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Simon’s hand is firm around Grace’s hip for leverage, the apex of his pelvis providing the perfect place to grab hold as Simon fucks him. Grace has the side of his face pressed into the bed in their biodome home. His vision is blurry from his misaligned glasses and the fuzz in his brain from the overwhelming sensation of getting fucked like this. He arches even lower, chest flush with the mattress. The angle is delicious.
“You’re actually a little slut, huh?” Simon growls. He slows, but doesn’t let up on the force. “Acting all clean and innocent but you’re so,” a hard thrust, “fucking,” another, “filthy.”
Grace can’t make words anymore; all that comes out of his mouth is a long whine verging on a cry, face scrunched up in ecstasy. Simon picks up the pace again, pulling Grace’s noises into a proper sob.
Grace feels like he’s been hunted and captured by an animal, something feral that needs to take what it wants from him. It’s far from an unbalanced situation, though; Grace is getting what he wants, too, and he knows Simon will take good care of him after. He’ll fuck the aggression out and then sweetly wipe him clean. It took a few tries to get Simon to really let go, to trust himself enough, to let go of the shame of his rough animalistic side, but geez it was worth it. Grace is having the time of his life being used as a hole.
He keens as Simon’s nails dig into his skin, feels tears falling from his eyes from pleasure. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any better, Simon has let go of his hip and is yanking back on his hair. Bright pain radiates through Grace’s scalp as he yowls and whines. It shoots down his spine and into the nerve endings already relentlessly stimulated inside of him, down to his twitching and neglected cock. He’s leaking a huge wet spot into the sheets and hasn’t even been touched there.
It’s like Simon reads his mind. He pulls out for a moment, which elicits a horribly pathetic whimper from Grace, but it’s just to reposition; Simon pushes Grace’s ass down until he’s flat on the bed, moves his legs to either side of the man below him, spreads his cheeks, and slides right back in. Grace tilts his pelvis back and up to provide easier access and to push his own cock against the mattress.
Simon’s angle is more diagonal now, hand braced on the bed as he lifts his hips up and slams them down into Grace’s ass, obscene noises filling the room as their sweaty skin slaps together. Each punch against his prostate pulls another groan from Grace, rhythmic in time with their fucking. Each thrust also causes his cock to rut against the mattress, pressed against the sheet and his own skin, friction that nearly hurts but finally satisfies the throbbing ache.
“Pleeeeaassnnngg,” he begs.
“Hmm?” Simon doesn’t let up on his movement, barely even seems to register that Grace is saying anything.
“Pleeasseee please please ohhh fuck.”
Simon grins, proud to have coaxed out the swearing. “Please what?”
“Cuminme pleeeeeeeeease,” and it doesn’t even seem like Grace knows that he’s saying anything out loud, just desperate and giving in fully to instinct just like Simon is, and Simon feels the words go straight to his cock.
“Fuck,” he exhales, “fuck, yeah, baby, I will. Be patient. Fuck.”
He fucks him faster, raising Grace’s hips up a little to position himself in a manner better suited for speed. Grace is so tight around him, so warm, so slick from the copious amounts of medical-grade lube Simon made sure to fill him with. He won’t last much longer; from the sound of what is now full-on crying, neither will Grace.
Grace forgets who he is or where he is or why he’s here or what’s going on or what exists. All he knows in this moment is that he’s getting fucked so good, so fucking good, way better than he ever, ever thought possible. The consistent pressure on his prostate amplifies the pull of Simon’s cock stretching his sensitive walls and entwines with the force and friction on his entrapped and leaking cock and fuck, fuck, he hasn’t thought or said the word “fuck” this much in ages but there’s nothing else that can go on in his brain. Decades of intelligence and control turn to absolute mush.
“Look at you,” Simon’s voice is shakier, “so beautiful like this. Take it so well.”
“Uhhhhhngh uh-huhhh—“ His groan is low, less from his voice and more from something primal deep in his chest.
Simon can feel Grace twitching inside, feels the rhythmic contractions speeding up in intensity, can’t tell which sensations are Grace squeezing on purpose and which are involuntary anymore. They’re both getting close.
Simon’s torso collapses down onto Grace, which makes him yelp like a dog. He maintains enough distance between their hips to keep fucking him by holding himself up on his knees, rolling his hips, muscles strong enough to keep up his pace with both of them pressed together like this. The full-body pressure on top of Grace feels so good, so calming and grounding and yet so objectifying, so hot. Simon’s elbow is next to Grace’s shoulder, hand finding Grace’s hair again to pull. Grace can’t keep his mouth closed and tastes some of his own tears. He’s been drooling into the sheets this entire time. They must look like absolute animals like this, no regard for comfortable positions, just fucking each other as close as physically possible, Simon chasing him into the mattress like prey he refuses to let escape and humping the absolute soul out of him.
Simon’s groans are so close to Grace’s ear that he can feel the vibrations of each one, echoes them with his own sounds from deep in his throat.
“Simonnnnn fuhhhcckkk,” he vocalizes, “can I—mmmmmmmmghh ghuuhhh—“
“Yeah?” Simon tugs on his hair a little more, like an interrogation.
“Canmmmmmmmm, ohhh my god—“ his voice is a staccato with the movement of his body, the way he’s being jostled around from the pounding echoing in his broken voice.
“Use your words,” Simon huffs. It mirrors the same thing Grace has told him over and over again. He revels in the opportunity to shoot it back at him.
“God, Simonnnn, can—can I come, please, fuck—“ His voice raises again, high and desperate.
Just the sound of him asking almost sends Simon over the edge.
“Yeah, baby, fuck, let me feel you.” Simon somehow fucks him harder and faster. How he has the stamina for this, the strength, is something Grace can think about later.
“Gonna cum inside you,” Simon’s words are barely coherent, “gonna fill you up, good boy, fuck—“
Simon also adjusts his angle again to push Grace’s hips shear along the bed with every thrust, more stimulation on his cock. Grace can feel how wet the sheets are from precum and sweat and dripped-down lube and good lord he feels absolutely disgusting, completely undignified, and the depravity makes everything feel so much more intense. Every ram on his prostate alone makes him sob, but every nerve ending in his hole is also lit up, sensitive, eagerly responding to the slide of Simon’s cock, squeezing around him to seek more friction, more pressure, more pleasure. It floods the rippling pit in Grace’s stomach, overflows into every other part of his body as he tenses up and howls. He must be coming now, surely, but his body still wants more, isn’t ready to let go yet, coasting on the peak of pleasure for as long as possible. He wants to do more, wants to fuck himself further onto Simon’s cock and into the bed, but he’s powerless under his weight, knows he wouldn’t be able to keep up if he tried. He just wants more, more, more.
“Sim—onnnnn,” he sobs, tears rolling freely, “fuuuuuck.”
Simon responds by yanking Grace’s head to the side by his hair, exposing the left side of his neck, and biting down hard. Grace screams in pleasure. It feels dangerous. There’s no one else he trusts like this. He never wants it to end.
Simon’s teeth sink into the junction between Grace’s shoulder and neck as his tongue moves to lick the sensitive skin simultaneously, and the tip of his cock pushes directly past Grace’s prostate again and again, and one particularly strong thrust pushes Grace’s cock along the sheets so deliciously and that’s it, the coiled tension reaches a breaking point, and he was coming and is coming like a dial already on that’s been turned up, and his body shakes with the orgasm and the sobs alike as he twitches and clenches around Simon and whines and screams and begs. “Simonnnn mmmmmnggg fuck fuckfuckFUCK holy shit oh my GOD oh my ggggmmmrhhffff—ahhhhhHhhhh—“ and it’s pathetic and disgusting and devolves into nothing, just aimless desperate sounds as he cums and it’s the hardest he has ever orgasmed in his life and he feels it shooting onto the sheets and smearing all over his stomach.
Simon lets his mouth go just enough to growl “good, good boy, cum for me, so beautiful,” into Grace’s ear.
“Youuu,” Grace whines using the last of his brain cells, still riding it out, “y’havetuh—please—in me pleee-hee-hease—“
Grace’s orgasm is fluttering around Simon’s cock, tighter and hotter and god he sounds so pretty like this, looks so beautiful disheveled and sweaty and red and undone and Simon feels his dick spasm and his balls tense up and he groans long and low and needy as he fills Grace’s hole with his cum, pulsing inside him, feeling it spread across Grace’s walls as he keeps thrusting, grinding, barely pulling out.
Simon slows down but keeps going, milking the last of their orgasms out of them, maintaining the contact and closeness for as long as he can. He peppers kisses along Grace’s neck, along his shoulder, down his back. He slows to a stop as he gets overstimulated, as he notices Grace twitching and whimpering from overstimulation, too. Finally, he pulls out.
Grace can feel the cum drip from his hole and onto the sheets below them and wishes he was physically capable of another round immediately. Instead, though, he lets himself fully relax into the sheets, facedown, head turned to the side again so he can breathe. Physical status: Completely limp. Mental status: Gone. Spiritual status: Heaven, probably. Raunchy, obscene heaven. For perverts. Perverts he never thought he would be among the ranks of, but here he is, discovering that sex can, in fact, be pretty awesome when in the right hands.
He should be way more grossed out than he is. He’s lying with his face in his own drool puddle, cum and lube covering his body and leaking from it alike, but he can’t bring himself to care. His brain is still trying to reboot. Simon is on it, though, slowly pulling the dirty sheet out from under him and using it to wipe the residue off of his own dick and Grace’s backside before balling it up and tossing it to the side. They’ll wash it later.
Simon then lays himself down next to Grace, who is so still, so uncharacteristically unresponsive, that Simon suddenly panics, worried he’s done something wrong.
“Uh,” he starts, “was that…good?”
Grace nods slowly and dumbly, catatonic, eyes wide and staring at nothing. He’s drooling again. Simon can’t help but smile, albeit shy.
“Happy to be of service, then.”
Grace barely pulls his arm up to give a weak thumbs up.
“So, uh…need anything?” Simon asks.
“Hereee,” Grace says, patting lazily next to himself and then reaching out at Simon. “Come heeeeere.”
Simon obliges. He snakes his arm around Grace, who finally moves to turn to his side and lean in. After some repositioning, Simon ends up lying on his back with his arm wrapped around Grace, whose head is resting on his chest, arms likewise spread across Simon. The sweat and residual fluid covering their bodies doesn’t discourage them from leaning completely into each other, tangling their legs together, finding every place where skin can meet skin. Simon keeps his upper arm on Grace, elbow bent to reach up to his head so he can card through the man’s hair. Grace’s glasses have fully come off at some point and are now discarded on the sheets next to them, far enough away that they don’t have to worry about it.
“Thank you,” Simon says.
“For what?” Grace responds, breathy. His awareness has begun to come back to him but his voice is still dreamy and soft and slow.
Simon ponders that for a moment. “All of it. I don’t know. Trusting me, I guess.” He pauses and then continues, softer and bashful, “I hope all of that was okay.”
“Heck yeah it was,” Grace exhales. “Thank you.”
Simon blushes a little. “…You’re welcome.”
They lie for a while. Grace listens to Simon’s heartbeat through his chest, feels the rise and fall of his breath, and a different flutter blooms in his stomach. “I love you.”
Simon’s breath hitches. It isn’t the first time, but it’s still very new. “Love you, too,” he responds, and kisses the top of Grace’s head. Grace doesn’t mind that Simon truncates it a bit; the guy has a lot to work through, and he knows that Simon means it.
Later, they get up and shower together, taking it slow and enjoying the warm water on their sore bodies as they help each other wash off. They change the rest of the sheets and get in bed, naked, curling up together once again and reveling in the oxytocin surge of skin on skin (something Grace has explained to Simon more than once, especially when he’s needy).
As they drift off to sleep, Simon whispers a soft “hey.”
“What?” Grace groans, eager to pass out.
“I got you to curse more.”
“Shut up.” Grace lightly smacks him and rolls over, feigning irritation, which is really a sign that Simon should spoon him. So he does.
“Figured out how to make you do that, too,” Simon chuckles, planting a kiss behind Grace’s ear.
It’s true. The sex was incredible, but what made it even better was that Grace could feel what it was like to have his brain finally slow down, turn off, let him take a break from his own rapid-fire inner monologue. “We’ll have to workshop it.”
“Oh, you wanna try again?”
“To be thorough, yeah. Now let me sleep.”
“I look forward to it.” Another kiss. “Goodnight, Dr. Grace.”
And indeed, they’ll experiment more tomorrow.