from looking at Dr. Grace’s ass, his long, mostly bare legs. Simon had to concede that he thought Dr. Grace was attractive, wouldn’t have minded having someone like him in Eden to fool around with. Though honestly, Simon also felt the same way about you.

“Mornin’, Si,” Dr. Grace yawns, voice soft, “I need you to come with me to the lab today if that’s okay?”

That was a new nickname, Dr. Grace hasn’t used it before, he likes it. 

“Yeah, I can do that.” Simon keeps his voice soft as well, not wanting to wake you, “Do I need to bring anything?”

Dr. Grace shakes his head, another yawn overtaking his face, “Nah, just wear long sleeves and pants. I’m gonna have you sorting through some things for me. I got another project put on my desk last night and I need another set of hands to make sure the old project gets finished.”

“I’ll go get ready.” Simon nods, heading back to his room. He feels Dr. Grace reach out to him and grab his wrist gently. He stops, looking back at the blond with confusion.

“Wanted to say thank you for everything you’ve done around here, before I forget again,” Dr. Grace’s smile is warm, unguarded, something like fondness in his eyes, “I keep forgetting, scatterbrained.”

“Uh, it’s nothing, just trying to be useful.” Simon shrugs, the feeling of Dr. Grace’s skin on his sending sparks up his arm. What is wrong with him? Sure he doesn’t really get human touch even now, it’s like the two of you are hyper careful about not touching him, but it’s just Dr. Grace.

Dr. Grace squeezes his wrist, “Well, even so, thank you. You also don’t have to be useful to be important to us, by the way.”

He has no idea what to do with that. You and Dr. Grace say shit like that all the time to him and no matter how many times he hears something like that he can’t get a hold of the blush or the way his mind races at a million miles an hour. When he doesn’t say anything Dr. Grace lets go of his wrist and pats his shoulder, heading back to his and your bedroom. 

Simon shakes his head and goes and gets ready, a little more worked up than normal. It was because of the dream he had last night, the one with two bodies next to him in his bed that he couldn’t remember who they belonged to, as well as Dr. Grace’s pajamas and his honeyed words. He gets frustrated as he tugs on the navy blue long sleeve shirt, this all would be so much easier if you both treated him like he deserved to be, like a convict, a bad guy. But neither of you did, you both treated him like a person, like a human being without blood on his hands. 

He’s pouring the coffee into a second thermos, one with a yellow sun on it, when Dr. Grace comes out, dressed in his usual khakis, blue striped polo, and that stupidly endearing cardigan with the foxes on it. 

“You ready?” He asks Simon, taking the thermos Simon holds out to him with a nod of appreciation. 

“Lead the way.” Simon nods, following behind Dr. Grace. 

—-------

A couple months in all three are sitting at the dining room table after a long day of research for Simon. Dr. Grace had given him a project of his own, trying to figure out why the soil on the station won’t let any plants take deep root. Simon spent all day researching different ph levels, what makes roots tunnel so deep, what would cause a root to travel back upwards instead of down when there was plenty of soil. He was tired mentally, and honestly it was a pleasant feeling to not be so in his head. He’s never flexed his brain muscle this hard before, he really likes it. 

“Simon, could you please pass the mashed potatoes?” You ask, patting his arm to get his attention.

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” He mumbles, reaching over and grabbing the bowl. He hears Dr. Grace’s cutting stop and he looks over, noticing both of your surprised faces, “Did . . . did I say something?” 

“You, uh, called me sweetheart.” Your smile is confused, but it’s trying to not be anything that might scare him. 

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck how had that slipped through?? He’s been holding it back for the last month, somehow your name had morphed into sweetheart in his head because that’s exactly what you were, a sweetheart. You were so nice and sweet to everyone around you, especially him and sunshine- Dr. Grace. Yeah, another fucking thing he had to deal with. While you were sweetheart, Dr. Grace had somehow become sunshine. He couldn’t even bring himself to use your first names, why was he so hung up on cute little pet names?

“I’m so sorry,” He says after a moment of pure panic, “I, uh, it won’t-”

“It’s okay,” Dr. Grace says, shrugging, turning back down to his plate, “She is a sweetheart, though that’s not a pet name I tend to use, right darling?”

You nod, turning back to your own plate, “And I don’t mind it, I think it’s cute.”

Simon stares at the two of you for longer than he probably should, trying to understand how he isn’t being punished, especially by Dr. Grace. He’d just called the man's wife a pet name reserved for husbands. Why was he letting that slide? Acting like it didn’t matter? That it was normal? Eden’s Roots they were so fucking kind to him. 

“Um, R-” Simon clears his throat and starts again, determined to get it out, “Ryland, you offered to teach me about the water cycle, could we do that tomorrow?” The smile that broke across Ryland’s face was in one word: beautiful. Simon thinks it’s radiant, beautiful, and he wants to see it again. He sneaks a look at you and you have the same fucking smile on your face. Fucking hell, it’s just his luck that he’s so insanely attracted to both of you. 

“Yeah!! I would love to teach you about the water cycle!!” Ryland says, still beaming, “Also, I really like hearing you say my name. I mean, I like hearing you say anything, but especially my name, if that makes sense? Like you could probably recite the alphabet and I would like to listen, so you can say anything really-” 

He sees you lay your hand on Ryland’s forearm gently, which interrupts the weird spiral he was going down. Simon doesn’t miss the appreciative look he gives you, or the way you laugh softly. 

“I think what Ryland is saying, is that we’re very glad you’re starting to feel more comfortable here. It’s what we’ve been hoping for, honestly.” You place your other hand on Simon’s arm, and the three of you are connected for a moment. 

He likes feeling connected.

—-------

Ryland is crying again. 

Simon knows why, it’s because Ryland hasn’t really slept the last week and he’s been freaking out over an experiment that keeps failing. Simon is sitting at the kitchen table, unsure what to do right now. He wants to try and comfort Ryland, but he’s not sure how to. There’s also the fact that Ryland is trying to pretend like he’s not crying, hiding behind his tablet, his sniffles soft and quiet. Finally Simon stands, heading over to the couch and sitting down on the other side of it, still looking at the book he’s reading. Simon’s kind of hoping that his close proximity will help, but it seems like when Ryland sees him he just cries harder. He flounders, trying to think of something to say, when finally you enter the living room, humming softly under your breath.

“Hey you two how - Ryland? Honey, are you okay?” You ask after seeing Ryland’s tear streaked face. You quickly hustle over and sit next to him, a questioning glance at Simon, who shrugs. You know Ryland’s been overworking himself again, it happens at least once a month. He doesn’t know, however, why his presence is making it worse. 

Simon feels really bad about it, he wants to be helpful, wants to be good for you both. He thought he’d been doing really good, you both seemed really happy with him. But how good could he be if he couldn’t comfort Ryland when he was crying? “Sorry, sorry, I’m just . . . so tired,” Ryland hiccups, looking at you. Simon sees the way his eyes cut to Simon for a moment before going right back to your face. 

“It’s okay, you’ve been working too hard. You agree with me, right, Si?” You soothe, running your fingers through Ryland’s hair. Simon immediately clocks the way Ryland leans into the touch, how much it calms him down. 

“Yeah, yeah sunshine, you’ve been working too hard,” Simon echoes, entranced by the action, not realizing he’s let the nickname slip. He’s been so good about it since that time at dinner. 

He hears Ryland’s soft, wet gasp at Simon’s words, his words almost a whisper, “Have I?”

You nod, and Simon watches as you lean forward and kiss Ryland on the lips. There’s a deep ache in Simon as he watches that, unsure of who he wants to be more: you or Ryland. Or both, maybe. Maybe he wants to be in the middle . . . maybe he wants to feel both of your lips on him.

Ryland melts into your touch, tugging you onto his lap, your lips still connected. The tears have stopped streaming down his face, replaced with a primal need that Simon wants to continue watching, but finds himself quickly standing and heading towards his room. He can’t watch, he can’t intrude on this private moment between the two of you. And if he takes care of himself in the privacy of his bedroom, listening to the soft moans and whimpers from the living room, then that’s his cross to bear. 

—-------

“Hey Simon, did I ever tell you where I’m from?” You ask one afternoon as he cleans the kitchen.

He’s got his hair up in a bun, gloves on, scouring the oven. It’s a once a month chore and you’d mentioned that you had it on your list, so he decided to do it before you could. This was what he was here for, after all, to make you and Ryland’s lives better. He wasn’t needed in the lab that day, and he really didn’t have anything planned save for pruning the plants and sweeping the floors. 

You’d come into the kitchen a few minutes prior, surprised to see him already halfway done. 

“No, you haven’t.” He grunts out in response, trying to get a particularly tough build up of food out. Ryland always made such a fucking mess when he cooked, no matter what it was. Simon would bet anything this was from that stupid cheesy chicken casserole he made a week ago. 

He hears you walk over, your footsteps soft. You sink to the ground next to him, leaning your back against the cabinets as you watch him work. He pulls out of the oven and looks over at you, and eyebrow raised, waiting for you to start talking. He doesn’t really know much about you or Ryland’s past, just that you both don’t really view yourself as part of the C.O.I.

“Well, I was born on Mars,” You start just as he sticks his head back in the oven to work over that spot. He pauses his movements, listening intently. You were born on Mars? Like him?

You’re quiet for a few minutes, maybe gathering the strength to say what comes next. He knows you weren’t on Mars during The Quiet Rapture, or you wouldn’t be here. 

“My family made the leap to Eden a few years before The Quiet Rapture.” Your words are soft, contemplative, trying to distance yourself from what you’re saying by making it sound like a story or an academic paper, “And I spent most of my life there.” 

He keeps his head in the oven, worried that if he moves the spell will be broken and you’ll walk away, giving him nothing more. 

“I, uh, I was in your classes, growing up.” You confess, nervous, “You kept to yourself and I . . . I didn’t want to be on Eden so I never made any friends. I think the only reason I knew who you were was because of your connection to Claude.”

Claude, Father Claude, the Father. He’s never heard anyone say Father’s first name like that before. It felt wrong, a hold over from living with the man and his brothers for so long. But damn, you were there? Why didn’t he remember you?

You continue, he’s not sure how you take his silence but you keep talking anyways, “I ended up being designated as a Finder. I found scattered bits of information that float in the vacuum of space between the different stations and factions. I was the one who came in contact with Ryland’s ship first when it circled around. It was all so hush, hush, I don’t think even the Sons of Eden were made aware.”

“We weren’t made aware of a lot, despite popular thought,” Simon says finally, pulling out of the oven. He looks at you and sees how scared you look, like he’s going to tell you how much he despises you, demand to know why you didn’t tell him before. 

He honestly had a feeling you were from Eden, or at least had been there. Little things that added up to the picture that’s been laid out in front of him. The way you didn’t flinch at his head bow, how you casually used Eden verbiage sometimes. It makes sense, honestly. 

“So, did you know I was . . . Who I am when you came to the prison?” he asks, sitting back on his haunches and wiping his gloved hands on a towel. 

You nod, “Talbot’s partner mentioned a few weeks before I met with you that a person from Eden had been in the prison for a while, that Ava was looking for volunteers for her program. Ryland and I hadn’t been told of any prisoners surviving Filament. I mean, it made sense why we weren’t, no one knows I’m from Eden. But when I was told Ryland agreed to go and see who it was. I recognized you instantly.”

“Why did you save me?” His voice is soft, a little broken. Suddenly there’s a new angle to this, to you and Ryland buying out his sentence, saving him from what he knows now after reports spread around the station of the AT-5 incident, “You knew who I was . . . what I’d done . . . and you still saved me?”

“Oh, Simon, the things you did weren’t your fault.” You sigh, looking at him intently with your soft eyes, “Claude made you believe it was the only thing you were good at. Being . . . being Him.”

Being the Butcher. 

For the longest time he did believe that. He did believe that the only thing he was good at was killing and hurting and ripping apart lives. Had believed it until you and Ryland threw yourselves into his life and helped him see he was actually kind and gentle and loving. 

Leaves Above, he was loving now. He did things out of love, because he wanted to, because he wanted to make you and Ryland feel happy and good. He didn’t think like a man in a cage anymore, didn’t look for exits immediately walking into a room. You both gave him a freedom he never experienced before. He has his own space, his own vehicle, his own things. Anything he requested was given to him with a smile. 

“I’m sorry,” You say, voice small, looking away, “I should have told you sooner.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” He smiles, turning back to the oven, “I’m just glad we both got out.” 

—-------

It’s almost a year in when Ryland is called to assist an exploratory ship. You’re beside yourself with worry, pacing in Simon’s room as he sits on the bed. It’s his day off and he’d been scrolling through a catalogue, trying to figure out something he could get each of you for his anniversary of coming to live with you two. Ryland had given him a line of credit a week after arriving and he’d only used it a handful of times: once to get himself a plant for his room, and another time to order hot chocolate mix. He knew you two were getting him something, he’d accidentally overheard the other night and he wants to make sure he has something in return. 

“I can’t believe they’re doing this, again!” You’re ranting. He’s listening and halfway watching your form as it moves back and forth. He’s got a little debate with himself on whether or not you’re going to wear a path in his floor, “They promised he would be done with these!!”

“Can’t he just tell them no?” Simon asks, glancing up, “And is it really that bad? It’s supposed to be exploratory, right?”

“He tried to tell them no, said I needed him here, that the station needed him here, but they refused. They said they wanted him to do studies on board of the thing they plan on picking up. They won’t even tell him what the thing is!! It feels bad, Simon, I hate it. I don’t like him being so far away from us.”

Simon watches in horror as you start to cry, big tears filling your eyes. He jumps up quickly, taking you in his arms and holding you tight to his body, “Hey, hey it’s okay! Ryland will be okay, I promise. He can take care of himself.”

You cling to him, and he can feel you try to get a hold of yourself, to stop the tears from flowing. It’s not working, in fact you're just crying harder. He wants to comfort you somehow, to distract you from your spiraling, but he doesn’t know how. He hates when either of you cry, Ryland tends to cry when he’s over tired and over stressed, you cry when you’re overly emotional. He’s seen the way you and Ryland stop each other from crying, but there’s no way he can do that, no way he can go that far. He still remembers the first time, can still see it in his mind's eye. 

“What if he dies?? What if something happens and he leaves us alone??” You sob, gripping the front of his shirt tight, tears dampening the front of his shirt, “I can’t live without him, Simon!!”

Simon walks the two of you back, feeling the back of his knees hit the bed. He sits and pulls you onto his lap, feeling the way your knees bracket his hips. Your move against him as you situated yourself more comfortable, and he takes in the look of surprise on your face. Thankfully the tears have stopped, but you're still sniffling a bit. 

“You back with me, sweetheart?” He asks gently, trying to ignore how close your face is to his. It wouldn’t take much to bring his lips to yours, to taste you after so long wanting you. 

Your gaze is a little dazed, you aren’t back with him, clearly, but at least you aren’t crying actively anymore. 

“He’s gonna be okay, I promise. Sunshine isn’t gonna leave us. He’s gonna go on the trip and come back before we know it.” Simon soothes, rubbing your back. He leans his forehead on yours, as close as he’ll allow himself to get to your face.

“Simon?” You whisper, voice still thick from the tears.

“Yeah?” He whispers back, feeling the change in the air. It’s no longer a desperation for Ryland’s safety, but a desperation for something else. 

He feels your lips on his before he fully understands what’s happening. He’s moving his mouth against yours, drunk off the sensation, feeling the way you draw yourself tighter to him. He’s had so many dreams of this moment, and it’s better than even his imagination could come up with. Your lips are soft against his, insistent. Your tongue swipes against his lips and he opens them for you with a soft groan, allowing you to slip your tongue inside his mouth and explore. He grasps the small of your back, feeling the way your shirt rides up so he can touch your bare skin. You suck on his bottom lip, drawing it into your mouth and biting down on it softly. The gasp that escapes him brings a smile to your face and you do it again. He feels your fingers dig into his back, pulling yourself even closer, your clothed heat dragging along the bulge in his pants. It draws another gasp from him, and his hands go to your hips, holding them tight. Whether or not he plans on stilling your hips or moving them back and forth he isn’t sure, because he hears a throat clear from his doorway.

Breaking the kiss quickly, he looks over at Ryland, who’s standing there, leaning against the doorframe. The reality of what just happened comes crashing over him like a tidal wave, pulling him under into the depths of panic. Eden’s Roots he just kissed another man’s wife. Another man’s wife is on his lap, grinding down in his erection still. 

“Hey honey,” Simon can hear the smile in your voice, feels your lips kiss his jaw.

“Hi darling,” Ryland smirks, and Simon’s never seen this look on Ryland, this . . . self-assured arch to his brow, the slight purse of his lips, the hungry eyes. 

Ryland moves then, pushing off the doorframe and using his long legs to close the distance towards them with ease. Simon braces. He’s not sure for what honestly, for Ryland to deck him probably. Instead, Ryland gently grabs him by the back of his head and slots his lips against Simon’s in a possessive kiss. Simon has never kissed a man before, and he’s sure that he’ll never want to kiss another man other than Ryland again. The kiss is everything he’s dreamed about, just like with you. In his dreams though, he’s the dominant one, moving both of you to his whims, taking what he’s craved since the moment he’s met both of you. It’s obvious now though, as Ryland bullies his tongue into Simon’s mouth, that will not be the case. And he’s more than okay with that. 

You’re still moving your hips against him, your lips moving from his jaw down to his neck, down to the juncture between that and his shoulder. You bite down softly and he whimpers against Ryland’s lips.

“You like that, sugar?” You ask, nipping again at the same spot, soothing your tongue over it.

His lips are still on Ryland’s or he would be nodding emphatically. Instead he whines, his hands tightening on your hips. He hears your pretty laugh and Ryland pulls away from his mouth - he already misses the feeling on his lips. 

“Stop teasing him, darling.” Ryland admonishes, burying his fingers in your hair and tugging back gently. You willingly follow where he leads, arching her head back, exposing the column of your throat.

Ryland turns to him, a wicked grin on his face, “Do you want to give her a little payback?” 

He looks between the two of you, wild eyed. He wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into the soft skin of your shoulder, to mark you up. But this is insane, right?? There’s not a world in which he gets to have this, have both of you, wanting him. 

“C’mon, starlight, bite her back. She gave you a pretty bruise, give her one too.” Ryland coaxes, using his hand to move your head back farther, a little whine leaving you at the sensation. You're humping his lap still, chasing friction that isn’t enough to satisfy you. 

Finally he leans in and attaches his lips to your skin, biting softly at first. He feels your whole body shudder and he bites down harder, drinking in the moan that spills over him. Fucking hell that sound is like music to him, so much better in front of him than separated between walls.

“Good boy,” Ryland coos, smoothing his hand over the back of Simon’s head. Well, he didn’t expect to like that so much. 

Simon pulls back and kisses you again, feeling Ryland’s hand still on him, knowing Ryland’s other hand is fisted in your hair. The idea that he’s touching both of you while you kiss makes his cock twitch and he’s desperate for it to be freed, to be touched. He wants so badly to be buried inside you or Ryland in some way, doesn’t matter which way. Keeping on hand on your hip he removes the other, waving it around, trying to find purchase on Ryland somewhere. He makes contact with Ryland’s side and holds on tight, shucking up Ryland’s shirt so he can grab onto the bare skin there. Ryland’s chuckle just spurs him on, breaking the kiss with you in order to drag kisses down to your collarbone, sucking marks there.

“Oh fuck, Simon!” your voice is breathy, like heaven, like sin. 

“He making you feel good, darling?” Ryland asks, leaning forward and placing a couple quick kisses on your mouth.

“Wanna taste him, please can I taste him, honey?” You plead, moving your hips faster against Simon’s aching, still clothed cock. 

“Only if he wants you too,” Ryland’s voice is patient, with an edge of barely constrained hunger and want, “Simon, do you want Y/n to suck your cock?”

He can’t lift his head fast enough to respond, in fact the sudden motion triggers a bit of vertigo, but he powers through to say, “Yes! Yes please!”

You lift yourself off Simon’s lap, and Ryland quickly removes your shirt, letting Simon get a good look at the soft flesh there, at your breasts. He brings his hands up slowly, waiting to be told no, but Ryland and you watch eagerly as he places his hands there, kneading them reverently, listening to your soft noises in wonder. 

“Isn’t she pretty?” Ryland asks, voice low, “She’s been so needy for you, starlight. We both have.”

“Really?” He breathes, looking between the two of you.

“Yeah, we have.” you bite your bottom lip, “for a while now . . . we weren’t sure if you felt the same.”

“I do, fuck, I do. Been dreaming about this for so long.” He removes his hands and slides off his own shirt, eager to feel both of you.

Clothes are removed quickly and Ryland guides Simon to rest with his back against his head board in the middle of the bed. Simon feels a bit self conscious, exposed, completely naked on the bed with you and Ryland there. How many times has he dreamed of this? Honestly too many to count, but it was nothing like the real deal. 

He watches as you crawl up the bed towards him and get settled between his legs, looking at him with a wide, eager smile. Ryland kneels on the bed next to him, capturing his lips again in another possessive, fiery kiss. He leans into it, jumping only a little when he feels your lips on his cock, feather light kisses up and down his hard shaft. He whimpers into Ryland’s mouth, and Ryland runs his hands over Simon’s skin, just feeling him. Simon brings his hand up and encircles Ryland’s waist, holding him close to his side. 

When your lips close around him fully he gasps softly, feeling the smile on Ryland’s face. Ryland pulls back a bit, lips barely brushing over Simon’s, “How does her mouth feel, starlight?”

“So good,” Simon moans softly as you travel farther down his shaft, tongue flat against him, “So fucking good!”

“Yeah, she’s so good with her mouth, aren’t ya, darling?” Ryland coos, placing his hand on your head and guiding you down faster just a little bit. You hum against his cock, eyes fluttering closed at the feeling of him on your tongue, of Ryland’s hand on your head. 

Simon watches with wide eyes as his cock disappears more and more into your wet mouth, getting closer and closer to the back of your throat. When it hits he sucks in a ragged breath, hips twitching as you swallow around his cockhead. 

Ryland gently guides Simon’s head to look at him, “Are you good with your mouth too, starlight?” 

He nods quickly, “Yeah, yeah can I taste you?”

“Of course, asking so pretty for me, of course I’ll let you taste me.” Ryland breathes, Simon’s words obviously getting to him. He maneuvers himself so it’s easier for Simon to draw Ryland’s hard cock into his mouth and run his tongue up and down, circling the tip once, twice, a third time. Ryland’s moan above him is like an aphrodisiac. 

Simon’s eyes flick down as he sucks Ryland off, making eye contact with you as you bob your head up and down. You’re watching with enrapt eyes, hand starting down to your cunt and starting to rub your clit as you watch. He wants to tease you, to ask if you’re enjoying the show, but with the way he’s fucking his mouth on Ryland’s cock, it’s impossible. Besides, he doesn’t want to take his mouth off for a second, even to try and draw more whimpers from you. You’re doing a fine job on your own anyways, yours and Ryland’s moans filling his bedroom like a fantasy come true. 

He starts to get close, to close, and somehow you sense it. You pull back with an obscene pop, smiling wide, panting a little bit, “Can I ride you while you suck Ryland’s cock?”

You’re already straddling his hips when he pulls back and nods, gasping in quick breaths, “Please, wanna feel you around my cock, sweetheart.”

“I agree, let’s see you bounce on his cock, darling.” Ryland smiles wide, leaning over and giving you a quick kiss. 

You line yourself up and sink down slowly, and Simon whines at the feeling. Your pussy is so warm and slick, your walls like velvet around him. He’s worried he won’t last long with how good you feel, how good this all feels. Then Ryland gently tangles his fingers in Simon’s hair, brings his head back to his cock, and slots himself deep in Simon’s throat. He starts fucking into him gently, watching as you bounce and whimper and moan. Ryland matches your pace and Simon feels so full, it’s incredible. Tears prick his eyes at the sensations and he’s never felt so happy to just be used before. He doesn’t feel like it’s a bad kind of used, it’s a kind where you both care so much about him that if he wanted you’d both stop immediately. He’s confident that if he pushed back against the cock bullying his throat Ryland would immediately stop and ask him what’s wrong, how he can fix it. Same for you, if he put his hands on your hips and stilled you you would check in with him, ask what’s wrong. He trusts you two in a way he’s never trusted anyone else before. He loves you two. 

Ryland pulls out of his throat after a few sloppy thrusts, panting heavily. Simon watches as he pinches the base of his cock, trying to stave off the release he was close too.

“Fuck,” Rylands pants, voice wrecked, “God, Simon, your throat is incredible. You’re incredible.”

He kisses Simon again (Simon’s never been kissed this much during sex before) before getting off the bed, legs a little wobbly, “I’ll be right back, don’t stop.”

Both you and Simon nod quickly and Ryland laughs softly as he quickly heads out the door. 

You attach your lips to his as you roll your hips, kissing him like you needed the air from his lungs to breathe. He willingly gives it, putting both hands on your hips and feeling the motion as you grind into him. He thrusts up into you on a whim, then does it again when you gasp so sweetly into his mouth. 

“Simon!” You whimper, nails digging into his shoulder, the pinpricks of pain so sweet.

“Is that the right spot, sweetheart?” He murmurs, snapping his hips up harder, “Is that the spot that makes you see stars?” 

“Yes!! Yes!! Feels so good, love it!! Please!! More!!” you plead, babble really, voice high pitched as whiney. It sounds so good to his ears, his cock twitches as he drives up into you again and again.

Ryland comes back shortly holding a bottle of lube. He stands and watches for a moment, appreciating the sight of his wife and Simon joined like this. 

“Pause for a moment,” He says then, and the tone of his voice leaves no room for argument or disobedience. With a whimper Simon stills his hips, looking around you at the blond. 

“Simon, how would you feel about my cock in you?” Ryland asks, crawling up the bed and moving behind you, pressing his front to your back, “If you don’t want to right now I can always fuck Y/n’s ass, it’s up to you, pretty boy.”

Pretty boy. Roots Below The Last Tree, Simon’s never heard anything so filthy, so salacious, so hot.

“I want it,” He whimpers, fingers flexing on your hips. He wonders distantly if they’ll leave a bruise, if you’ll wake up in the morning and see the marks on your skin and think of him. He’ll carry marks of the two of you forever, burned into his soul, into his DNA. He’ll never, ever be the same after this. And that’s okay with him. 

Ryland smiles wide, brilliant, blinding, and he instantly preens, ecstatic to have made Ryland so happy, “I was hoping you would say that, pretty starlight.”

Ryland moves you off Simon’s lap, depositing you next to him. He then grabs Simon by the calves and yanks him down so he’s laying flat on the bed. Ryland’s strength surprises him, he didn’t think the scientist would be able to mandhandle him like that. He loves it. Ryland then directs you back on Simon’s cock, pressing a hand to your back, laying you flat on top of Simon. He’s surprised for a moment, he thought Ryland would have you sit on his face, but instead he lets you sink back down on him, lets his cock warm in your fluttery cunt. You must be close, he sure is. 

“Okay, I’m gonna go slow. Darling, will you fuck your sweet little cunt on his cock? Help loosen him up?” Ryland asks, voice sugary sweet in contradiction with his filthy words. 

You nod and start moving your hips again, yanking another long, low moan from Simon. You bite into his collarbone and immediately soothe the area with your tongue. Your teeth drag dark colors to the surface from shoulder to shoulder, the pain so delicious it almost makes him miss the generous slathering of lube on his asshole, almost makes him miss when Ryland slowly presses his cockhead in. He doesn’t miss it though, thank Mary, he feels every push, every bit of stretch, as Ryland slowly slides home. 

“Ah! F-fu-uck! Ryland! Y/n!” He moans, holding onto you like you're the only solid thing left in the world. You keep bouncing on his cock, keeping a steady rhythm, sucking a harsh mark in front of the base of his throat. 

Ryland moans as he bottoms out, holding onto Simon’s knees, which are spread as far as they’ll go on the bed, “Simon, holy fuck, you’re so tight, you feel so good! Such a good boy, taking my cock, letting Y/n ride you. You’re so perfect, so fucking perfect for us!”

Simon loves the praise, loves every little bit of it. He didn’t realize how much it would affect him, being your and Ryland’s good, pretty boy, but he loves it, wants to do anything and everything to keep that title, to please you both. 

You’re nodding along with Ryland’s words, hips moving faster and faster as you chase your climax, “Yes!! Yes!! So good for us!! Love it, love you, love you, Simon!!”

“Yeah, yeah, love you, Simon, fuck, love all of you!” Ryland’s voice is breaking the closer he gets. 

Simon is about to tip over the edge from the words, from the feeling of fucking and being fucked. It’s all so much, so good, so much, so everything. There’s not a world in which he gives this up, where he doesn’t confess the thing he’s been hiding for months now, the reason he gets up early in the morning, the reason he tries so hard to please you both. He’s in love with both of you.

“I love you both too!!” He forces out, tears in his eyes. He lets go of your left hip and reaches out to Ryland, who takes his hand and squeezes tight. 

From there it devolves into streams of moans, whimpers, whines, praises, declarations. You’re the first to tip over the edge and into euphoria, collapsing onto Simon. He holds you tight as you keep moving your hips against his, wanting him to cum as well.

“C’mon starlight, ‘m so close, you are too, I know you are. Be good for me, for us, fill her with your cum, make her drip with you.” Ryland babbles, his rutting turning sloppy, driving in and out of him at a relentless pace. 

And he does, he climaxes with a choking sob, holding your hips down onto his cock as he releases deep inside you, painting your walls with his hot cum. Ryland follows immediately after and he gets a taste of what you must feel as Ryland fills him up as well. 

Three panting, sweaty bodies lay still on top of each other as the three come down from the euphoric high. He can’t believe that just happened, that he was allowed to be a part of that. He feels like the luckiest man in the world, a man who doesn’t deserve a second chance and not only gets it, but gets it with the best people this cruel universe has to offer. He wants to hold you both tight and never let you go.

Ryland pulls out first, pressing a couple kisses first to the back of Simon’s hand that he’s still holding, then to the back of your shoulder as you lay on top of Simon’s chest still. 

Simon watches as he makes his way to the bathroom, running the water for a moment. He comes back with a damp washcloth and gets to work cleaning all three of you up. You sigh happily, nuzzling your head into the crook of his next. His softened cock is still inside your slick pussy, but neither of you make a move to remedy that. Ryland doesn’t comment on it, in fact he’s careful to not dislodge it as he cleans, humming softly to himself. 

After he’s done, Ryland lays down next to Simon on his side, curling around both of you, resting his head on the pillow next to Simon’s head. 

“What do you say about us getting a bigger bed?” Ryland smiles as you slip into a content sleep. 

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” Simon laughs softly, kissing your forehead, then turning to kiss Ryland’s nose. 

“Good, good. We meant it, you know.” Ryland yawns a bit, removing his glasses and placing them far away from where he might accidentally roll over on them.