one (1) spoon

When Stratt first came, you felt like you'd gotten in trouble. Broken the law, maybe, with the energy she carries and the way she stared at you. She practically interrogated you on your way home, it seemed, forcing nervousness out of you whether she meant to or not.

In spite of the pressure she put on you, you didnt crack, that was the thing. Your answers to her rapid-fire questions were all correct: not just correct, but intelligent, thoughtful. 

The final nail in the coffin? She questioned the results you'd written on your professor's documentation. You had, after all, completely thrown an entire scientific theory out the window, deeming it incorrect, proving it to be so. If it worked this way, you'd said, which it does - it would make sense, then. And we could solve it. She pointed out the near-arrogant decision you'd made, slyly suggesting error in a manner that would have had near anyone second-guessing themselves.

You didn't.

Everyone scrambles to keep up when Stratt is leading. She seems to walk twice as fast as anyone else without even trying, and thinks at least twice as fast as that. At least the adults on this ship know how to handle themselves. You, who has never filled out a W2 nor had to schedule your own doctor's appointment before, are left in the dust. 

The first week is constant pressure to catch up. The conversations seem to speed ahead without you. When people pause to let you speak, it feels like dropping the plate. You can feel the energy in the room just . . . plummet. And that's what happens with the nicer people.

There are experts in their fields who question you, and the only reason you think they're not outright demanding you leave is because Stratt is the one who brought you here. They try to assign you to menial tasks, ignore your input, question your judgement, belittle you, reject you.

. . . You're crying in a closet. It's the final straw - after so many days of feeling unwelcome, you can't *take* it anymore. Maybe you should go home. Maybe you should give up on your dreams entirely. You're not sure if you want to be in this field, if everyone else is like this. 

The door opens.

" Maintenance closets are for maintenance only. Get out, please, "  You hear a soft, polite, struct voice that is so familiar by now. She leads every meeting, she instructs everyone. She brought you here and she shouldn't have.

You don't move, burying your head between your knees as your breath hitches in a sob.

You hear a very quiet sigh. A moment passes. The quiet click of heels on the floor, and they stop next to you.

" What is wrong? "

She sounds as patient and untouchable as ever. Somehow, she doesn't sound annoyed. She never really does.

" I shouldn't be here, "   You cry, weakly, not looking up at her. Your heart seems to break in two as you say the words and you sob a little louder. You don't *belong* here. These people hate you.

" You shouldn't be here, "   Stratt agrees.   " This is the maintenance closet. "

It startles a noise out of you, somewhere between a sob and a laugh. You're mad about it. You're upset right now. You don't want to laugh.

You feel a gentle touch at your temple as she brushes back your hair. The touch is shocking. It makes you look up, finally, surprised at the show of gentleness, however subtle it may be.  You think you catch something in her gaze that wasn't supposed to be there - a glimmer of softness that wasn't meant to be seen.

" I brought you here, "   Stratt tells you.   " Because you are needed here. We have many scientists with much expertise. We have intelligence. We have bravery. You are here because you are unique. You were willing to challenge what you were told to expect and find the truth. This is an ability that is lacking, in men and women who have spent their lives being told that they are always right. "

You blink at her with eyes shining with tears, but she seems unmoved, her walls back up - at least, to those who don't know what to look for.

(There's just the slightest softness in the tilt of her shoulders, in her eyes.)

" You belong here. "   Her quiet confidence makes it sound like a fact of life, as certain as gravity.    " And you do not need to cry about it. Get up. "

She gestures with her chin, and, sniffling, you scramble to your feet. You're not sure why you feel reassured. Stratt isn't kind . . . but there's just something about her that makes it easier to believe in yourself. Maybe it's because she believes in you.

She hands you a handkerchief. It's embroidered with her initials.

" We have work to do. "

For the next few days, you notice Stratt is in the room with you more often than she was before. 

The next time someone questions you, she looks at you, expectantly. Her gaze is an answer in and of itself - when she directs attention to someone, even without a word, everyone listens. She's waiting to hear you defend yourself. And with her looking at you, you realize, you can. There's someone in your corner, if something goes wrong. There's someone who believes in you.

It makes it easier to believe in yourself.

Eridians don't really kiss, but Rocky knows you like it. And though he doesn't have lips for kissing, you know he likes to be close to you - you find that whenever you stand still for more than a minute, his ball is likely to bump gently into your calves before the first sixtity seconds is over. He'll just sit there, doing his work, being next to you.

Sometimes it's borderline painful, only being able to interact with him through what feels like a pane of glass. But then Rocky made a section of his chamber more malleable, a little bit easier to feel each other through. It's still not everything, but at least you can cuddle better.

And hey, you're pretty confident this problem will be solved on Erid, if not even earlier than that. Rocky had told you once - 'Rocky fix. Rocky kiss Y/N.' - in that factual way he does, the same way he would say the sun is hot. If he had the materials or the means . . .

You catch Grace squinting at you sometimes. He hasn't figured it out yet - though you're pretty sure he's only hesitating because . . . how many people would be genuinely in love with someone of Rocky's form? You don't mind that he's not a human, though. It's not the most important thing in the world. He's clever, loyal, brave, and kind. He makes you laugh, he builds you things to make you happy, and you like his company. What more could you want?

You would just tell Grace, but the way he starts trying to 'subtly' find out on his own simply leaves you no choice. You have to watch him stumble through his 'secret' investigation. Because it's funny. Statement.

He starts by subtly interrogating Rocky, which was doomed to fail, as Rocky doesn't know the meaning of subtle. (Like actually. It's not in his database).

When he asks you a few sneaky questions, you remain purposefully ambigious. You tell Rocky later what exactly Grace is doing: he makes thats delightful noise that you know means laughter. He's equally excited about pranking Grace with this. Just having something to do on this long, long journey is a godsend.

(Metaphorical) hands shaken, you and your Eridian boyfriend proceed to start driving Grace up the wall.

Rocky starts it perfectly. " Y/N watch, " he says, smugly, and leaves you with a camera on the lab just so you can watch. The eridian enters the lab and very abruptly asks Grace about 'human mating customs' as if he hasn't already researched them thoroughly. Grace 's attention snaps to Rocky.

" Human mating customs? " He repeats, putting down his current experiment. He squints at Rocky. " Why do you wanna know about human uh . . . 'mating' customs, bud? "

" Research, " Rocky says, innocently. " Need to know. How seduce human, question? "

The tone of the 'what'!?' that leaves Grace's mouth has you muffling your laughter for minutes.

The next time you get Grace isn't actually intentional. It's just that you've had a long day, and you want to cuddle your emotional support rock. Again. Which you can't actually do. Maybe the way Rocky nuzzles up to you in his sphere is suspicious somehow, or maybe it's the way you curl around him. Myabe it's the way you melt as soon as he's there, feeling like you can finally relax. Maybe it's the way Rocky says - " Sleepy Y/N. Soft. Y/N sleep, Rocky protect. " Even the robotic voice seems gentle and loving, but you and Grace have known Rocky for long enough now to recognize the absolute adoration in the crooning noises of his true Eridian voice.

The way Grace looks at you two is less of a squint and more something deeply soft and just a little too aware.

You do kiss that rock, technically. You kiss him through the barrier, anyway, offering little pecks against the surface which Rocky adorably presses his carapace against to receive. The way Rocky bumps into the panels is its own kind of kiss.

And for the record - yeah, you get flirty with your boyfriend. What are you, a coward? The enclosure is an advanced condom, if anything. You can get creative.

So maybe you spend a few minutes leaving kisses all over Rocky's sphere not long after one of your shared creative endeavors.

" What is all over your sphere, man? " You're all in the lab when Grace says it, and he leans down to examine the glass. Your snort quite suddenly when you look over and realize you've left smudges all over the sphere.

" Something on sphere, question? "

" Yeah, it's all smudged. You must have rolled through something, I dunno - " Except as Grace grabs the end of his shirt to wipe it off, he notices slight pattern to the smudges. Your hand is covering your mouth, either out of embarassment, or to keep yourself from laughing, you're not too sure. Grace's head suddenly spins around to look at you.

" Are these kiss marks? "

You can't hold it in. You crumble into laughter.

" Oh, kiss marks! " Rocky says happily. " Rocky have kiss marks from kiss! " He counds very pleased to have evidence that you love him, but Grace is looking between the two of you, shocked.

" Whoa, whoa, whoa - what are we doing? We're kissing the sphere now? Why are we kissing the sphere? " He sounds so uncertain. Rocky answers, sounding smug.

" Ohhh. Grace jealous. "

" Wh- what? " He snaps his head back to Rocky from where he was looking at you with an expression somewhere between shocked and impressed. " I'm not jealous, Rocky - "

" Grace jealous, statement. Rocky get kiss. Rocky handsome, Rocky have mate. Grace alone, alone. Sad Grace. "

" Rocky - " Grace looks between the two of you, exasperated. This kind of playful back-and-forth is familiar, but there's something in his expression as he looks at the two of you, like he's trying to process the information that his two roommates are in fact, kissing each other. Through glass. And one of them doesn't have a mouth.

You're smiling, though. You seem very happy, even. Lighter than you were when you both started this journey, and though Rocky doesn't have a face to read, you and Grace both know him well wnough to see the joy in the way he moves.

" Rocky too handsome. More handsome than Grace. "

" Okay Rocky, let's not get rude. "

" Not rude. Is statement. Grace ugly. "

You can see Grace's expression melting into a smile.

" Grace not ugly. It's not a competition, okay we can both be handsome, even if only two people on this ship are . . . kissing. "

" Hm. Rocky win. "

" No, Rock, no competition. "

" Rocky have beautiful mate. Most beautiful. Rocky win. "

" Okay - " Grace responds, laughing.

And all of a sudden, it seems normal. You watch as Grace and Rocky continue their classic bickering - the topic of conversation now being that you aren't some kind of prize for a 'best mate' competition, while Rocky insists that you are, and Grace, adamantly, has no prize (sad human). You can't stop smiling, even more so when Rocky rolls his sphere over to you just to call you beautiful to your face. Good shapes, statement. You hear Grace chuckle again from over by the microscope.

" Y/N is my favorite, " Rocky tells you in a softer tone. " Rocky happy about kiss. Want more. "

" You can have more, " You tell him, and when you lean in, he thumps up against the side of the sphere to receive the little peck you press to it.

" Yay! " He says. You chuckles. " Rocky love. " You hum, happily.

" Y/N love. "

He nuzzles up against you. It feels nice to be openly affectionate. You can feel Grace's eyes on you from across the room, but it's unobtrusive, nothing more than curious. Something seems to settle into place. You feel more at home than you ever have before, sitting in comfortable silence with the love of your life and the best friend you have. Until Grace breaks it.

" For real, though, can we clean off the sphere after kissing it? I don't wanna touch that. "

What you find out is that it takes next to nothing to make the man melt, really. The thing that starts it is so easy - you're nice to him, understanding in a way that many of these people aren't. When you met, you made a light joke to help him settle in and feel a little more welcome. You can still remember the way his shoulders relaxed. He looked like you'd just reminded him he can breathe.

Over the next few months, you get closer. He appreciates that you don't seem unapproachable like the others. You can laugh together, chat like you're not both workers for a secret government project, but just friends. It doesn't take long for shared laughter and chatter to turn into shared touches - little bumps against shoulders, sitting closer enough to be pressed to each other's sides, reaching out just to feel each other. The tide starts turning somewhere around the day you find Grace on a couch, papers strewn over the table next to him, clipboard in his lap, pen between his teeth.

" How close friends are we? " You ask. He startles a little, looking like a deer in the headlights as he responds: " Uh . . . what? "

" Am I allowed to flop into your incredibly inviting lap or do I have to wait for that? " You clarify, and he goes blush pink, looking down at his lap, stuttering. You also blush, because about halfway through saying that sentence, you realized how it sounds.

" I mean - cuddles. " You're so fucked.

" Yeah, yeah, " Grace says - I know what you mean. Laughing a little, he looks up at you with an expression that makes you wonder if he did know that's what you meant.

" Yeah, " He says in a different tone, shrugging, waving his hand invitingly. Yeah, you can. Maybe I want you to.

It's shockingly easy after such a long day to crawl into his lap like a cat into a cardboard box. He's warm and soft and his sweater is even softer. You curl around him, pressing your face into his side.

" Cuddlebug, " He says, absently, in awe, like he's made a delightful discovery. You're not sure he meant to say that out loud. You feel a hand settle in your hair. He scritches your scalp. You push a little closer.

Yeah. That's where it starts.

---

Do you bother to ask Stratt if romantic entanglements are allowed in this line of work? Absolutely not. Besides, she probably already knows. What isn't she aware of?

The point is, Ryland is sweet and gentle and intelligent and he makes you smile. What's even better is, you know you make him just as happy. He can't seem to stop smiling when you're there. In rare moments where he does, it's usually only because his face has gone all soft with affection for you, like he can't believe that he's here right now.

So yeah, you fall in love. And it's like falling into feathers. Ryland cares about you and you care about him. Your adoration starts in sneaking each other coffee and snacks throughout the work day, stolen moments of affection in quick kisses and tiny touches, and cuddles if you can manage it, when the day is through. At least if the world is going to end, you'll have each other.

Things were doomed to get more heated eventually, in hindsight. For every few days of cuddling, sharing a bed at night, there's one where you wake up tangled in him from head to toe and seriously debate testing what he would do if you started kissing his throat, or grinding up against him, or what would happen if your hands wandered. He feels it too - there was that one morning where you both woke up hard and pressed against each other. It had been awkward as you'd both clambered out of bed to get ready for the day, both not mentioning the two elephants in the room. The tension had lingered well into the afternoon.

One day, it breaks.

Ryland doesn't know how to shut up and to your delight, that trait does carry into the bedroom. Noises don't stop leaving this man, who whines and moans and whimpers like you're the best thing he's ever touched. He tries not to swear, usually ending up saying some silly kid-friendly alternatives (fudge, cracker, shoot, and so on) which always makes you laugh. Sometimes, that resolve doesn't last, and you get him past the point of caring. The first time you got him to swear an empathic fuck may have been the proudest moment of your existence to date.

Usually, you're in charge, at least a little bit. You have done anything too exciting yet: all the love you've made so far is sweet, but you like the way he squirms and begs you when you're the one paying him attention, and from the way he looks at you like you are the sun itself, you know he likes it too.

You've never done anything too exciting. Until . . .

---

" Hey, you wanna see something? "

You're in a meeting. A couple dozen people all gathered around a room watching a powerpoint as Stratt, well . . . points at it. Pretty standard stuff. But then Ryland appears next to you quite suddenly, quite close, bumping into your side with a hushed voice that tells you he's showing you a secret.

You assume it will be something cool tucked away in the palm of his hand, maybe something he was examining in the lab, maybe a silly little tchotchke he'd found and thought of you. He likes to do stuff like that to remind you he thinks of you. Likes having you be a part of his day, even when you're not there. You look down, instinctively.

His fingers are slipped beneath his jeans, pulling at the hemline just enough that you can see what's underneath - pink lace panties, kissing his tanned skin in the perfect contrast.

Your heart just about leaps out of your chest. Your stomach does something wildly acrobatic. Usually, he wears simple or silly boxers, which you adore. You've never seen anything like this. You're not even sure he had those before. Did he get those just for you?

You look up at him, reeling. You realize, belatedly, that he's flushed pink with embarrassment - but his eyes are dark and eager. He psyched himself up for this, you realize, and caught you in a moment when you'd least expect it, maybe to make it more fun, maybe to make it a little easier for him to be brave enough to do it. He looks relieved when he sees the look in your eyes, his shoulders melting in that manner that always tugs at your heartstrings, reminding you that you make him feel safe. He smiles.

Like nothing happened, Ryland moves his hand, his jeans going back into place. He turns his attention back to the presentation. He's still flushed, and though he looks immensely proud of himself, he shifts on his heels, either eager or nervous or both.

Your jaw works as you follow his gaze back to the presentation. He should be nervous. He is so in for it now. You are gonna make that boy cry.

---

You manage to pull Ryland out of the meeting pretty shortly after it's concluded. When he coyly asks if you're sure you don't want to check in with Stratt, you growl at him, pulling him away. He swallows. Suddenly, he's very complacent.

You don't make it to his room before you're pressing against the wall in the hallway, kissing him soundly.

" Ry, you better have planned for me to ruin you, " You mumble breathily as your kisses travel from his lips to his throat. He bares it beautifully, silently encouraging you. His flush disappears beneath his shirt.

" Oh, " He says, just as breathless. He's clinging to your waist, then pulling at your shirt, his hands not having decided where to settle yet. " Oh, yeah, okay. "

" We don't have to, " You say, not wanting to pressure him.

" Oh, no, no, " He says, his voice high and needy. " We have to. We have to do that right now. There is no alternative at all. "

You manage to stumble into the bedroom before anyone can find you making out in the hallway. Not that anyone would be surprised.

" In front of Stratt, you madman, " You mumble into his throat, pulling his cardigan off his shoulders. You press him into a dresser and nip at his throat with your teeth. He makes a soft noise, tugging at your shirt. You pull away just long enough to him tug it off of you.

" I don't know what came over me. I was gonna . . . show you later tonight, but I couldn't stop thinking about it. Driving me crazy. " He laughs softly as you pull his shirt over his head in turn. You hum, pleased as you press against each other, the first touch of skin to skin. He's always so warm. He kisses you, his tongue tracing over your lips. You push your tongue between his and he moans, a ragged breath leaving him. When you trail down, lips over his collarbone and heading down to his chest, his breath trembles.

Your hands slip beneath his thighs, lifting him up onto the dresser. A little huff leaves him as he is set upon it - he's gotten used to that, by now, but the first time you lifted him like that, he scrambled for purchase, a number of shocked exclamations leaving him. You guess as a six-foot man, he's probably not very used to being tossed around. A moment later, your tongue finds one of his nipples, teasing the little bud there as Ryland sucks in a shaky breath. His hand slips into your hair. A little whine leaves him as you wrap your lips around it and suck gently.

" That's good, " He says, his voice high and tight. You feel him press his face into your hair, breathing hot and heavy against your scalp. You squeeze his hips and pull him a little closer. You linger here, letting him enjoy the feeling of your tongue and lips teasing his nipples, first one and then the other, and in turn, you get to enjoy the noises he makes, soft gasps and a pretty little whimper when you use just a bit of teeth.

" Can I fuck you tonight? " You ask eventually, lips pressed to his solar plexus, nuzzling the little bit of golden hair there.

" God, please, " He breathes. You hum, pleased.

" Can I fuck you with those panties pulled down to your thighs? Ass up and whining into the mattress? "

The noise he makes is strangled. You look up at him from where you've kissed your way down to his belly, your gaze dark. He looks at you, star-struck, and nods rapidly.

" Use your words, Ryland, " You whisper, teasing. He huffs, a little smile gracing his lips even as he rolls his eyes.

" Yes, please. " He breathes sweetly. He licks his lips as he looks down at you. " That. "

You press another sweet kiss to his stomach, smiling against him. When you lift him up into your arms, his legs wrap around you - "Oh, here we go, " he says, and you chuckle as you deposit him on the bed, crawling in over him. He laughs too, and he's grinning when you look up at him. God, he's beautiful, all golden and happy like that. You'd do anything to keep him smiling.

" I love you so much, baby, " You whisper, and his whole face softens, melts into something vulnerable and honored.

" I love you, " He says, just as softly, reaching out to rub his thumb over your cheek. You press into the palm of his hand and he speaks quietly, pleadingly. " Come up here and kiss me. "

You do as you are told. You kiss him soundly, stealing his hand from your cheeks and tangling your fingers with his. You take that hand and pin it above his head. You feel him lose a little of his breath against your lips as you do. Without you asking, his other hand comes up to join the first. You move your hand to pin both.

" Eager, huh? "

" I'm so not joking, I need you to - to fuck me now. Hard. " You can see his desperation in the way he swallows, in the way he pushes past the instincts he's learned after years of working with kids just to be crass at you. I need you to fuck me. I mean, he asked nicely. And your dick agrees with him so bad. You look at him with a dark gaze and his voice goes softer, sweeter, somehow. " Please? "

" Good boy, " You praise, soft, and you earn another one of those sweet little breaths of relief, like he was holding his breath he was trying so hard. After a moment's thought, you know exactly how you wanna do this.

" Turn over. "

---

He's whimpering, whining, squirming and shuddering beneath you. It's got to be the most beautiful thing you've ever seen or heard, the high-pitched noises that leaves him unbidden. His ragged breaths are pressed against the sheets as he twitches and shifts beneath you, unable to control himself. A pillow tucked under his hips keeps him accessible to you and comfortable for him, though the way he's squirming threatens that he might make his back start aching tomorrow, which is why one of your hands is pre-occupied rubbing his back in firm, soothing movements, partially to massage his muscles and partially to keep him still. The other is still tangled in Ryland's hand where he clutches at you tightly, refusing to let go.

Oh, yeah. You only have your tongue in him, so far.

" Oh - oh, god, yeah, " He's whining, his eyebrows drawn up in ecstasy, the softest look on his face. God, he must look so pretty right now, squirming beneath you with pretty blush pink panties pulled down just below his ass. If only you could see him better and keep licking him with your tongue, but alas. You'll get a great view in a minute, anyway, once you actually get this show on the road.

" Good boy, Ry, " You whisper, pressing a kiss to his ass cheek. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him turn his face to hide in the mattress. His hand squeezes yours a little tighter. You smile. You lick over his hole, spreading him apart to dive in. He whines like he's wounded, his hips moving to grind against your tongue. You let him. You like to spoil him, generally speaking. He's so well-behaved, how couldn't you?

" Oh - oh, please. Please, baby, I need more. More, please - " He breaks off into a beautiful little whimper as you curl your tongue just so, dragging over his rim. Your hand moves from rubbing his back to squeezing his ass and he makes another desperate little noise. " ________, please, please - "

You offer him a little mercy, panting from him to catch your breath. That same hand comes down to circle his rim and he pants in relief.

" Yeah, yeah, thank you. Thank you, " He swallows, thickly, you hear it in his breath. You tease him for just a moment, tracing your fingers around his hole and not quite pressing in. To his credit, he doesn't complain - and, now able to peer over his shoulder and see his face, you can see that he's biting his lip to keep himself from begging. His eyes are shut. He's pretty.

With a regretful squeeze, you finally pull your hand out of his, reaching out to grab the bottle of lube you'd acquired. He whines in an entirely different tone that makes your heart squeeze, a noise that wordlessly says 'where'd you go?'. You drip some lube down onto his ass, getting your fingers properly wet before you do anything else. The bottle is tossed aside for later. You take his hand in yours again.

" Relax, sweetheart. " With a happy sigh, he does as he's told, melting into the bed. You're pleased that he's learned to trust you so much that he can do it on command.

One of your fingers slips inside. He moans unashamedly, hips pressing up towards your touch. You soothe him - shh, sh - as you begin to gently fuck him open, the way added signficantly by how long you had spent fucking him with your tongue beforehand.

" You're so pretty, baby, " You whisper praise as he squirms and whines. Your tongue is no longer preoccupied, you can compliment him just as much as he deserves. " Doing so good for me. Taking me so well. I'm gonna fuck you so good for this. Make you come in these pretty panties for me. "

He moans and pants beneath you.

" Christmas - baby, why are you so good at that? " He manages, and you chuckle softly (mostly just because of 'christmas').

You take your sweet time making this sweet man fall apart, because he deserves it. He drinks it in eagerly, no longer nervous about making sure you feel good too after you've reassured him more than once that you'll tell him if you want something. No, today he's very happy to just lie there and take the attention, absolutely blissful as you open him up with first one finger, then two, then three.

“ Oh - I’m gonna - I’m so close, “ Ryland warns, panting. You kiss the spot between his shoulderblades as you crook your fingers just so. He jolts, a sound like a sob leaving him.

“ Think you can come twice? “ You ask, whispered soft against his skin. He shudders.

“ Maybe, yeah. “ He chokes a little as you rock your fingers in and out of him once more, whining. His voice is high and tense when he says: “ You should try it. “

Well. If he says so.

You sneak a hand around his waist just to hold him close, keeping him from squirming away as you drive him to the edge with your fingers. He pants, whining, barely holding on.

“ Do you want me to touch you? “

“ Yeah, yeah, yes, god yes - “

“ Say please. “

You feel him tense in your grasp, his hips twitching.

“ Oh . . . please? “

And it's just so soft and sweet and needy, how could you possibly resist?

He moans as you take his length in your hand, stroking him in pace with the movement of your fingers. It only takes a few strokes before his moans crescendo (oh- oh- oh!). You feel him tense. His lips part with his cheek pressed to the mattress. He shudders.

He comes, spilling over your hand with a low moan. You work him through it, dragging your fingers over that sweet spot inside of him, stroking him slowly until he whines and pushes away from you. Only then do you remove your hands.

“ God. You're so fucking hot, Grace, “ you compliment pressing kisses around his ear. Breathless, he answers - “ Language. “ You slap him lightly on the ass. He whines.

“ Gorgeous. “ You pet him gently, running your hands over his chest and back and peppering his skin with kisses as he catches his breath. It doesn't take him long at all to start wiggling against you.

“ I still want you to fuck me. Please? “ He moves his hips back, finding the angle to grind his ass over your still-clothed cock. You grunt, a sudden spike of heat going straight down as his bare ass drags over your crotch.

“ Oh, god, that feels good, “ Ryland mutters, almost to himself. He peeks over his shoulder at you, and you - you can't help but pull him in by his hips, encouraging those little movements. You're hard as a rock, and having him pressed against you feels fantastic. “ Please, baby? You said . . . “ He swallows. “ You said hard. Can I have it hard, please? “

You mouth kisses along his throat as you grind against him. Quite pleased with how beautifully polite he's being, you decide to reward him with a mark on his throat. You'll be so happy to watch everyone teasing him about it tomorrow. He moans softly as you work the bruise into his skin, whispering a shaky - yeah - as he tilts his jaw just so to give you room to work.

“ You tell me if it's too much, okay, honey? “

“ Yes. Yes, sir. “ He freezes. “- ______. . . . oh, fiddlesticks - “

“ Sir? “ You repeat, pleasantly, in the middle of his rambling. He groans, but you can see him flush a little pinker.

“ I’ve been reading some . . . stuff, okay? Where do you think I got the idea for the panties? “

You laugh, softly, leaning in to nuzzle his hair. He smiles at you over his shoulder. You can feel his heart beating against your chest. Both of you are hit with a wave of adoration for each other. You don't have to be him to know he's feeling it.

“ I love you, " he says softly.

“ I love you, " you hum. “ And you're showing me what you read. "

“ No. " He says, empathically. Mmhmm, you hum. “ Uh-uh. No way. My secrets. " You chuckle.

“Fine. Maybe I’ll fuck you hard enough that you’ll wanna tell me anyway."

“Now how exactly are you planning on doing that?“ He says, laughing a little. “You're going to put your dick in me so hard that I -"

He's getting a little too cocky. You slap him again, hard on the round of his arse. He jerks in surprise, moaning out an: “Oh - shhhhhuuhh . . .” that melts into nothing as he presses his face into the pillows beneath him. You chuckle at his fervent determination not to get into the habit of swearing. You nuzzle at his hair. He whines and presses back into you.

“ Behave, " you remind him. He nods.

“ Yeah. Yes. Sorry, " he says, rapidly.

“Sorry, what?" The air is tense for a sharp moment, not in an unpleasant way. You feel Ryland release a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry, sir." Oh god, that sounds so good. You really like hearing that. You squeeze his hips, affectionate and possessive and he presses back against you a little harder. Ryland - your clever, beautiful, creative Ryland - finding that this experiment is going well only runs further with it. There's eagerness in his voice as he goes on: “ Please, sir, I want it. Need you in me. I’m begging you, please. "

“I’m not gonna make you beg me, baby," you say, fondly. The clinking of metal is the only reason Ryland can tell you're unbuckling your belt, and he groans. “You're so pretty like this. Wearing these cute little panties for me.“

“Uh-huh. All for you,“ He says, sticking his ass out a little farther. You pet his ass and his thighs, rearranging his position just to make it a little more comfortable for him.

“Tell me if it's too much, okay?" You remind him.

“I will. Promise.“

And with that, you press yourself up against his back. Your cock slides over his hole and both of you inhale sharply. You don't tease for long, just slicking up your aching length in lube before you line yourself up and - slowly - press inward.

Ryland moans, fingers twisting in the sheets. You moan too, watching as your length disappears inside of him, inch by inch. He's plenty prepared, and it's a sweet and easy slide as you bottom out deep inside of him. You stay there for a second, panting as you let him adjust.

“Well?“ You ask, petting his hair. “What do you say, Ry?“

He groans, rocking back against you. You don't let him go far, holding him in place by the waist.

“Thank you. Thank you, sir. Oh my god." He seems wrecked already, pressing his overheated cheeks to the sheets beneath him. You press a kiss to the nape of his neck.

“Good boy."

Without warning, you pull nearly all the way out and thrust back in, hard. The pace you start is sudden, fast and deep, though not brutal.

Ryland sort of shrieks.

“OH! Oh, my - Oh, f- ohhh -“ You don't give him nearly enough time to get a word out, and rapidly, his rambling melts into desperate little moans. He clutches desperately at the sheets as you hold him close, both of you panting heavily as you finally - finally, make love to each other properly.

As you fuck, you pull the cute little panties up a bit, not letting them slide down his thighs. Ryland whines.

“Feel so good, baby,“ You praise, breath heaving. You're already holding back, wanting to make him feel good since he wanted this so badly. You don't want it to be over so soon. “You're so good. Taking me so well.“

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you," Ryland whines. He's just about this close to crying, you can tell, but not quite there yet. You pet his hair fondly, burying your face against the back of his neck. One of your hands sneaks up, your fingers slipping between Ryland’s where he clings to the mattress. The other, still around his waist, shifts just enough to take his cock in hand. Ryland whimpers, then groans as you begin to stroke him at the same pace. He's shaking a little bit, you realize. He's probably pretty overstimulated, at this point.

“You good, baby?“ You pant against his neck. He nods.

“You gonna come for me?“ He whines and nods harder.

“I can't - I can't -“

“You can. Do it for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you, Ry. Let me see you. Be a good boy for me. Be so, so good for me, Ryland.“ The more sweet praise leaves your lips, the more Ryland begins to shudder and fall apart. He's trembling, shaking in your arms, and you can feel it as he begins to twitch in your hand. You can feel the same tension building in your own stomach, heat gathering in your cock as you lose your rhythm just a little, chasing your own orgasm as much as you're chasing his.

“Oh, fuck,“ he whines. Over his shoulder, you catch a glimpse of the brightest blue eyes just barely shining with tears. “Oh, fuck - !“

He clenches around you so tightly that you see stars. You can't help but moan as he comes around you, spilling into your hand with a sob. You come not a moment later, gasps buried into his shoulders as you press into him as far as you can, coming deep inside.

For a few incredible moments, it's just bliss and warmth and perfection. He stops twitching in your head, and he slowly relaxes beneath you with a groan, nearly becoming liquid as he melts into the sheets. Your face stays buried between his shoulders and you squeeze his hand as you slowly pull out, only to tug him close to you with a hand around his waist.

Breathing heavy, you both take a moment to settle. It doesn't take long at all for Ryland to roll over in your arms - but he's suddenly halted by his legs tangled in the panties around his thighs.

“Oh, get off -“ He wiggles, pushing them down and attempting to kick them off of the bed. You are no help at all, rather a hindrance actually, as you pull him into your arms to pepper kisses into his hair.

“We sure did.“

“Ha, ha,“ He says, but he giggles right after. He manages to escape the lace trap and wiggles himself right into your arms, holding you closer than should be humanly possible.

“You're so pretty,“ He mumbles.

“So are you. You were so good for me, Ry."

“I’m so good. I’m always good,“ He says in that ironically self-aggrandizing manner of his. It makes you smile, and you just hum, silently agreeing with him.

“Yeah, you are. You feeling okay?“

“Incredible,“ He sighs happily as you begin to pet his hair. Somehow, he melts even more.

“Iluvyoo,“ He mumbles, muffled into your throat.

The world comes back into focus as you feel an arm slide beneath your shoulders, and then another slips beneath the back of your knees. You're lifted into strong arms, hanging there limply. Could you move? Maybe. If you had to. But you don't have to. You finally have a chance to rest.

Your head lolls and falls against a chest. You nuzzle into it slightly - a soft cotton shirt atop a warm body. It smells nice. Freshly washed. You can feel the rhythm of footsteps as you are carried shift, becoming heavier as you go up a staircase. With your eyes still closed, you aren't paying attention to the world around you, but you recognize the path towards your bedroom anyway.

It doesn't take long to realize who's carrying you. It's Erik, of course. He seems as calm as ever from what you can tell of his actions and the few words exchanged after your collapse at the doorstep. But you know better than to assume he's truly okay. You're sure you've worried him sick. You guess he simply isn't going to tear into you just now, not when you're already so hurt and so tired.

At some point, the world tilts again and you feel Erik put you gently on your feet. He stays close, holding you to his chest, letting you lean your weight onto him so you don't have to stay upright without support. He says your name, softly but firmly, calling your attention to him.

"You're tired," he announces as if that isn't obvious. "Sleep now, or can you handle a quick shower?"

Right. Because you're covered in dirt and blood. It would be an uncomfortable sleep if you didn't pass out as soon as you hit the pillow, which you suspect you will. But the idea of being cleaned off and tucked away is tempting. Maybe . . . maybe you have just enough energy left to make sure you're not worsening the risk of infection in the little cuts and scrapes scattered across your body.

The bathroom is only a few steps away. Erik walks you in and wordlessly taps your arms to get you to lift them, pulling up your shirt. You feel quite small as he dutifully gets you out of your ruined clothing, supporting you with an arm around your waist as you step out of your bottoms. It doesn't feel strange to be naked, though it should. Perhaps it's the way Erik seems almost clinical, acting the role of a nurse, not at all awkward or hesitant as he helps you, though he does make sure to support you in places that aren't uncomfortable to touch. The bathroom tile is cool against your bare feet as he takes off your shoes and socks, and the ache there is made stronger, almost painfully cramping, but the pain soothed.

You are gently set against the sink as if you are a piece of fragile furniture as Erik turns the faucet and tests the water. The pressure sounds strong and you can feel the warm steam beginning to fill the room as he takes you back against his shoulder, letting you use him as a support.

The step into the shower is large but easy, as all you really need to do is lift your leg and lean against Erik and he maneuvers you in the right way to get you inside without hurting you or causing you strain. The thought hits you that he's probably been like this countless times before, alone. Covered in blood, injured, and having to drag himself into the shower, or home into bed. Perhaps that's why he seems to know so well how to help.

The water is warm but not too hot as you step one foot and therefore half of yourself into the pressurized stream of it. You can feel your muscles relaxing as the water washes over you, melting the stress away. The ache worsened by the cold tile floor slinks off, softened by the warm water streaming over your feet and towards the drain. Part of you remains outside of the beloved warmth, and that part shivers. You're eager to get under there as soon as possible.

The second step is harder. Your body weight is leaned against Erik, it's hard to push yourself upright without him. You try it, but you don't manage to finish before Erik moves, interrupting your effort. As soon as he sees you struggling, he steps into the shower too. He's behind you, then, pulling you back against him to rest against his chest. You watch the fabric of his shirt turn darker as half of him is soaked through in seconds. He's still fully clothed, wearing jeans, shoes, even, but he doesn't seem concerned with his hair falling flat and the water dripping down half of him like he's just entered a downpour. He just shifts to better support you and helps you lift yourself into the water. A hand lifts and brushes through your hair, petting it back and away from your face. Silently, he begins gently washing the blood and dirt away.

You do not have to move anymore. The thought hits you that Erik is here, holding you, and you don't think you even have to try to stand - he would probably just carry you down to the shower floor, wouldn't he?

You sink back against him, letting your full weight rest there, your knees sagging. Erik doesn't falter. There is a slight shift as an arm is wrapped around your waist. The other keeps gently washing your hair, kneading the mess out of it. He carefully uses his thumb to wet your dirtied cheeks and forehead and let that wash away, too. It's difficult, but you raise your hands to help, washing away the parts that are more intimate to touch as Erik washes your hair and your back, holding you upright. Minutes pass in careful, caring silence as you are tended to, aided.

You feel half asleep already as Erik carefully guides you to rest with your back against the shower wall. Little scrapes and cuts have been carefully washed, but there is the wound on your thigh - you had torn an old shirt to bandage the damned thing, done your best to stop the bleeding with what you had, but the sweat and filth have turned that old shirt brown, dangerous to use as a bandage. You lean against the wall of the shower as Erik unties the cloth. His touch is gentle but firm as he washes the wound. it stings, it really does, but he is quick, and you're sure it's much safer now than it would have been before.

The warmth has sunk into your bones. You feel clean, finally, free of sweat and blood and whatever else. Erik's shirt is as soaked as you are, only a small part of his leg kept safe from the shower's downpour. He helps you out of the shower step by step. Before the cold air can set in, you are wrapped in a large, fluffy towel. Another is used to dry you off so you aren't dripping like he is.

There is another long and yet short walk, a handful of steps out of the bathroom and into your room that feels like a lifetime. You are set against the dresser, toweled and warm. Erik lifts your arms once more to pull a warm sweater over your head, then pulls your towel away to help you step into underwear and pajamas.

You are impossibly sleepy. Perhaps you've been nodding off in the interim as Erik has been taking care of you. Finally - finally - Erik does not bother with making you walk. He lifts you up into his arms to carry you over to your wonderful bed, the mattress soft and waiting to swallow you and guide you into blissful slumber. You sink into it as you are laid down upon it. The warm and gentle seems to surround you, holding you like sunlight on a warm summer day. It feels as though you have been half asleep for hours already. Like a dream.

It is the easiest thing in the world to slip away into rest, eyes fluttering closed against the pillow only seconds after being put down. You do not stir as Erik pulls your blankets up over you, tucking you in. You are not aware of it as he brushes his hand over your cheek, looking down at you with worry and care in his eyes. Perhaps you feel a distant touch as he leans down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead, petting your hair back.

He sits on the edge of your bed for a short while, watching you doze and worrying, as you thought he was, though he's barely said a thing all night. you know someone is likely to be chewed out sometime soon, but tonight, all is peaceful.