Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

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Living on another planet is… interesting. Mildly terrifying, and enlightening, too—but not literally given the whole pitch-dark surface thing. It’s also a frustrating experience, continually fraught with niche, mistranslated emotional nonsense.

It’s mostly Grace being overly-emotional while the Eridians remain understanding—if not initially confused or a little unnerved. At this point, there’s probably “Visitors’ Guide to the Care and Handling of Humans” signs near the biodome. That or Rocky did the Erid equivalent of a media blast about their human guest’s many oddities. Everyone else still freaks out when Grace tears up; Rocky knows the leaky space blob state isn’t a life-threatening affair.

Being treated a bit delicately doesn’t grate as much as it maybe should. It’s less a dynamic thing, more of a Grace thing. So what if a planet of rock-spider aliens wants to coddle him? He spent years in space with Rocky, coping however they could. Some days they played trauma hot-potato, but at least they had each other. Someone who lived, despite it all. That brand of codependency probably says something about him that some alpha podcaster would love to pick apart. Too bad he’s 16.3 light years away and the concepts of gender, sex, and dynamic are essentially useless to an Eridian. There are no raised eyebrows for his personal or professional choices. The Eridians like him for his brain, not whatever junk lives in his metaphorical trunk. They don’t have anatomical misconceptions about who can do what based on stupid human bigotry.

The most concern Grace has seen an Eridian display for physical appearance is the day he casually mentioned the colour of someone’s carapace. Then he had to spend the next eight hours describing what colours each person in the Dome Hive was walking around with. He doesn’t actually mind. Rocky’s the one who minds other people hogging Grace’s attention. Hey, you spend several years alone with someone, you’re gonna get a bit weird about sharing them with other people!

It’s a bit of a relief doing non-life-threatening stuff. There’s been a lot of ‘too bad, so sad, get to work’ since waking up as Patient Zero of Coma Amnesia (thanks, Stratt). But it’s fine now, really. Grace has made peace with being on Erid. Being the only human. Watching his best friend settle back into his home and quietly resigning himself to the inevitable distance that would bring. Two ships drifting apart, and all that. He knows the drill: get painfully close with a new friend, then mourn the loss as they pair up with someone and friend-time dwindles to nothing. Play at happiness, fake it till he makes it.

Only Rocky didn’t let that happen. He made it darn clear that ‘home’ involved Grace. He basically took charge of Grace’s recovery, coaxing him to eat, insisting he do his physical therapy exercises, and generally being a loveable nuisance. There would be no ghosting or drifting apart. Grace was (and is) a mess, inside and out, but Rocky’s in it for the long haul. What did he say… oh yeah: “[Rocky] drag Grace with them come heck or tall water.” You get the gist.

So, yeah, life on Erid isn’t soul-destroyingly lonely. He has actual friends now. He talks shop with any scientist that visits his dome. And after he recovered from his initial health debacle, he got to host an absolutely crammed seminar on Sol and Tau-Ceti’s biology.

It was an incredible experience. Rocky, of course, went with him to help translate the more unwieldy scientific concepts. He could’ve stayed in the Eridian air, but no one stopped him when he marched up to the airlock. Again, sure, yeah, codependent—whatever. Grace appreciated having someone to hold his hand (and another flashlight) while they took a pitch-dark stroll away from his nice bright home-dome.

They set up in what was essentially a sunken amphitheatre. This one wasn’t entirely open air: there was a huge, blotchy curve of xenonite stretched over the theatre below. Rocky pointed out the various panels that kept the inner sound clear, panels that deflected outside sound, and amplification panels that ensured even those Eridians with weak echolocation could listen with ease.

Grace sat on a raised dais at the base of the theatre, skin prickling from the subvocal hum of echolocation. There were dozens of texture-projection screens linked to his laptop for the powerpoint slides. And apparently the puppet shows he and Rocky did on the Hail Mary weren’t just for fun. Rocky prepared a huge assortment of xenonite models of the Hail Mary; the Blip A; Adrian and Tau Ceti; Earth, Venus, and Sol; the taumoeba collection and breeding devices; and weirdly, Armando. (Eridians love a good robot). The audience tilted this way and that, chirping excitement and interest as the models were carefully passed around each section.

When they finished speaking, Grace experienced his first thrum. Fun fact: if an Eridian touches him he can actually process the thrum. Not well, and certainly not on his first time, but Rocky quietly translated the most intense waves so he could follow along. He said it was important Grace felt at home knowing he was surrounded by fellow nerds.

The thrum did have a brief blip (ha ha, get it, Blip A) when Grace’s nose started bleeding from the initial neurological overload. After some disgust, voluble concern, and further experimenting, Rocky decided a maximum of two claws’ contact during a thrum was safest for the squishy human.

Speaking of experiments: their interstellar one has proven fruitful! The Astrology, Robotics, and Extra-Planetary Hives have undeniable proof of the taumoeba’s success on Threeworld. 40-Eridani has reportedly brightened significantly since the taumoeba seeding. And the projected full luminosity timeline gets shorter every day as the all-you-can-eat astrophage feast gains momentum.

As Erid began recovering, the science communities turned their ‘sights’ back on space. Vessel designs have rapidly evolved since their arrival. Once radiation shielding tests proved effective, the space-focused Hives held regular thrums on the subject of new satellites, probes, and long-range vessels. It went unsaid that Erid was eager to make contact with Earth, as well as assess other astrophage-affected systems for potential life. Grace made a Prime Directive joke that Rocky appreciated, given their Hail Mary TV marathons, but ultimately everyone agreed preventing extinction outweighed the ethical concerns of ‘uplifting’ other species.

He appreciated the updates, of course, but there was something to be said for keeping his feet on the ground. Open air after years of metal confinement was a marvel, even with the punishing gravity. The Don’t Go Crazy room helped immensely, especially as his health deteriorated later on in the journey. It also apparently gave Rocky plenty of ideas to throw at the team dedicated to Grace’s environment.

Erid brought out the big guns for their welcome home. Within a few months of their arrival, Rocky came hurtling up the space elevator singing about a (thoroughly stress-tested) surprise. No effort was too much for Erid’s Saviours (don't get him started on how awkward that is, good lord). The surprise wasn’t much of one, because why else would they bring him to the surface with 70 percent of the Hail Mary’s remaining supplies if not to bring him home?

The surprise part was the ocean. And the fog, the house, the tree… Yeah, Grace cried. Much to Rocky’s amusement and the Dome Hive’s poorly-concealed disgust. There’s no Golden Gate Bridge but beggars can’t be choosers. And he is keeping the bridge bit to himself. If the Eridians hear he’s ‘missing’ something, he’ll wake up with a shiny new addition to his habitat.

Grace really doesn’t want to abuse their generosity. The house was a big undertaking but also a logical next step: extra security in case the Dome was ever breached. A bridge is like… a thousand steps too far. Hopefully the Hive doesn’t go on another research bender (fun fact: Eridians are just as weak to Internet rabbit-holes) and decide to make him one anyway.

Oh! Another great thing: he has kids again! Well, obviously not ‘I gave birth to these’ because that’s not possible here. To be fair, the Eridian scientists got the me-burger stuff going pretty darn fast. They could probably cobble some artificial insemination machine together… which would be a massive ethical mess for everyone involved.

Oh hey, Erid, thanks so much for hosting my needy, leaky space-blob self on your homeworld! Just a casual question: have you guys thought of a human breeding program? Not in a weird way, but in more of a horny… Okay. It’s probably (definitely) a bad idea if the two poles of that question are bigoted pseudoscience and getting his rocks off. It’s not like he isn’t fine tending to himself after all.

Well he was, at first. It’s been a good few years since he woke up from coma-city. Please don’t make him calculate just how many; near light-speed space travel and malnutrition did a real wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey bit on him.

Anyway, whatever ‘hormones-b-gone’ cocktail the Project gave him is finally wearing off. The process started… seven months ago? The effects have been slow, but cumulative. One day, Grace noticed he’d piled his blotchy-coloured blanket collection—Rocky likes to knit and xenacrylic yarn is heat-safe space magic—and about sixty percent of his wardrobe on his bed in a lumpy hoard. A few weeks later, eight distinct points on his body—sides of the neck, wrists, ankles, and inner thighs—began to ache and reek. It was like the world’s worst off-gassing but made of his sweat and some unholy chemical compound.

Once he knew what was happening it was less of a horror show and more like being sixteen again. Just with more early onset arthritis, migraines, and postural orthostatic tachycar—you know what? Just a whole damn lot of ugh.

He’s taken detailed notes on the process, of course. Both in a ‘huh, neat’ as well as a ‘goddamn you again, Stratt’ way. His Eridian psychologist suggested logging things might help his state of mind when the Dome’s medical team started collecting tissue, tear, blood, stool, urine, and uh… slick samples for study. That last one put him in a bit of a tailspin, but again: therapy works.

Grace had a series of breakdowns back when they arrived. There was one when the Hail Mary first docked with the space elevator. Another when they brought him to the surface a few months later and he felt the full, crushing power of Erid’s gravity. And about fifteen minutes after that when his lizard brain panicked over the lack of light. Oh, and can't forget when his circadian rhythm went to shit and the nascent Biodome Hive (and everyone else) panicked over his rapid degradation.

There were numerous other instances where the reality of how insane this all was smacked him in the face. Conversations he overhead while half-lucid from pain and hunger when Rocky was away, where the various Hive members wondered if they should return him to the Hail Mary. If they’d meet their muscle tissue cloning timeline. Or if they should just try to keep him as comfortable as possible while he—well.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise when Grace’s lingering passive suicidal ideation became a lot less passive. It all goes a bit hopeless when your brain comes at you on the regular with such hits as:

Hey, me. Guess what?

Ah. You again. Sigh. Hello, me. What is it this time?

:) We’re never seeing Earth again.

Oh. Thanks.

No, no, don’t mention it. Happy to help, really. Oh, and I can’t let you forget: you’ll never be touched by a human ever again, either!

Cool, cool. I’m… going to go hobble out and think not-suicidal thoughts on the beach for a few hours.

:)) I’ll be here when you get back!

Yeah, you get the picture. Rinse and repeat a few dozen times and Grace wasn’t exactly surprised when he opened his door one morning to find a new Eridian in a sleek xenonite suit behind a slightly abashed Rocky. How can a pentagonally symmetrical being look abashed? Not sure, but Rocky managed it with grace (ha). Grace handled the situation with less grace, but in the end Rocky and Dr. Pavlov ( … don’t judge) got their way.

Now once every six Earth days (Eridians love their sixes), Pavlov knocks politely at his front door and they sit in his dining room to chat. They’re a remarkable psychologist. And accepting enough they barely even twitch when Grace drinks water in front of them. Crying and talking for an hour straight tends to dry a guy out. Pavlov also doesn’t panic over the leaking-from-the-eyes bit, either. Great person, really. Even if their questions occasionally make him stare at the wall when something heavy comes up in session.

But it helps. Grace committed to the physiotherapy and solid food timelines the Dome’s medical team planned out. He didn’t (fully) freak out when he began feeling a desire to engage with things. He wrote up a prospective syllabus for an interspecies science class. He left little rock messages for the Dome Hive as a daily brainteaser.

What will the human put in rock-(morse)code on the beach today? Ah, yes… another ‘meme’! Let's consult the databa—it’s loss again, isn’t it.

Turns out, part of regaining his health and sanity meant a return to his crappy sense of humour. No one begrudged him for it. They were too happy to see him standing, walking, and capable of determining reality from delusion.

Fun… well not fun, but still a fact: aural hallucinations are a cross-species phenomenon. Rocky was a real help managing those. Forty plus years’ lived experience hallucinating his crewmates’ final, desperate songs made him deeply empathetic to Grace’s situation. He didn't end up needing antipsychotics once his health improved, but it was good to know there wasn't a societal stigma attached to mental illness.

Also, Eridians are pharmacological wizards. With their advanced chemistry, the laptop archives, and a few samples carefully extracted from the Hail Mary's medical suite… yeah, he's real well stocked on meds. No co-pay on an alien planet, either. Small victories, huh?

He’s pretty sure they’ve added in some sneaky meds into his normal ‘don’t die on an alien planet’ regimen. His joints are much sturdier than they should be, for one thing. There could be other, sneakier side effects, but his doctors are starting slow. Which means they’re definitely coming up with even more insane treatments down the line. (Don’t even get him started on the murmurs of xenonite bone implants and joint replacements.)

One of the more nerve-wracking things he did after a few months of therapy was ask Rocky to introduce him to his mate. Adrian turned out to be a handsome blue-greyish-green Eridian even sassier than Rocky. It make sense, really. Rocky likes a challenge and Adrian definitely fits the bill. Also they’re tall as heck—like seven feet at the vents, tall! Rocky went through a few medically assisted moults on returning to Erid, but Adrian is still double his size even with the added height. Grace may or may not have referenced a few memes on spousal size difference after meeting them.

The first few meetings were in one of the private vestibules along the Dome’s outer wall. As they got more comfortable, Adrian eventually joined Rocky within the Dome proper. Grace even fell asleep during one of their visits and woke up with Adrian watching. A regular human would’ve been awkward but after years in space, and a hell of a lot of physical and mental trauma, all he could do was smile, sniffle, and proceed to have a minor breakdown.

Again, therapy did its work. He was a mess but it didn’t spiral into hopeless misery. It was cathartic. He could finally admit he cared about the people here and they cared about him in return. And, more painful and improbable than he once thought possible: Grace wanted to live.

To their credit, Adrian kept calm through the ordeal. They even carefully sat beside him on his bed and tilted their xenonite-covered carapace against his shoulder. A few minutes later, Rocky came barrelling in like the house was on fire.

Adrian had not, in fact, been calm when Grace woke up and began making liquids and ugly, piercing noises. Rocky (beautiful, genius friend Rocky) had thankfully planned ahead and made his mate a panic button. Yup. Panic button. A little radio-device set in one of the arms of Adrian’s suit. It blended in so well it looked like they were only rubbing one of their arms in a kind of soothing, kneading motion.

Yeah, no—Adrian was hammering that thing. Rocky laughed when he told Grace about it. Adrian was thoroughly displeased their mate ruined their calm facade, but the situation was enough to break the ice. His worries of Rocky’s mate loathing him were thoroughly disproven. Adrian was a solid, familiar foundation for Rocky, and a protective, curious new friend for Grace. Pavlov (his doctor, not the Soviet dog trainer), was proud of him for ‘coming out of the cave’. Eridians might not be familiar with humans, but they shared some common fears: vulnerability (cracked carapaces, predators in the environment), loneliness (isolation from the cluster, incompatible songs), and existential dread (tiny space algae eating your star), et cetera. Anyway, with some of the more irrational fears—because the star thing is entirely rational!—dealt with, it felt like his circle of trust was due to expand at last.

After that, the Eridians descended en masse and it became obvious how carefully they’d been handling him before. With his improving nutrition, regular therapy, and a restored circadian rhythm, the Biodome Hive had to add another branch just to field interview and study requests from other Hives across Erid. Ah, the Biodome Hive. A dedicated team of Eridians who monitor his well-being. With no eyesight, great echolocation, and sturdy xenonite walls with hundreds if not thousands of monitoring devices to ensure the health of both the enclosure and their precious human guest… The Dome Hive heard a lot of confusing noises the first several months.

Grace’s life was under a microscope even before waking on the Hail Mary, so the constant surveillance didn’t bother him as much as it probably should have. Knowing there were people around also kept some of the worst brain gremlins from wreaking havoc. It was easier to tell himself to go the heck back to sleep because a herd of scientists will scold him in the morning if he gets up to anything inadvisable.

His care team (and everyone else) had lots of questions once he was stable enough to answer. They knew his basic biology from Rocky and the Hail Mary, but there were a whole lot more layers than just human-adult-male. Parts that became evident as his health continued to improve. Yeah. Uh, there was no easy way to explain to his Eridian hosts that he hadn’t pissed himself or his bed, nor did he have some new disease that cause him to ‘lose liquid from orifice behind external genital pseudo-limb’ or however else one of the younger scientists put it. They got a full chorus scolding from the others after Grace tucked himself into a mortified ball and did his best to roll back out onto the beach.

Jeez, buy a guy a drink before discussing genital pseudo-limbs and orifices. Common sense, really. No, he eventually told them, beet-red and ready to die of embarrassment. This was just… ugh. Emissions.

He and Rocky essentially did a Spark Notes birds and the bees on the Hail Mary. Explaining gender and sex in-depth to dozens of keen scientists was a debacle Grace fumbled through like a first year Gender Studies student. Oh, the biology was a breeze, of course, but the social, philosophical, and political aspects… then add dynamics on top? Yeesh.

The Hail Mary was unfortunately no help. Earth made an interstellar vessel but couldn’t come up with medical aids and options for their astronauts who might end up… indisposed? To be fair, they were seriously pressed for time in virtually every aspect of the project. Things like mating cycles just weren’t top of mind. No one thought about leisure time when the mission purpose was a literal shot-in-the-dark at saving the planet. Heck, the crew had to basically bully Stratt into allowing them to set up a hang-out area on Stratt’s Vat. Why bother fabricating and storing cycle aids if you can juice your astronauts with enough military-grade suppressants to sterilize them for however much longer they’ll be alive?

Commander Yáo was a beta man, Ilyukhina was an alpha woman, and Dubois was an alpha man. Pretty standard selection criteria, as per Stratt’s directives. Even their secondary back-ups were all either betas or alphas. Most of the applicants with the coma-gene were in those dynamics, too. It probably said something about society that there wasn’t more omega candidates in the pool with a high enough education or appropriate aptitude to join a deep space suicide mission.

Grace was the only outlier in all aspects. Not an astronaut. Barely a scientist—or at least a currently accredited and respected one. He wasn’t a contributing member of society (read: hadn’t popped out a batch of brats before hitting thirty). Worst of all, and conveniently concealed through some unholy combination of Stratt’s Stratt Powers and the project's pack-mindset: no one knew he was an omega. And if they did, the risk of sending him was far outweighed by the dire needs of an entire planet.

Hence the chemical cocktail coma slurry. They probably had it specially formulated and just swapped out Dubois’ mix after Stratt gave the team the go-ahead. Knowing her, she likely had a small contingency working in secret for anything he’d need as the tertiary candidate the instant she got his gene test results back.

There was definitely time to get things sorted while security chased him through the Baikonur complex. The launch team probably sent the new supplies (cough-amnesia-and-suppressant-drugs-cough) with Ilyukhina and Commander Yáo, and simply told them it was added beneficial supplements. He wasn’t an astronaut, after all. No one expected the last-minute loss of Dubois and Shapiro. As was the constant, running reminder: sacrifice is necessary.

Come to think of it, if they’d had time Stratt probably would’ve asked if Grace wanted a hysterectomy or something. Hm… What’s the procedure for ovarian removal? Oophorectomy? It makes his stomach cramp just thinking about it—not that he was ever obsessed with gender or dynamic essentialism.

C’mon, you become a biologist of any decent calibre and you immediately unlearn a bunch of shit everyone and their bigot cousin insists is ‘natural’. Frankly, telling a molecular biologist they’d contribute more to the world by reproducing is an insult. He’d much rather do taumoeba experiments than worry about the state of his uterus or whatever.

Would he have taken Stratt up on sterilization if she offered? (That’s a joke, she definitely wouldn’t ask if she decided it was mission critical.) Sterilization might’ve also introduced a bunch of biological chaos the Hail Mary had no programming or supplies to treat. Although who knows what they all jammed into Armando’s brain. Maybe when Stratt told Dr. Lamai that Grace was going on the mission there were only a few details to adjust in the coma procedure to ensure an omega-specific subroutine was up and running. Maybe Stratt had Lamai in on her secret tertiary group project, too.

It really isn’t helpful to brood on just how many people planned to betray him. It still stings, but not for the reasons you’d expect. At least, not for reasons the person who woke up on the Hail Mary would’ve found hurtful. This hurt was weighed down by years of memories and the realization that Stratt, damn her, was right to send him anyway.

The hurt was that he hadn’t known he was a coward. And by the time he remembered how pathetic that past self was, that version of Grace had long since died. Adrift without memories, he’d had to build himself anew. Find purpose. Make a community of two. Decide to die to save Rocky, then decide to live again for himself on Erid.

Once he started plucking at the gordion knot of his psyche (with help from Dr. Pavlov), things started to shift. He could accept the shades of grey he’d become over the years of the Project, both on Earth and the ship itself. He could admit he was angry. Ashamed of himself. Lonely. Hungry for touch. That some part of himself he’d kept numb and quiet was waking up and its demands were no longer the fruitless refrains from Earth. This creature was reborn through Erid’s hard work and it wanted so, so badly, to sing.

Space should’ve royally screwed any possibility of sexual interest and capability. His age should be a negative factor too, seeing as he’s somewhere in his… late fifties? (But not actually, because of time dilation). Plus, again, he has the not-so-vaguest suspicion that the nutrition and supplement teams are doing stuff with his food and medications. Still, why throw a fit if it isn’t needed? If he gets more time with Rocky, Adrian, Erid, and his many students, it’s probably worth a little biological meddling. Plus if he’s alive long enough, he might get to see Sol return to full luminosity. A guy can dream, right?

Anyway, against all odds the Eridians have gotten him healthy enough that, after years of dormancy, his body has decided it’s all hands on deck for Team Uterus. He didn’t even want to bring it up in the first place, but Dr. Scully (Chief Biodome Medical Officer & Head Science Hive liaison—the Boss Doc, basically) called him on it. They shooed most of the team out of the usual meeting vestibule after one of his last check-ups. The tone of their voice was so delicate and precise it made Grace want to curl up and die. Having a 530 year-old Eridian politely inquire about the elevated hormones in his recent blood and urinary analysis, as well as his increased nighttime “energy” and “self-directed physical engagements”…

Cool, yeah, thanks universe! Love to get sent across the galaxy to have the sex and self love talk by a rock-person who lays eggs to make babies. If he still had some of Ilyukhina’s vodka he’d be face down in the (now blessedly tepid) surf and ignoring the state of his insides.

In the end, Scully made him spill the beans (he had to explain that expression as well) on what was really happening. It turned into a mini-seminar on dynamics where he pulled out a whiteboard and markers to draw diagrams. Then he conceded to doing a puppet show on mating and nesting… The room had a lot more people in it by the time he finished explaining he was a human who could carry an egg. It was the easiest way to describe human gestation to Eridians—moving on! It was horrifying to confess his body wanted to be ridden like a cheap bike until his brain rolled into the sewer where he belonged.

Yes, he had to explain bikes. Not the sewers, though. Eridian waste management is impeccable, given the species’ monostome biology and appreciation for cleanliness. They don’t use water like most places on Earth. It’s some convoluted filtering and reclaiming process using, you guessed it: heavy metals. He hasn’t seen much of the world outside the dome, but the Eridians have begun making impressive texture “videos” for him to watch. The best so far was by a helpful scientist touring a facility and describing in proud, elegant notes how it contributed to the betterment of Erid’s environment and its people. Grace would have to agree. Humanity doesn’t do well once hygiene goes out the door.

Explaining a heat cycle to Eridians scientists wasn’t actually too horrible on the technical side of things. Spiritually, mentally, and emotionally? Grace will launch himself into 40-Eridani if he’s asked for another puppet show about his sexual appetite.

It feels like he’s harassing his medical team when he talks about new symptoms. But they quite literally asked for more details, so… He always gives content warnings before walking them through his logs and physical data. Eridians don’t blush, but there’s a certain warble and an awkward leg shuffle Grace has come to realize is a blend of interest and abject embarrassment. It’s a familiar enough state. There’s only so much two vastly different species can do to courteously pretend they aren’t desperate to know all about the inner workings of their new friends.

Discussing intimate data was the first step in the Eridians becoming deeply invested in his mating behaviours. So invested, they’ve now asked him if he would mind doing a study.

What would this study involve, you ask? Travelling via detachable “human pod” to the Xenobiology Hive’s main campus where newly-made machines will give his hosts texture readouts of his pesky insides. And, of course, he’ll have an Eridian handler in the room with him. Like any thinking species with fancy toys and a willing participant, the Eridians are keen for a first-hand account of his inner workings. They’re accomplished in the study of their own mating processes, but human behaviours? Utterly foreign.

To make a long and deeply embarrassing story short, the Eridians have submitted a formal request to witness and perhaps ameliorate the negative effects of his long-suppressed heat. Translation: they want to watch him get off. And maybe also see if they can help. Personally.

They’re still having Rocky press him on the matter. It’s been a month or so since the first suggestion. Being so long-lived, Eridians are usually quite patient. But again, considering their longevity, it’s become increasingly clear they’re very keen for this study. Usually they’d wait closer to an Eridian year to re-float something Grace was reluctant about. So the impatience is probably a direct consequence of his steadily degrading hormonal state. The Biodome monitoring team get a little twitchy when his baseline vitals go weird.

His hosts don’t demand much of him, given the decision to go back for Rocky saved their entire species. But Eridians love science, and they know Grace does too. So just as his Rocky honoured his pleas to watch him eat, Grace is pretty sure he’ll say yes when Rocky inevitably asks him about the study again.

It has nothing to do with making Armando hold a… device and work it into him last night. Or having thoughts about who he might invite to join in said device-usage. He definitely didn’t have a post-orgasm breakdown on realizing the Biodome team was likely eagerly crowding round live data readouts to discuss his newest behaviours. They probably talked about depth achievement, hormonal indicators, circulatory fluid shift to compensate for engorgement and reception…

Grace can ignore a lot of things, alright? It’s kind of the name of the game when you live on a planet that would crush-cook you dead if your fancy bubble ruptures. But he really cannot handle the fact that the ranks of the Xenobiology Hive have swelled considerably since he, uh, entered the Bone Zone.

The Hive have undertaken an extensive study on one of the laptops he kitted out for the various Eridian science groups to use. There’s some kind of complex lottery system for who gets the computer next and for how long, which Grace has gladly disavowed any control over. You wrestle the delicate machine from 800 plus pound rock spiders.

Anyway, there’s a lot of information on human sexuality and dynamics on the drive. But as any scientist will tell you: reading a study can’t fully compare to doing one yourself. Proper studies need a controlled environment, of course. So, logically, the Hive made a sex den.

They’re calling it some lovely Eridian musical name that Rocky chastized him for narrowing down to a “fornication cave”. But hey, proper nouns are a sticky point between their species. If they want to make Grace do sex stuff for science, they can deal with some embarrassing names.

- - -

The knocking echoes through the house. It’s honestly more like a battering ram; Rocky gets impatient fast. The house is made of xenonite and a whole host of Eridian materials so it would take a truly monumental force for anything to actually break.

Grace could batten down the metaphorical hatches. Ignore the Hive’s messages, Rocky’s visits, and his ever-curious students asking after his health and “human functions”. (They are all very sweet but please, for the love of god can he not talk about human reproduction with a bunch of pebbles). He could stay in his safe bundle of blankets and ride his hands to kingdom come. Or the nanny-bot’s newest addition. Hey, if a machine can successfully intubate and catheterize a grown man, it should be able to screw him just as well, right?

It was a long process of 3D printing and silicone molding, but again: entire history of human technology and creative ventures readily available. Plus the extensive remains of the Hail Mary ’s lab, and various mineral and metal materials his hosts were only too happy to provide. They also got really into silicone as a manufacturing material when they saw the insulation and flexibility it offered.

Grace’s office looks like a horny mad scientist’s lab at the moment. By following various artistic and scientific processes, he came (ha) out with a serviceable tool. It had the requisite hardness and flexibility to be of use without causing internal damage. If that happened Armando would probably just switch arms and begin a medical protocol to deal with it. See? Self-care all around.

The knocking pauses before beginning again, harder this time. Then the press-to-talk intercom activates and an avalanche of music echoes through the house. “Grace, you are awake. Not a question. The Dome Hive detected change in your vital signs 29.5 minutes ago. The Dome and Xenobiology Hives estimate approximately eighty-three minutes until your hormones shift fully into your fertile period—”

“I’m up, jeez, Rocky,” Grace grumbles as he smacks frantically at the bedside ‘reply’ button.

Bad enough the Xenobiology Hive sends him nightly updates on the sex den. There’s a deluge of voice notes from various project members keen to know his personal preferences on: penetration implements, restraints, supportive furniture, atmospheric and lighting inclinations, as well as nutritional needs during cycle flares. He would prefer not to hear Rocky shout about it from his front door, too.

Plus, ‘fertile period’… ugh.

Grace glares at himself, as though feigning disgust will move his blood elsewhere. Rocky doesn’t mean it in the way some knothead would but the knee-jerk reaction will always exist. Even when a newer, more confusing reaction perks up alongside it, threatening a purr at Rocky’s enthusiasm.

“You do not sound ‘up’. You are still horizontal, aren’t you, question ?” Rocky hums in disapproval.

“I’m up, up, up,” Grace insists. He rolls haphazardly on the bed. He intends to use momentum to struggle upright but Erid doesn’t approve of his fancy manoeuvers: the punishing gravity smacks him straight into the floor. Lovely. At least there was a rug, but there’s still going to be another bruise for the team to monitor.

“Grace is slow slow slow,” Rocky teases, but his voice has a subtle, concerned note. It’s kind of nice having someone to both call him on his bullcrap and alien-baby him through rough moments.

Grace pulls himself up to hunt for something clean in his closet. The texture of a few sweaters makes him flinch before he finally hauls out an old knitted cardigan. The colours have faded with time but the wool is so soft and well-worn Grace wants to nuzzle it like a dog.

Those hormone timeline estimates are probably spot on.

“Graaace,” Rocky whistles. “I respect your personal space, but I also have concern for your behaviour…”

Grace snorts a laugh as he hops out of his sleep pants and into fresh bottoms. Rocky, respecting personal space? That’d be like asking taumoeba not to eat astrophage. The idea of putting on shoes makes his skin crawl so he grabs a pair of sock-booties from the Hail Mary. Not the sturdiest, but if they’re going to the sex den Grace probably doesn’t need to dress up. You know, since the point of the trip is undressing.

The Eridians aren’t setting him up for a date. This isn’t some sleazy heat service where he’s hiring someone to make his body stop screaming “screw me” so he can get back to his life. He’s doing very professional and scientific sexual experiments. It’s all very ethical and up to code. Totally a normal thing to do. Yup. He is very much not panicking.

Grace trots to the front door. He’s still fumbling with his glasses when Rocky greets him with a familiar trill.

“Hey, Rock. Sorry for the wait.”

The xenonite extravehicular activity (XEVA, for short) suit flexes around Rocky as he tilts his carapace from side to side. Getting a good look at him, probably making sure Grace still has all his limbs.

Rocky and the others were like frantic mother hens the first few months on the surface. Anytime there was trouble Grace was encouraged to stay in a separate, smaller enclosure while the Biodome Hive panicked over possible breaches. It never happened; the Eridians are fantastic scientists and amazing chemists. Sure, temperature is a bit fiddly—they had to do a bunch of stress tests to understand his comfort range—but he was never in any danger. He was more in danger of going off the deep end from the trauma of, well, everything.

“I’m good, I’m good!” Grace pauses, distracted by an apparent crack in the right lens of his glasses. Great. Now he’ll have to research how to describe prescription lenses to people without eyes. It won’t actually be that difficult; the Eridians aren’t the issue, they’ll get it right away. Grace is the problem. Puppet shows only get you so far.

Oh, Rocky is still looking at him. His stance is all wide so his echolocation can get a better read. He clearly doesn’t believe Grace is doing as good as he says.

“I promise!”

Rocky fidgets. “High heart-rate.” The vibrato in his voice adds an extra degree of concern to the lowered octave.

Grace winces. Learning about myocardial infarction put Rocky into a near-fit a few years back. Adrian had to stomp down to the dome and join forces with Grace to insist Rocky return home and calm down about human heart functions—or malfunctions, in this case.

So he had one or two weird palpitation events since he first landed on Erid! It wasn’t even painful, really. But it still made the Eridians (especially Grace’s Eridian) freak out over his fallible physical form. Grace doesn’t have the clearest memories from their arrival. He was so close to dying his brain just gave up on shifting things to long term memory. And then there was the whole illegal French interrogation drug. That probably melted a good few brain cells off, too.

His heart is fine, by the way. In the end it wasn’t actually a full on heart attack. After a thrum (and some intense research into human cardiovascular function), his medical team came back with a much less scary diagnosis: stress induced cardiac dysautonomia. Now that things on Erid are stable there’s no stress to exacerbate the heart issue. So… no biggie!

When he translated that phrase the doctor scolded him for his blasé attitude. Then there was a second scolding when Rocky came in and the doctor explained why they were shouting at his human. (Grace should probably examine why being called ‘Rocky’s human’ makes his stomach go all weird, but that’s for Future Grace to deal with.)

He sighs and shuts the door behind him. Normally, Rocky would’ve bounded off onto the sand but today he’s kept close. It’s both comforting and irritating. Hormones are weird.

“My heart’s doing fine, Rock. Don’t worry.”

Rocky makes a familiar grumbling noise. Grace smiles. It’s his light-hearted grumble, not the ‘we need to have a serious discussion’ one.

“So! We’re going to the, uh…”

“Cycling Ward,” Rocky supplies.

“Right, the sex place—”

“—it is a highly optimized medical wing—”

“—where you and like, seventy other Eridians are gonna watch me get naked.”

Rocky stumbles, three of five legs dipping under his carapace before lurching awkwardly through the sand to catch his balance. “Ah, yes… Nudity.”

Grace cackles. “You’re fine with monitoring mating behaviours but the lack of clothes is what gets you?”

Rocky whistles shortly: a sound of mild irritation. “It is not clothes! Clothes only useful for human social custom. It is you, Grace. Many others will be present.”

He really doesn’t want to think about how many people will be lurking while he’s indisposed. “Yeah, that’s your guys’ thing though: thrum up solutions in a hivemind. You kind of need a bunch of people to get the hive part going.”

Is Rocky just being a protective friend or is there something else? Some distrust of the new ward or procedures? He’s usually so confident in Eridian science…

Rocky grumbles turn sharp. “Too many. Human literature says you need familiar environment for optimal function. This is a new facility, new doctors, and new machines.”

“Everything here is new. Plus, they do better stress testing on Erid than on Earth, you know that!”

Grace pulls the sides of his cardigan together as they walk across the beach. He shivers, nuzzling into the collar. If he sniffs hard enough it’s almost like smelling Earth. He imagines it, fixing San Francisco in his mind’s eye. That warm summer breeze off the coast, slightly foul from drying seaweed. Erid doesn’t have true seaweed as far as he’s aware, just dozens of rocky corals and hardy sponges adapted for a high pressure environment.

On his first swim in the ocean portion of the Biodome there was a teeny bit of a disaster. A too-eager wave-machine earned him several gouges after he met the ledge of the rock-reef back first. Yeah, ouch. Got some good marks from that—and more than a few scoldings from Rocky, the Dome Hive, and a couple of his earliest, clingiest students.

That’s the nice part of the memory. After the medical team recovered him from the reef (a mortifying process involving a sneaky ceiling-mounted crane), they brought him to one of the visiting rooms. From there, they carefully transported Armando from the house to stitch up the worst cuts.

The team lead shouted when Rocky came in with a few xenonite balls of nervous Eridian pebbles lurching behind him. The shouting stopped after Grace promised he wasn’t offended at being swarmed while vulnerable. It was nice, actually. Rocky nestled down beside him and crooned some wordless song while petting his scarred forearm. After some encouragement, the pebbles chimed in as well. Grace fell asleep with his fox sweater draped over him, bandages and all. Rocky grabbed it from his closet. He’s pretty sure Rocky was telling the pebbles about foxes when he finally passed out.

Rocky is such a great friend. Dependable, creative, loyal… Really, there’s not much more a guy could ask for. Nothing he should ask for. This is enough. He’d be greedy to think about more, right?

“—ace. Grace. Are you alright, question? Grace, question ?”

There’s a weight leaning on his hips and thighs. Grace opens his eyes to find Rocky braced against him, one arm extended up to his sternum to keep him balanced. The other four limbs brace in the sand, adjusting as the surface shifts under their combined weight.

“Oh, um…”

“You did not answer for 3.8 minutes. Pulse was highly irregular. My chemical readout states there was an increase in pheromones. And your neck…” Rocky lifts one of his legs to tap the top of his carapace. “There are swellings here, and here. Much more pronounced than yesterday.”

Ah. Grace reaches up and flinches as pain and pleasure sear him from the lightest brush. His hand comes away oily, reeking of lingering chemicals and a truly pathetic amount of needy, desperate omega.

“… Fudge.”

“I do not want to take you outside of dome,” Rocky says, suddenly fierce. The weight against Grace’s legs shifts as Rocky begins pushing him back to the house.

“What? Hey, Rock, c’mon—it’s fine.” Really, it was just a bit of spacing out. Rocky’s seen him do that plenty of times here and on the Hail Mary. Granted he wasn’t sweating, having palpitations, or putting off pheromones, but… he’s fine!

“Other Eridians can monitor at distance. We go back to your house now. You lay down, nanny-bot takes care of you.”

Good god, it is hard to resist 800 plus lbs of alien telling you where to go. Also Jesus Christ okay, Rocky apparently knows about his escapade with Armando—great!! Grace does his best to resist, though that involves flopping on top of Rocky’s xenonite-covered carapace like a turtle on a skateboard.

“Rocky! No—put… will you just—”

After some decent flailing about, he manages to fling himself off Rocky’s back and land somewhat upright a couple of feet away. Rocky pipes out a string of irritated chords, stamping the sand with two hands in frustration while reaching for Grace with a third.

“Grace, [Rocky]—am I interrupting, question ?” Ah. Scully.

They probably look like some kind of Three Stooges skit, scrabbling for purchase on the sand while Rocky tries to wrangle Grace into submission. Grace plucks at Rocky's three-fingered hand where it lingers at his waist. It’s impossible to get a grip on the articulated xenonite surface, but thankfully the hand and claw portions are flexible enough he can pinch one of Rocky’s fingers and lever them off that way. Or uh, try to. Because Rocky apparently does not want to let go. Oh boy.

Scully’s carapace is tilted, two of their arms bent and the other three extended in what he imagines is an Eridian version of ‘do you guys need a room?’. Rocky’s carapace keeps twisting, one face and then the other squaring off against Grace and Scully in turn. It’s weirdly aggressive. He’s only ever known Rocky to be occasionally sassy, at least with him.

Grace is probably misreading some Eridian physical cue. Usually, he ends up being ignorant of some small gesture or tone that would’ve explained something he’s too stupid to realize he didn’t know. He really, really should’ve done more research on Eridian biology and social norms by now.

“Uhhh… nope! Not interrupting,” Grace babbles. “No, no, no, not at all!” The triple emphasis is ruined a bit by the high pitch of his voice. He’s never been physical in front of anyone; it feels a bit like getting caught canoodling by a professor or something.

Not that he would canoodle with Rocky. He already has a mate. Adrian is an amazing scientist and friend. Besides, their environments and biology aren’t even remotely compatible! Really, Grace doesn’t need sexual attention from anyone. This is just a protective friend helping another friend. A very enthusiastic friend. Do Eridians have a concept of fidelity? They really should’ve discussed this. Some humans can have polyamorous triads, quads, and more, but for all Grace knows the idea of even expressing emotional interest in a mated person is an instant ‘you are scum’ zone.

Oh, and even worse than making an ass of himself: Adrian is part of the Biodome Hive and Grace’s friend now, too. Meaning they could possibly be present somewhere in or around the sex den for his cycle. Or maybe the universe will have mercy and they’ll be examining the dome for any repairs or updates while he’s gone. Definitely not (please, god) watching Grace whine any specific Eridian names.

Not that that’s something he’s ever thought of doing. Nope. Shit shit shit.

Rocky makes a rather rude noise and abruptly abandons his attempts to herd Grace back to the house. He twists around, lifting his carapace with a burst of aggressive notes as he takes a stand between Grace and Scully.

Scully doesn’t usually come into the dome. Most Eridians prefer the simplicity of face to carapace discussion through xenonite walls to the discomfort of XEVA suits. But they and the other Biodome Hive members probably saw Grace and Rocky having their little beach moment and decided to intervene before anything happened. Grace is, after all, a particularly squishy human entering an even more squishy time of his life.

“[Rocky], this escalation is unnecessary. I am here to escort Grace to the Cycling Ward.” They either have a solid poker face (poker voice?) or they really are here as a courtesy.

“Grace will remain in dome for their cycle,” Rocky snaps. Each chord is brisk, cutting off a half-second after the notes emerge.

Grace blinks, baffled by this sudden change in behaviour. “Rock, seriously. I’m fine, bud. We’ll just head on over to the ward and—”

Rocky’s hands dig into the sand as he pushes Grace a few steps backward. “Not fine. You are vulnerable.”

“Yeah, I mean—you’re not wrong.” Grace chews at his lips, not really sure how to resolve this diplomatically. His brain isn’t working so well. The hormones are uh, doing a thing. “I’ve been vulnerable before. Kind of par for the course being a human on Erid. The Biodome team always have my back, though. Same with the Science Hive and this newer uh, mating offshoot.”

“What is ‘par’, question ?” Scully asks, tilting their carapace in confusion.

Rocky actually hisses at them. It’s a multi-tonal sound, full of high shrieks and deep, rattling notes, like he’s possessed by some alien bird. Grace glances at Scully, hoping to find some clarity there. No luck: even without a face they look as baffled as he feels.

“[Rocky]… What generation suit is that, question ?” Scully’s voice has a curious note to it. It’s the kind you expect for scientific discoveries, not so much ‘my coworker might be having a mental breakdown’. And what’s with the question, anyway? Kind of a non-sequitur…

Rocky pauses, setting a hand back down a touch gentler than the stomp he was clearly aiming for. “… It is the most recent amendment. There is chemical translator… Science Hive wished to test. [Adrian] assisted with translation module. ”

“Kind of lost here,” Grace mumbles.

Scully gives him a soothing trill—though they stop when Rocky hisses again. There’s a brief moment of silence as Scully looks at them both. “Grace, your pheromones are secreted chemical agents, question ?”

“Yep.” Things start making their way through his not-so-dense human skull and suddenly the nonchalant reply feels very inappropriate. “Uh, yes, but I mean that's… oh, shoot. You think…?”

Rocky sways on his feet. The XEVA suit makes delicate little clinks and scrapes as he leans back, pressing into Grace’s legs with a low, happy hum. There’s no way an Eridian would be affected by human pheromones. Those are tailored biological signals meant for Earth atmosphere distribution. Sure, they’re in an Earth-like atmosphere in the dome, but the XEVA suits provide an Erid equivalent for the wearer. Rocky shouldn’t be sensing anything aside from his usual echolocation!

But if this newer suit was made on a whim for better interspecies understanding or whatever… This just became a lot more complicated. And apparently Adrian took part in the creation? Great! This surely won’t make things so much worse. Adrian, please tell me you didn’t make a suit that pushed your mate into a horny fugue state from huffing my human stink.

Scully taps three hands, one after the other, in a slow, thoughtful dance. “… Grace, if you would please follow [Rocky] to the transport dome, question ?”

“Yeah, I, uh—huh?” So eloquent. Truly a paragon of human excellence. He doesn’t even have the excuse of Ilyukhina’s vodka. This is all his own hormonal stupidity.

“[Rocky], I have no amorous intent toward Grace, I assure you.”

Well, thanks, Scully. That clears things up.

Rocky shifts, rubbing against Grace’s legs with a low thrum. Before he can suppress it a response bubbles up in his chest: a breathless, mortifying purr. Okay, now he really wants to go fling himself into the ocean.

Scully clears their throat—well, that’s the human equivalent. Eridians don’t have the structures for something like a cough. It’s more of a percussive, laser-ish sound, kind of like baby alligators. Three baby gators, one after the other. Eridians love a good tripled emphasis. “I believe you are experiencing physiological effects from Grace’s pheromones. [Rocky], you have a close relationship with them. It seems the translator module is encouraging an Eridian equivalent to their heat in your system.”

“Lotta words t’say my rocks gettin’ his rocks off.” Ohhh, things are going downhill so fast. Grace melts forward slowly, bracing his palms on the top of Rocky’s carapace. Rocky hums and lifts into the touch with a warm clucking noise that rattles pleasantly in his ears.

“But… Rock’s—you… no Erid dynamic. Not, uh, didn’t think y’all do?” It’s like the universe is playing keep-away with his language skills.

“We do not, as far as humans understand them,” Scully confirms. How they managed to translate his nonsense is a mystery. “Eridian biology relies on transference of chemical and aural signals, especially in our mating and reproductive behaviours. So while it is highly unlikely in normal circumstances, with a specialized suit and an established relationship…” Their shoulders lift in a shrug; Grace’s fault, probably. No one escapes the human’s dastardly influence.

“Rock, sorry,” he mumbles. Grace pats the XEVA shell and wills himself to regain the strength to not use his friend like a living crutch.

“[Rocky] not sorry,” Rocky replies. Oh boy. He’s definitely experiencing his own degradation. Great! This is a fucking mess.

“But, your mate…” Grace would pull at his hair to show his emotional torment if he still had fine motor control.

Scully regards the two of them, actively shivering and clinging to each other like drunk idiots. They reach out and carefully tap the sand near one of Rocky’s hands. He hisses instantly, the craggy fragments of his vents lifting in a threatening display. It’s like if a mountain was a porcupine or something.

Oh metaphors, you silly creatures. Grace snorts, then stifles a laugh into his arm. Rocky gives a concerned croon and taps nervously at his shins. He’s not as careful as he normally is; there’s a lingering throb of pain beneath each point of contact.

"Grace...” Scully waits for Rocky to finish hissing before they continue. “Eridians mate for life, yes. But a primary pairing is not the only one that can exist.”

“Grace welcome, always,” Rocky slurs. “[Adrian] make suit for me, want… care for Grace.”

Oh. Grace stares, open-mouthed. Oh!! “For me?” He has to ask, even if it makes him feel like a kid with a crush.

Scully sighs: a mid-range drone of subtly clashing notes. A sign of mild annoyance, but nothing leading to true anger. If Scully were human they’d be pinching the bridge of their nose, frustrated at the clumsy inter-species dance. “[Rocky], will you bring Grace to the access port, question? No one will touch them, I promise.”

“Good,” Rocky grumbles. “Mine. My human. Not touch. Bad bad bad.”

Oh, wow. Hearing that is doing some wild things to his body. It’s good he wore his thicker pants today. Not that Eridians don’t know what erections are, but y’know. Time and place. He does his best to pretend ignorance to the constant echolocation awareness of any appendages.

Grace pets the top of one of Rocky’s arms. “Adrian… not mad?” There are more eloquent ways to ask if he’s making his best friend cheat on his mate, but hey! Can’t fight the biology train once it gets going. And his train is soooo far out of the station his pants are sticking to his inner thighs. Yuck.

“Not,” Rocky confirms. “[Adrian] care deeply for Grace. Love [Rocky]. Mate bond strong, much room for human. Both want. Want want want.”

Grace sniffles, overcome with relief. He has the urge to bear hug Rocky with his two, flimsy arms but something warns him if he gets physical now they’re going to end up spending this heat on the beach. And you really only need to fool around like that once to learn that sand is hell. It’s coarse, rough, gets everywhere… Save me Rocky-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope…

Okay, actively bleeding braincells now.

“Yeah. Yup. Me,” Grace confirms. He holds his breath until a bout of hysterical hiccups passes. “I mean me, also. I feel the same. Adrian is a really, really good friend. And you—you’re special, Rock. You know that.”

Rocky warbles a soft noise that curls down his spine like a familiar, three-clawed hand. “I know.”

Rocky hooks one of his legs behind Grace’s calf. It’s remarkably easy to intuit what he wants. Grace doesn’t have any kind of chemical translation module but his brain and body are doing their best to fit Rocky into a helpful biological niche. To put it plainly: everything in Grace wants to roll under his alien friend and present.

Which is freaking bizarre because Grace has historically been, like, the most voluntarily sexless person ever. And to be clear that celibacy is not in a alpha podcast-bro incel way. It’s more of a “intimate relationships take too much energy and sex isn’t a primary focus of my life anyway” kind of way. It’s funny that aliens—one (or two) in particular—are finally what seem worth the effort.

Rocky dips his carapace to their unfortunate eyewitness. “[Scully]… apology. Did not… expect pheromone strength.”

Scully taps two hands together with a gentle clink. They can get heated when the situation requires, but having one calm person in this chaos is a blessing. “Instincts are difficult to overcome. I accept your apology, though it is not needed. You two seem quite compatible. From my research on human mating it seems many individuals favour courting rites before engaging in sexual activity.”

Grace flushes; his heart skips as Rocky’s arms twine with his legs. They’re both thinking things, the majority of which would probably blow past any Earth-censor ratings. So, so many things…

“Your mission to Tau Ceti would qualify, as would these past Earth-years of contact on Erid,” Scully continues. “Yes, I will call ahead to the Xenobiology Hive, if that is amenable. Grace, you do not object if [Rocky] accompanies you in the Cycling Ward, question ?”

One of Rocky’s arms trails up his leg until their hands bump. Ah, of course! He happily takes Rocky’s hand, rubbing a thumb over the xenonite shell coating his fingers. “Mhm. I mean, yes, he’s welcome, obviously.” Deep breaths. He can handle a few more big-boy sentences. “I don’t know how long this, uh, my state will last? I’m not sure what the chemical cocktail did to me in the coma beds. And, u-uh,” he stammers, embarrassed with Rocky’s carapace tilted up at him and Scully clearly taking mental notes on this interaction.

“Heats usually require…” Oh god, he can’t just say it offhand. Hands… Puppet show! Yeah, that’ll work. He holds up a clenched fist and presses it against his lower belly. As if reminded of their empty state, his insides give an agonizing little squeeze. Hey, idiot: fill this already.

“Fist bump, question ?” Rocky trills, apparently still pheromone-drunk. He staggers a little when he taps a foot to mark the question.

“Rock, c’mon,” Grace whines. It’s a pitiful sound, something that makes his body squirm for lack of attention. “A… A knot, okay? It’s a, uh… band of tissue at the base of a penetrative partner’s genitals that… um, it swells up. Key meets lock, and all that. Receptive human omegas usually need internal physical stimulation for relief from their mating cycle. Uh, their heats. And if you’re an alpha, putting that knot in someone else that is what, um, does the trick.”

“We have assistive technology,” Scully assures him. Oh good, he wasn’t the only one making sex-tech. Great! “Your thinking-machines have been very helpful for the Mating Branch’s preparations. If [Rocky] joins you as a temporary pair-bond in the ward, they can assist in any procedures to meet your needs.”

“Oh,” Grace croaks. He’s heard both those words before but in slightly different contexts and tonal arrangements. It takes a bit for him to understand the new, conjoined meaning. Rocky hums, low and hungry, against his hip. “Great. Yeah. Pair-bond.” He has no idea what that all entails but there’s a rabid dog in his mind running circles and whining at the prospect. If it’s anything like Earth concepts of bonding, he’s going to be one happy camper.

“More courting after,” Rocky promises. “[Adrian] make timeline. Grace will like. Much care, we explore Erid together. Not be alone. Very very very eager learn satisfy all needs.”

They planned how to romance him? And they want to… ‘satisfy’ him? This is the most baffling, heart-warming, and horny thing he’s ever experienced. His eyes are hot again; Rocky makes a startled sound when a few tears land on the top of his suit.

“Grace not like courting plan, question? [Rocky] can adjust! No timeline, no pressure, none none none,” he babbles. Two arms twine around the backs of Grace’s thighs, pulling him closer. “Want Grace, but will not upset. Care much. Too much to lose.”

“[Rocky],” Scully admonishes, “let them answer.” It’s said in a kindly, parental tone but Rocky wilts at the reminder. It’s kind of a relief not to be the only nervous blabbermouth.

“Rocky,” Grace mumbles, suddenly shy. Geez, put a guy on the spot, why don’t you… If he thinks about how many Eridians are probably listening to Biodome feeds for genuine maintenance purposes versus those who just enjoy his human drama, he’ll probably melt into a humiliated puddle. A puddle the Hive will have to scrape up to bring to the hospital, ward—whatever.

“I like your plan. Very you. Thoughtful.” Yes! Brain, don’t fail me now. “So you and Adrian wanna try vacation sex, huh?” …You have failed me, brain.

“Eridians do not usually mate away from home,” Scully muses.

The tide is higher on the beach. The Ocean branch of the Biodome Hive is very particular about matching San Francisco’s historic tidal heights. The furthest part of the surf has just begun lapping at their feet. The water is still a bit cool for his tastes but a cold plunge sounds like heaven. Did he always have hot flashes on his cycle? Maybe it’s the dregs of the whole unknown chemical cocktail messing with his system. Yeah, let's go with that.

“Hm. We will need to consult the Science Hive, but I am sure the Cycling Ward study will help build a suitable understanding of human needs so you may mate with Grace in private.”

“Not need privacy,” Rocky insists. “Will prove interest in Grace if Hive questions commitment.”

“Uh, Grace is not an exhibitionist!”

“I do not understand this word,” Scully says. “Is this part of transgressive human sexual practices, question? Your device archives—”

“Wikipedia,” Grace moans in despair. Of course! Darn you humans for putting so much not-safe-for-work knowledge on those laptops.

“Ah, yes! Exposing one’s body in public. Also enjoying a partner intimately in the presence of others,” Scully recalls. They always tap two fingers against the academic crests carved on their leg when they consult the vast repository of their accumulated knowledge. It’s kind of mortifying to know they’ve dedicated brain-space to human sex stuff.

“Yes yes,” Rocky says, dipping his carapace in a nod. “Kinks! I have read. [Adrian] says there are tests for compatibility.”

Rocky nuzzles Grace’s knee, then slides a hand to the back of his thigh. Oh god. Too much—not enough… He really isn’t a PDA enthusiast but Rocky seems very much in favour. His heat-brain has no such qualms: his pants are doing a good impression of the Everglades in the seat. Great.

“Grace have kinks, question ?” Rocky caresses his thigh as he continues in that same, amorous tone. “Will include in plans. Normal mating acceptable also, in meantime, question ?”

Grace puts both hands in his hair to yank at the roots with a hysterical laugh. There is nothing normal about any of this. Eridians are both intensely private and surprisingly straightforward. Years on the planet and he’s still learning more about his—apparently very horny—hosts. Eating? Appalling to bring up in public, you obscene deviant. Screwing your friends? All hands on board! Hey, let’s do some science and Internet BDSM quizzes, too.

“[Rocky], focus,” Scully insists. “Grace, hold [Rocky’s] hand. The Xenobiology Hive is waiting with your transport. Their Mating Branch has readied the first imaging machines; they wish to have full body as well as internal scans. You two can speak more when Grace is between bouts.”

Ah yes, ‘you can chat between rounds of sex’. A very casual thing to say. Still, there’s something about an older person giving clear-cut instructions that puts Grace in auto-complete mode. Scully has the attitude down pat; it’s easy to set aside his racing thoughts for the simplicity of submission.

Though he does have to do some astrophage calculations to keep from having Mental Breakdown Part Two when his body catches up to the reality of that word. Submission. Grace loves his autonomy, but he’s learnt how to trust and open up the longer he’s been on Erid. His final memories of Earth are of being kidnapped and forcibly drugged, so forgive him for trusting the aliens more. Kind of ironic that it took living on an alien planet to help him figure out how to be a better human.

Younger Grace would’ve shouted himself to exhaustion over his dynamic being discussed in front of him. That Grace was also ready to climb a Baikonur perimeter fence to escape space-conscription, so… yeah. Age has given him some tact, but the feral urge to flee will always live inside him. It’s like a particularly unwelcome house guest, peering around corners and making ominous noises when the place gets a bit too active for its taste. Maybe that urge can be satisfied in more productive ways in future. He does recall hearing about Eridian ‘mate-hunt’ culture…

They head across the dome toward the airlock, where the ‘detachable bubble’ is waiting. It’s reminiscent of the xenonite hamster ball Rocky used aboard the Hail Mary, but much larger and with less friction on the surface so he doesn’t get stuck. Actually, it looks like there's some kind of… ah. Four wheels and a few tether points on the outside. Yup. They built him a little space-wagon. Not very dignified, but it makes sense. It’s easy for an Eridian to move a big xenonite sphere under the full pressure of the planet’s atmosphere. For Grace, it would be like trying to drag a hippo through a cactus patch.

The metaphors are devolving. Definitely time to get a move on.

A small cluster of scientists lurks near the meeting room’s walls. Their carapaces perk up one by one, some prodding their comrades’ arms as Grace comes into view. Rocky’s pace slows considerably to match his stumbling attempt at autonomous walking. Various noises of concern echo through the barrier, but Scully sharply waves a claw to dismiss them. Grace is pretty sure he sees them gesture to Rocky as well, but admittedly his focus is a little shot.

“The gang’s all here,” he mumbles in a sing-song voice.

Rocky makes a harsh, ear-piercing noise and the nearest scientists skitter back from the wall. Scully twists their carapace so another, craggier face looks back at Rocky. Probably some kind of admonishment, giving him a dirty look or something.

Hm… He knows about the family crests, wedding ‘rings’, and things like a mission patch carved into the limbs and bodies of some Eridians. Their emotional cues are all based on sound and echolocation. Maybe there are some folk who like to have specific segments of their carapace marked for emphasis or something? If he had five faces he’d definitely customize each for optimal conversational ease.

“Could definitely… do an 8-ball theme,” he slurs. “Uh, five ball? Penta—pants—pentag… five, five faces. Yup.” He waves to the scientists, shushing Rocky when he tugs unhappily on their linked hands. “Hellooo Erid!”

“No need say hi,” Rocky mutters.

“Alright, Mr. Grumpyrock,” Grace teases. He lurches to one side before stumbling back and sort of oozing over Rocky’s carapace. “Some of us are—” He hiccups and drunkenly salutes the now visibly confused scientists slowly creeping back toward the wall. “—social butterflies!”

“Your human is unwell, question ?” One of the group marches a step away from the others, tapping on both the wall and the meeting room’s floor to get a better look. “These are human mating cycle effects, question? There is a significant cognitive decline.”

Rocky lurches forward, lifting his carapace—and Grace—higher in the air. “Grace smart. Best scientist. Save Earth, save Erid. Not decline.”

The scientist tilts to one side, clearly disagreeing with the assessment. Before Rocky can escalate Scully stamps across the meeting room, drawing the bulk of the attention from Grace. “Grace and [Rocky] have formed a ♪♪♬♪♩♫,” they announce, to a brief, riotous burst of music from behind the barrier.

Grace blinks, willing his brain to puzzle through that last word. He heard it earlier, he’s sure Scully said it to him. His brain just will not locate the notes in his mental dictionary. Not really surprising given how messed up the hormone surge has him, but still. He’s a scientist, gosh darnit! He’s spent literal years learning the Eridian language. (One dialect, at least). Sure, if he starts exploring a new subject like some niche science outside his field, or encounters such an Eridian-specific topic a human wouldn’t naturally come upon it, he can get smacked upside the head with a bunch of new words. New things come up, but it happens less and less.

He should ask Rocky about it. And let Scully and the other members of his medical team know, too. They’d probably be really interested in the changes a human’s brain and body go through during a mating cycle. Some of those questions will obviously be answered when they head to the Cycling Ward, but just like Grace doesn’t always know to ask about Erid-specific things, the Eridians might not know to ask him things, too. If he’s going to be a test subject, he should be a darn good one.

“Soo, fun fact,” he slurs. The orchestra around him comes to an instant, ringing silence.

Rocky twitches, uttering low notes that buzz pleasantly through his body. “What fun, question ?” He lifts a few of his shoulders, rubbing against Grace’s sides and legs like a strange, multi-limbed massage. Oh, wow. The idea of an Eridian massage is doing some more fun things to his body.

“New thing happen Grace, question ?” Rocky trills eagerly, tapping his hands in a slow cyclical pattern. “You blood flow change, go down, inside. Make wet.” Rocky pauses, perhaps sensing Grace’s embarrassment. “Make more wet.”

He did not, in fact, pick up on Grace’s desire to keep some things private. Also he‘s listening in on Grace‘s sexual functions, which should be infuriating but instead it‘s just embarrassing (and kind of hot). Apparently giving the go-ahead to the study means everything’s on the table. Good… that’s. Yeah. Good to know. Well, here goes nothing. Sorry, other scientists, but you quite literally asked for this.

“The first fun fact,” Grace says, managing a small smile at Rocky. A happy purr escapes, radiating down through the suit. Rocky shudders at the vibration. “Oh, wow, Rock. You like my voice that much? Good to know,” he muses. He strokes a hand down one of Rocky’s legs, grinning when he practically whines as Grace taps his way back up to his carapace.

“Fun facts, Grace, question ?”

Ah, Scully. They’re such a good sport about all this. He’ll have to get them something after as a thank you. Rocky and Adrian will have good ideas about what they might like. Probably something Earth or Grace related. Eridians are understandably greedy for alien information. Speaking of greed, it should be interesting to see if Rocky’s newfound possessiveness continues after this cycle. A secret, guilty part of him hopes it will. Obviously they’ll have to talk and lay out some ground rules, boundaries, and the like… Huh. Guess he does have a few kinks after all.

“Grace give fact now,” Rocky demands. “Scientists stubborn, want know.”

“Psshhh,” Grace retorts, hissing a silly noise. The Eridians flinch at the sound, twisting back and forth on their claws. “Sorry! That’s just… um, a rude noise. Not—not a word. Uh.” Grace clears his throat. Think, idiot… Right! Fun facts. “Okay, two fun facts,” he babbles.

The scientists lean closer to the wall. Rocky’s vents flutter in his suit. He’s probably getting close to needing a change at this point. He needs a lot of atmosphere and there’s not a lot of space in the suit to keep things fresh. Eridians can handle a bunch of pressure and don’t need to exchange a lot of ‘air’ with the outside, but every living thing needs to breathe in some fashion. There are little atmosphere recharge stations in Grace’s house for when Rocky wants to hang out longer, but they didn’t get around to visiting any of those before this whole debacle.

“Grace much distract,” Rocky grumbles.

“You’re distracting me!”

Rocky squirms and makes a discordant jumble of notes. He’s embarrassed but pleased, too. Grace’s stomach feels warm—warmer than it should. Ah, cramps. He thunks his head into the top of Rocky’s carapace. This alloy of xenonite doesn’t transfer the same level of heat that Earth materials would, but it’s still pleasantly warm. He’ll have to ask Rocky to lay a couple of his arms over his belly later to see if it helps. He’s got five of them, after all. He can use the other three however he wants while Grace gets cozy. Mmm… yeah, however he wants.

“Body more warm,” Rocky notes, slyly.

“Shuuuuush,” Grace mumbles. His lips brush the xenonite. It’s warm on his mouth, like Rocky is kissing him back through the suit. Keep it together.

“Fff… fun fact,” he manages to say. His thoughts twist in ridiculous, horny patterns but Grace focuses long enough to retrace back to what he originally wanted to say. “So… I know you said that word earlier on the beach, Scully. But when you said it again here my mind just went kaput.” Grace mimes an explosion between his hands, complete with mouth noises.

Rocky dips beneath him in a nod. He, at least, always appreciates a good visual example. Whether Scully does or does not appreciate it, Grace can’t tell. Their poker face/voice is impeccable. “You could not recall the word, question ?”

“Yup. I mean no! No, I couldn’t remember it.” He’s sweating. Like literally dripping down his neck and making little sizzling splats on the top of Rocky’s suit. Ok, maybe he’s just imagining the sizzle. The xenonite doesn’t radiate that much heat, otherwise Grace would already have some wicked burns from sprawling on top of Rocky.

“Hm… has this happened before, question ?”

“Grace memory not work like Eridian,” Rocky confides to the room in a stage-whisper.

“Hey,” Grace complains. He can’t hide his smile, though. He always appreciates when Rocky uses humour.

“Yes, yes. Grace ears work even if brain does not.”

“Hey!”

“Focus.” Scully’s voice is a little sharper now, some impatience finally showing. Grace is surprised it took this long, honestly. He and Rocky are a little vomit-worthy when they get going.

“Right, yes! Uh, so there was a second fun fact…” His gaze drifts across the room, taking note of the various scientists murmuring in low notes to one another. A few appear to be speaking into some kind of device, maybe recording their observation notes? Whoa, body… calm down ! Apparently he has that whole ‘being watched’ kink after all. Rocky’s gonna be so smug about it, ugh.

His face is hot with embarrassment as the second fact finally springs up in his mind. “Um, so Rocky noticed—”

“Rocky always notice Grace,” Rocky coos.

“—that my blood flow changed earlier,” Grace continues, willing himself not to writhe on top of his friend. He really should get up and stand by himself, but he’s sort of… straddling one of Rocky’s legs at the moment? Well, the shoulder, really, and his legs are just hanging out at weird angles his knees are starting to protest. The point being: Grace is getting a lot of unintentional friction in some really bad (good) places.

“Um. That’s a trait of human arousal. When someone’s ready to uh, mate…” He swallows a ridiculous flood of saliva as Rocky’s legs shift beneath him. One shoulder sways between his legs, brushing at the hollow space behind his dick. He’s basically a mildly-contained waterfall at this point. At least the scientists will have lots of stuff to run tests on.

“Blood flow changes. Your temperature rises and some parts of your body relax while others tense up. Some humans don’t have the same anatomy as me. They have more external, uh… swelling to show their arousal.”

“Grace have swelling,” Rocky says, helpfully. “Grace have penis, question ?”

Wow, he is so glad he explained his anatomy on the Hail Mary to his voyeuristic shipmate. “Yes,” he grits out, wilfully ignoring the scientists skittering closer and craning their carapaces at different angles to look at him. Too bad he’s still got all these unhelpful clothes on, messing with their echolocation. They can probably still hear exactly what Rocky’s referring to, though. Likely already adding the sound of his blood flow and swollen equipment to their understanding of human arousal.

Sorry, Earth. You get the horny exophile omega dude as your primary sex example. Shouldn't have sent him out here to die alone if you wanted a better spokesperson!

“Oh,” Rocky says, suddenly. His carapace dips; Grace sags down with him. “Apology. I know answer, but Grace not want give answer so sudden.”

Grace sighs and pats the side of Rocky’s carapace. “It’s okay, Rock. They were gonna hear about it eventually. You just skipped a few minutes of me being an embarrassed idiot, first.”

“Grace not idiot,” Rocky grumbles. “Grace aroused, want do sex. Brain go slower while blood go penis, but Grace still not idiot.”

“Uh. Thanks, bud.” That’s probably the worst combination of words Grace has heard yet, but Rocky meant it earnestly. Hey all your blood took a road trip to your dick, but I still think you’re somewhat smart! So sweet, really.

“Um.” There are so many Eridians ‘staring’ at him it’s eerie. “Yeah, so I’m sure you guys can already see—hear, what I look like…”

Don’t think about Rocky using his texture camera on your dick. Or your cunt.

Part of his mind quails at the vulgar words, but they seem to occupy a different mental space than his self-imposed restriction on cursing. He doesn’t, or didn’t, discuss sexual anatomy with his students. That was reserved for high school sexual education health classes. As a middle school teacher he was spared that mortifying process. Plus, thinking explicit words is a lot different than saying them aloud. Which, considering how vocal Eridian culture is, he’s probably going to be asked to describe a whole lot of anatomy once they’re in the ward and he’s got a lot less clothes on. Great. Yup. He is totally ready to do that.

“Our imaging machines will assist in gaining a greater appreciation of your anatomy. For now, our concern is with your overall health and state of mind.”

Scully, you absolute blessing among aliens. Grace could kiss them, but he gets the feeling Rocky wouldn’t like that. Okay, his heart started pounding there, so apparently he has a thing for someone getting possessive over him. He already knew that from the beach but it’s more obvious by the second. Even his own thoughts are hammering the point home. All Rocky’s doing is standing there like an elegant, craggy pillar for Grace to rut himself stupid on. Mmm… that’s a good idea… Once they’re done some of the imaging maybe he can see how far Rocky’s willing to ‘assist’ him in that pair-bond role. Ah, that was the word! Pair-bond!

“I remembered the word!”

Rocky wriggles under him, lifting two claws to make jazz-hands. “See, question? Grace brain do good things… Sometimes.”

Scully emits a P.E. teacher style whistle. “[Rocky], stop teasing Grace.”

For now, goes unsaid. Everyone knows Rocky is involved with him at this point. And if they haven’t figured it out just yet, they’re going to in… however long it takes to get to the Cycling Ward. Wherever that is.

“Uh… so I think probably now is a good time to head out on ye olde horny pilgrimage.” Grace tries to inject some cheer into his voice, but from the tilting carapaces it’s clear he’s only confused the scientists. And Scully… and Rocky. Whoops. He always forgets what human nonsense he has or hasn’t translated.

“What last word, question ?”

There’s no way he’s going to divert the conversation from “let’s go bang out this mating cycle” to explain human religious migrations and all the related political and cultural positives and negatives. “Later, Rock. Tell your guys to keep a list for when my brain is good again.”

Rocky trills a laugh. Grace vaguely hears someone offer to take notes specifically on new human concepts revealed throughout the study. Probably an anthropologist; human or Eridian, those folks love a good cultural deep-dive.

Perhaps sensing the positive turn of Grace and Rocky’s moods, Scully raps the floor for attention. “Observation team. Those who have specific experiments—” A few Eridians lift themselves a touch higher and offer quick notes of acknowledgement. “—please ensure your assistants are ready to begin when we arrive. You may meet us at the Ward, or accompany Grace along the way.”

Okay. Things are moving. He’s about to leave his dome for the first time in years. This is totally fine. He is definitely not panicking. Why is this worse than the biology seminar at the theatre? That was a big open space, which should’ve been ten times as scary as some nondescript medical building purpose-built for his squishy self!

“Grace heart do big leaps.” Rocky lifts a leg to nudge Grace’s arm where it hangs over the edge of his carapace.

“I’m nervous,” Grace admits. “I trust you. And the other scientists, of course. I’m just a little unnerved.” With the anxiety making a reappearance some of his words are returning. He’s still slower than he’d normally be, though.

“[Rocky] not leave Grace alone,” Rocky promises. “Will walk beside, keep hand on bubble.”

Grace manages a smile. “Thanks, Rock.”

Scully trots from the wall and gestures to another xenonite panel. “We will go into the airlock, and [Rocky] will assist you into the bubble.” They pause, lifting one hand slightly before setting it down with a firm tap. “Grace, we have made this dome with thicker xenonite for your safety, as well as increased privacy.”

Panic twists in his gut. He clutches the tops of two of Rocky’s shoulders to push himself upright. “Will I still be able to see Rocky?”

Scully twists a claw in a brief jazz-hand. “You may be able to light-sense them, but ambient noise will not go into your bubble.” Perhaps they can hear Grace’s heart-rate increasing because their voice takes on a soothing hum. “If [Rocky] maintains physical contact with the surface they will be able to hear you. It will be faint, but they will hear.”

So, a bit of sensory deprivation… Grace can handle that. Probably. But he didn’t bring any of his flashlights and it’s not like Erid put up streetlights when he moved in. It’s going to be who-knows-how-long a transit in god only knows how much pitch black, boiling, high-pressure air.

“Grace need light,” Rocky insists. His voice is no-nonsense, authoritative and confident. Grace shivers as it hums through his bones.

Scully nods, dipping their carapace in the human-inherited gesture. “The materials team spoke with the Biodome Hive when Grace agreed to the study. Our goal is to observe their natural behaviours, not induce new, stress-related ones.”

“Grace already have stress,” Rocky grumbles. “Many voices. Much new place. Human mating need familiarity. Safety.”

“Then it is good they have you to provide those things.”

Rocky croons something low and unintelligible as Grace’s stupid hormones force a pleased trill past his clenched teeth. Several Eridians chirp and sing to the devices in their hands, obviously taking rigorous notes on the budding interspecies bond.

“Come. [Rocky], this bubble is similar to the sphere you made on the [Hail Mary],” Scully explains, gesturing for them to follow.

Grace finally slips partway off Rocky’s carapace. He has to brace himself on two of Rocky’s arms when his vision does a black-line disco for a few moments, however. Rocky strokes one xenonite-blunted hand along Grace’s forearm. It isn’t lost on him that Rocky’s rubbing his scar. His mark.

“I am here. Grace not alone.”

“Yeah, I know.” He’s getting sappy in his old age. Not that he’s really following natural aging processes given the multiple years of time-dilated travel (and whatever pharmacological shenanigans his care team is doing), but who’s counting? The point is: he never expected to find a partner. He thought he couldn’t feel what Rocky’s been making him feel.

I think it’s been you for a long time. It just took a while for my body to catch up. That’s not something Grace is willing to share with the other scientists. At least not for the first time he says anything about feelings. He’s normally kind of subdued, at least on the romantic side of things. The few people he’s been with felt more like intimate acquaintances than lovers or romantic partners. There was always some kind of barrier—and no, he doesn’t mean condoms or dental dams or whatever. (But yes, if you must know: Grace was always a stout practitioner of Safe Sex).

Again, kind of ironic that it took meeting a literal alien to figure out he could love someone after all. He isn’t broken, like his girlfriend shouted when they finally split up. Lots of people have told him he isn’t exactly easy to love (or even like). Then Rocky came along and it all just… flowed. Sure there were awkward moments but that was because of the species difference. They were, and still are, friends before anything else. Grace didn’t make Rocky’s acquaintance because he felt some weird obligation to have sex or flirt like social situations always seemed to require. They met and worked with each other for survival purposes. The friendship was natural. This new romance… Incidental? Sure. Surprising? Obviously. Welcome? Yeah… So, so, so welcome.

It doesn’t feel like an obligation. There’s no weird gender or dynamic expectations to work through and somehow still feel some type of interest in sex or intimacy. There’s just Grace and Rocky… aaand some thirty odd Eridian voyeurs.

When he actually thinks about the reality of the study it gets a bit much. At least from a scientific perspective there are fewer unknowns to worry about. Grace has done science his whole life. It makes sense he’d be more comfortable with sex if it’s got something to do with science. Eridians are so utterly different to humans, everything will be new. It will be a ‘first time’ in the most literal sense. And, just as they’re taking notes on him, he can take notes on them in return. Well, notes on one person in particular. He really hopes Rocky isn’t accompanying him just to watch and offer encouragement. For once he’s actually looking forward to being touched.

Touch… Oh, god, yeah. A hug? Rocky probably gives incredible hugs. He could easily push Grace over onto his back and crawl up, nestle against his chest and cuddle… And Rocky has multiple arms, so it’s entirely possible he’ll decide to explore, to push his legs and arms aside and admire every bit of him. And all the while, Grace will be warm and safe. He’ll have someone just for him.

Grace isn’t really a small guy. Compared to many Eridians he’s big and weird. Adrian is a bit of an outlier given their greater size, but they still think Grace is a weirdo. (They’ve said so many times, with great affection). But for his weird human instincts, something about Rocky makes him feel small. Not in a shameful way. Just… it’s like when you look at someone and realize how good you’d fit together.

Hello, sexy alien jigsaw puzzle. I’ve found some nice rocky pieces to try out. It doesn’t matter if he and Rocky don’t exactly ‘fit’ at first. It takes humans a long time to figure out how to do sex in a satisfying, personalized way, too. Grace feels… excited. There’s science on the horizon, and sex, and curiosity, and Rocky. And maybe Adrian, too, if they decide they want in on the horizontal tango business.

“—ensure they are ready to proceed, question ?”

“Yes, I check.” Rocky leans away from Scully toward Grace.

Eridians don’t need to turn around to see, and whatever ‘face’ they choose to hold nearest to their conversation partner doesn’t seem to have a species-wide meaning. But Grace knows Rocky’s mannerisms. He’s spent long enough watching him sleep on the Hail Mary that he recognizes each bumpy line and craggy protrusion.

One face has more texture than the others, its surface almost looks fractured. He’s pretty sure that’s the side that took the brunt of the impact from the Adrian mission. A few of his legs are a bit rougher looking than the others, too. Grace hasn’t outright asked, but he knows those scars only showed up after they went their separate ways. Rocky got pretty banged up trying to fix his taumoeba infestation. It’s not exactly a fun topic to bring up.

Anyway, Grace’s heart does a fun little pitter-patter when he realizes the ‘face’ Rocky’s using to talk to him is the one scarred by their Adrian mission. There’s guilt, of course, but there’s also a nearly painful amount of fondness. Okay, the word fond just makes him think of like, Pride & Prejudice or something. It’s very posh. All hoity-toity. He snorts at the idea of trying to explain any of that slang to his Eridian hosts.

Warm pressure pats his hand. “We ready for transport,” Rocky tells him. “I explain ball while you get in.”

Grace manages a nod. His emotions are all over the place right now. Rocky can probably hear his blood and heart doing weird things but Eridian hearing is blessedly not advanced enough to observe thoughts. It probably says something about Grace’s sexual preferences that he feels slightly disappointed they can’t do like, a mind-meld or something. Haha, oh man—Rocky role-playing Spock! Now there’s an idea…

Captain Grace, your actions are illogical. You are sexually compromised.

And how would you know that, Mr. Rock ?

Your heart rate has increased, Captain. Your face turns low-frequency-light when your light-sensors focus on me. It is especially apparent when you and I interact directly.

You sure know how to woo a man, Mr. Rock.

Rocky knows what role-play is. It’s basically their puppet shows but with added physical interaction. There, another thing for Grace’s post study kink list!

“Grace, question? Take hand.” Ah, Rocky. Real Rocky, not the strange Star Trek costume wearing approximation in his head.

Rocky holds out one of his arms. The claws are splayed open and held upright for him to hold how he likes. It’s a bit awkward with the five versus three fingers, but hey, Star Trek role-play already coming in handy! Grace splays his fingers in a Vulcan salute and weaves their hands together with ease.

Rocky’s breathing gets a little heavier as they walk, hands linked and brushing companionably against each other. “[Rocky] like this,” he confides, as Scully taps at a panel set in a mottled portion of the xenonite wall. “Touching Grace is… happy. Happy happy happy !” His voice trails off into an elated squeak.

It‘s still weird feeling fond and horny in the same breath, but Grace is doing his best to roll with the punches. “I like it, too. I’ve always wondered what it would be like if you could really touch me.”

Rocky perks up, but instead of getting jittery and bouncy he goes still and attentive. Grace can just barely hear the edge of high frequency notes as Rocky takes a good look at him. Some wild, ridiculous part of him thinks about doing something bold, but the most he manages is shuffling one leg a little farther away from the other. Yup. So subtle. How ever will his daring alien paramour resist him?

Rocky titters. His carapace vibrates with excitement. “You…”

“Me,” Grace says, helpfully.

Rocky’s hand tightens around his. Not enough to hurt, but plenty enough for the heat to bleed through the XEVA suit. It’s like touching a heater you’ve just turned on. There’s a sense of approaching danger but a wild curiosity urges you to hold on. To see how much you can take. Not for the pain or for the sake of any kind of injury or self-harm. Just… curiosity.

I wonder how easy I’d bruise if he touched me how he wanted.

Does he think about the scar he left on me? Has he read about human mate bonding practices ?

Is the scar enough for me, or do I want more ?

From his own Internet deep-dives, Grace is aware of human subcultures like piercing, body-modification, and other ancillary kink-related communities. Some folks really like to see just how much they can customize their bodies. He never even had his ears pierced and he’s wondering on the logistics of getting, well—branded for fun.

Scarification, that’s the word. Lots of humans do it. Plenty of cultures see it as a rite of passage. Something sacred. Something personal. Rocky has his mission crest, his family crest, and his mark from mating with Adrian all on his legs. Eridians aren’t so dissimilar to humans in that regard. Rocky would probably flip out if Grace asked about an interspecies mark. Maybe it would turn to curiosity and a rush of science to figure out how to do it safely. Or maybe this would be a hard ‘no’ and Grace would have to stifle his interest for fear of… Actually, what is there to fear? He’s the only human on Erid. His Eridian friends are literal aliens and their only metric for human normalcy is Grace. And he’s a bit of a freak, to be honest.

A nerd, an idiot, a loner, an inventor, a scientist, a loudmouth, a human, an omega… How do you distill everything a person is into one or two words? It all changes so much, so often. And here Grace is, about to head through another big change.

First mating cycle on an alien planet. First time having sex with an alien. First time being an experiment.

“Through here, Grace.” Scully is as unflappable as ever. Grace is grateful they interrupted his mental spiral. Really, he is. He totally wasn’t enjoying another weird Rocky-based fantasy. He is a paragon of professionalism—and his pants are certainly not a clingy, clammy mess.

Scully steps into the airlock ahead of Rocky and Grace. They seem committed to ignoring the mental and sexual degradation happening a few feet behind them. Rocky follows, gently tugging Grace along with him.

A human-sized hamster ball lays in two tessellated halves in the airlock. Beside the ball is a table with an assortment of syringe-like items. Probably adhesive for the Grace-ball. One of the halves has a slightly bulky rectangle pinned against the inside. It’s made of clear xenonite, as is nearly everything the Eridians make when it comes to Grace, but the material almost seems blurred. Come to think of it, nearly all of the panels look distorted. Like really wavy sea-glass or something.

“These will repel most frequencies,” Scully explains. “You will not be completely unheard, but you will be difficult to focus on. Our senses prefers stillness to preserve aural quality. As we travel toward the ward, our pace, as well as the density and distortion of the bubble’s panels, should significantly limit the public’s hearing.”

Oh boy. Grace swallows. He circles the halves of the bubble, running the Eridian word for ‘public’ over in his mind like a taunting song. Who would even want to see him? It’s not like he has much to offer. Too big, too loud, leaky, from space, no chance of offspring, alarmingly interdependent with the sole surviving astronaut of Erid’s astrophage mission… There are a lot of negatives, none of which do a great job hyping him up to be stared at while he’s dragged around for science.

Rocky prods the back of his leg. It’s more of a smack on the edge of his butt, which Grace most certainly does not react to. He whirls around, planting hands on his hips and staggering to keep his balance as vertigo—and Erid’s gravity—makes itself known. “Hey!”

Rocky gazes up at him, one leg still hovering between them. “Grace distract. Again.” He uses such a put-upon tone Grace has to fight to hide a smile. Rocky waves two legs: one to the Wall of Scientist-Voyeurs, the other to the bubble. “Need get in. We do checks in Grace atmosphere before go outside.”

Once again, science is easier to focus on than any personal nonsense. “Right, right.” He rounds the two halves, pursing his lips as he decides how best to get inside.

“Make small,” Rocky suggests. He taps two hands on the ground to ensure he has Grace’s attention before demonstrating. Rocky tucks all five limbs neatly against his carapace, then sinks toward the ground. He looks like a craggy, loafing cat.

“Cute!”

Rocky’s legs shoot out and he lifts himself back to his full height in the blink of an eye. Whatever pheromone daze he’s working through, Rocky is still unfairly fast. Well, it is his native environment, save for the Earth-air. The high gravity does nothing to impede his movements. Lucky duck... rock. Oh! Duck-shaped Rocky rock! Yup yup yup! Man, Stratt better have put Land Before Time in the media archives, that's one thousand percent a post-heat emotional catharsis movie. Plus, Rocky freaking loves anything dinosaurs.

“Grace brain think stupid things,” Rocky notes.

“That’s why you love me.” His face immediately burns as a not-so-subtle barrage of Eridian attention focuses on him. Grace would like to sink through the floor now, please.

Rocky taps the floor excitedly before managing to stay still. He makes a high, squeaky noise just at the edge of Grace’s hearing. “Yes yes yes! Much love—Grace distract, again !” Rocky twists to give Grace one of the craggier ‘faces’ of his carapace. He even balls a fist and shakes it in the air for emphasis. Mister Serious Rock, huh. Guess they’ll be talking about the Big L later.

“You get in ball now,” Rocky insists.

Scully lifts one half of the dome with ease, keeping it steady with two outstretched arms. They’re a touch larger than Rocky, with a significantly broader arm-span. It’s not too dissimilar to the dome they used to transport him to the Biology seminar, aside from the reduced size and the lack of self-driven ambulation. Undoubtedly the Dome and Xenobiology Hives learned all they needed then to update specifications for subsequent trips. It’s clear they didn’t make any allowances for Eridian companions inside the ball.

Wonder if Rocky made a stink over that… It’s a pleasant but dangerous thought. His brain is currently teetering on a horny cliff. He doesn’t want to see how easy he’ll crack if he starts mooning over Rocky again.

Grace ducks to get under the top curve of the ball. As he shuffles forward, Rocky offers two of his claws as support: one at his back and the other providing a sturdy shelf to grasp. Together, they manage to settle Grace somewhat-comfortably inside the dome. There’s actually a sneaky horizontal panel of transparent xenonite at the perfect height for him to sit on. That’s a relief, he thought he was going to have to sit cross-legged in the bottom like a kid in a wagon at a theme park. Not very dignified for a grown man en route to his Sex Den!

Grace rolls his eyes when Rocky squawks as a third Eridian—one of Scully’s assistants—appears and rolls the second half of the dome over to the first. Their suit is clearly an earlier generation, but even with the reduced dexterity they move with ease. They wave an arm at Rocky to indicate he should get out of the way but Rocky bristles, vents flaring with a hiss.

“Rocky!” Grace calls, before Scully has to abandon holding their half of the dome up to prevent an Incident. Rocky twitches, sinking with a low whine. “C’mon bud, they’ve gotta seal me in. Come help Scully hold up this side, okay?”

“Am [watching] you,” Rocky grumbles, lifting a hand and pointing two claws at his carapace before jabbing them at Scully’s assistant.

Grace covers his mouth and feigns a cough. He shouldn’t encourage this grouchy ‘My Human’ mode, but come on. How do you not laugh at something like that?

“[Rocky], get light device for Grace.” Scully points at the table beside the many adhesive syringes, where a blocky cylinder lays on its side.

Oh thank god, a flashlight. Grace gives Scully two thumbs-down and a big grin. He’s feeling a little nauseous at the moment, so he’s saving his talking energy for later. He’s not sure if it’s from anxiety or hormones, but it’s definitely a mood killer. Nothing to make you lose the will to flirt like trying not to upchuck. If Grace got sick it would derail the entire study. All the conclusions would just be: humans are disgust, much leak, voiding self from many orifices, recommend launch from nearest airlock, statement.

Rocky skitters back to the ball, holding the flashlight above his head in two claws like some kind of divine object. It puts an end to Grace’s mental pity party, at least. Rocky is kind of a wizard at sensing when his mood dips. Spending years confined together on a spaceship naturally erases interpersonal boundaries. Rocky doesn’t have a human sense of shame around bouts of depression. He’s a fixer, not a moper. Another of his many, many good points.

For example, in Year Two of their trip—when Grace’s health began its slow decline and all he wanted to do was bed-rot—Rocky led a mutiny. In reality, he teamed up with Armando and Mary to harass Grace into the Don’t Go Crazy Room so Rocky could perform all he’d learned of 80’s jazzercize. It was a very enthusiastic display, with much yelling of “pump it up, command!” and “Grace feel muscles burn yet, question ?” Rocky even made himself a set of xenonite dumbbells for accuracy. Five limbs, hundreds of years old, and crushing a sixty minute program without water breaks? Take that Jane Fonda. No one does dance fitness like an Eridian.

Rocky hands the flashlight over, chirping a laugh when Grace turns it on and immediately blinds himself. Ugh. Listen, he’s smart about some things, but when he’s distracted he does stupid crap. Things like smelling the inside of a strange alien cylinder when he finally figures out the left-handed threading. What can he say, Grace loves an idiot moment.

Rocky scuttles around to Scully’s side of the ball. Scully, the most saintly of Eridians, makes no mention of his behaviour toward their assistant. Their metric for ‘behaviours caused by humans’ is probably massively skewed by their earlier beach escapades. This latest airlock debacle probably didn’t help. Rocky’s darn lucky he’s Saviour Rocky, or else he’d be up shit creek without a paddle.

Rocky demanded Grace explain that particular phrase in the midst of a trashy 90’s movie marathon on their way to Erid. That one was about… bowling? Anyway, after Grace explained there was much screeching and insisting humans were foul, obscene creatures to make jokes of defecation. Grace would’ve defended humanity but he kept laughing and it turned into a two day stand off. Rocky refused to talk to him until he vomited up his latest coma slurry taumoeba creation, choked, fell over, and whacked his head on the metal lab table and the ship’s floor in quick succession.

Rocky didn't break his xenonite tunnels to rescue Grace, but he did ruin his nearly-complete XEVA suit prototype by flash-curing the seams around two of the five arms. Grace saw the security footage after: it was like some kid’s horror story with a glitchy animatronic monster carrying someone away to do dastardly things. In reality, it was just Rocky staggering on three half-working arms to the medbay/dormitory with a semi-conscious, yuck-covered Grace draped over his carapace, yelling all the while for Armando to “start procedure!”

What procedure? No idea. But Grace did show Rocky a relevant IKEA commercial his alien buddy did not find amusing in the aftermath of the ‘incident’. There was much grumbling about humans ejecting and tripping over themselves, but the previous offence was washed away through the grace of Grace’s puke (and minor concussion). Lovely memories.

Without too much more fuss, Scully and their assistant quickly apply the adhesive to the two halves of the ball. After a quick test with a lightly coloured puff of air (a genius usage of Grace’s sight) to look for any big leaks, then a secondary examination of the data readouts between the ball-atmospheric unit and a device in Scully’s hand—they’re ready to go.

“Seal is satisfactory, internal Earth atmosphere reservoirs at full capacity. Journey will take IIℓIλ seconds—”

“One human hour,” Rocky translates.

“—to the Xenobiology Hive campus. The Mating Cycle ward is in a specially warded building,” Scully assures him.

Grace nods, only realizing a moment after that they’ve started moving. Holy cow, this wagon-ride is smooth. The airlock shuts behind them and Scully’s assistant taps at the controls on the Eridian side to begin the cycle. They’re taking it slow, clearly wary of any potential issues with his dome. It’s been rigorously tested it, but it’s one thing to know and another to be sitting inside it, watching for pressure cracks like some deep ocean horror movie.

Ten minutes later, the assistant calls out the end of the atmosphere cycling and the external doors glide open. Grace rests a palm on the inside of the dome, marvelling at the subtle heat.

“Discomfort, question ?” Familiar, albeit thoroughly muffled, notes ring through the ball. Rocky taps his hand against Grace’s through the xenonite.

“Nope, pretty cozy all things considered.” He just won’t mention the slight panic about the dark wagon ride to the sex den. Wow, that sounds like some Harlequin romance premise. “The insulation is good, too. I don’t notice any significant increase in heat.”

“Good good.” Rocky keeps one hand on the dome as the group moves along.

Grace shifts the flashlight from side to side, doing his best to see past the wavy distortions in the xenonite. Most of the scientists have elected to walk in one big group to the Xenobiology Campus, chattering to one another and various note-taking devices with excited, echoing voices.

There might be other people lurking further out from the road they’re on, beyond the reach of his admittedly amazing Eridian flashlight—but Grace can’t see any. Maybe some shadowy shapes lurking in the distance? Oh well. He doesn’t want a parade or any kind of public reception for the study. Being thanked by countless rock-spider people for saving their world is awkward but acceptable. Being asked by dozens of random people what kind of genitals he has, how his kind reproduces, if he always leaks, what orifices are for what purpose… Launch him into the sun now, please. Grace has a teacher’s deep, cultivated reservoir of patience but there's a limit.

The wagon’s motion is pretty smooth, all things considered. And with the ambient heat cocooning the dome, it’s like being in one of those ‘return to the womb’ experiences. There are no blankets or weird, vaguely horny ASMR videos in this situation, but he’s dazed and cozy regardless.

Grace snorts himself awake when a claw taps near his cheek on the other side of the glass. Xenonite. Whatever, it's clear and hard—sometimes his brain just assumes. The tapping is Rocky, chiming an impatient demand for his attention. He doesn’t sound too freaked out by the lack of immediate response, at least. Scully probably put some vital sign monitoring into the dome for the scientists’ benefit, which doubles as a ‘keep the pair-bond partner sane during transit’ device. Nice!

“Grace awake finally, question ?”

“I'm up,” he mumbles. He really hopes they have potable water in the Ward. His mouth is like dry cotton. His clothes are clammy along the back, literally nape to nethers. Yuck.

“Good! Stay sitting, we are in sanitizing cycle in main Ward airlock.”

Grace nods, stretching with a few lovely cracks of his back and neck. Arthritis be damned, those pops are cathartic. He cracks his knuckles for good measure, too. Through the distortion of the ball he sees several scientists lurch or stagger away, making various noises of alarm or disgust. Shoot, was that like, ultra-rude or something? The Dome Hive doesn’t mind his weird human stuff, but that doesn’t mean these guys know what to expect. Ugh, Rocky needs to tell him these kinds of things!

“Sorry!”

“Grace no apologize for weak bone noises,” Rocky insists, stamping his feet. “Scientist should have iron stomach.”

The scientists in question look confused and even more disgusted by the allusion to eating. It wasn’t for their benefit, anyway. Having a personal patois with Rocky reminds him how he got here. Everything they endured to stay alive. All the work they've put into their friendship. Rocky knows Grace at his ugliest, leakiest, and least friendly state. Okay, breathe. Rocky’s right. Grace doesn’t need to freak out or act any different now. These people chose to do this. Sure, maybe humans are objectively gross flesh homunculi, but they don’t need to stuff his face in the yucky details.

Grace jumps as another claw settles on the ball. Then he recognizes the carapace colouring and relaxes as Scully’s voice booms out around them. “While [Rocky’s] phrasing is impolite, their point stands. You are all here because you have demonstrated both a professional capability to act in an ethical manner and that your field of inquiry will be beneficial to Erid’s knowledge. If anyone present is unable to control their responses to common human behaviours—which we are intentionally monitoring in their innate, unaltered states—you may excuse yourselves now.”

Gosh darn, he loves hearing scientists go off. It’s nothing so crude as calling someone a ‘staggering waste of carbon’; this is an entirely appropriate reminder of professional conduct. There’s no point studying humans if they can only yell ‘disgust disgust disgust’ and have a breakdown over every weird noise. And sex is full of weird noises! Like, holy moly if they think a little neck pop is bad they’ve got a real storm coming.

One of the scientists steps out from the group and stretches two legs in front of them. They tilt forward, dipping their carapace low in a gesture of deep contrition. “Apology, apology, apology, Saviour Grace. [Scully] is correct. Eridian cultural sensitivities should not take precedence over your mental and physical well-being.”

One by one, the other scientists dip into bows of varying depth—depending on carapace size, leg length, and the individual’s reaction to Grace’s bone-noise. He wasn’t really offended by the initial response, but seeing so many high-status, science-minded folks admit error and earnestly apologize for it… yeah.

One of the scientists—a small, brilliant amber Eridian with what looks like topaz glittering on the peaks of their carapace—bravely conceals a tremble as they gesture to his face. “S-Saviour Grace sensory orbs leaking is normal, question ?”

Rocky growls, vents moving in aggressive little leaps until Grace plants a hand against his claw through the dome. “Yes, my eyes.” He gestures to his face, blinking slowly for emphasis.

Most people in the Biodome Hive and other Science-focused branches know the terminology for his anatomy, but there are also plenty of folks who only know the basics: body, hand, arms, mouth, et cetera. Head, neck, feet, teeth, tongue, and eyes are all foreign concepts to an Eridian. A lot of them use phrases like ‘sensory orbs’ when they don’t know the established human equivalent.

Or maybe this is one of those (many) instances where Rocky chose some weird Eridian phrasing when he and Grace did their “I’ve got X, what do you have?” miming and translating back at Tau Ceti. Rocky would choose something like ‘sensory orbs’, little weirdo. He’s lucky he’s cute.

“Ahem. Uh… Humans emit liquid from their eyes called tears as a response to many different stimuli. Tears are a combination of water, electrolytes, proteins, fats, and mucins. That last is what helps the tears stay as a film over the surface of the eyes.” Dealing with his body’s hormonal fit is much easier when he’s info-dumping science facts on an eager audience.

“The most common cause of crying—the state of tears being present—is pain. They may also occur as a result of emotional or mental stimuli. These tears were uh, because of you guys, actually. Not in a bad way!” Grace insists, before the scientists can sink any lower than they already have. “I was touched—er, I deeply appreciated everyone’s apology. I know we are vastly different species and some misunderstandings are going to happen, especially as we delve into more complex and intimate topics. But this is new territory for me as well, so I really appreciate everyone here, um… being nice. Yeah.”

It’s wild how talking about his nerves around sex still makes him feel immature. It’s been almost sixty years since he was born! Even if his actual age is less than that, there’s some part of him that’s always felt childish or othered for his sex drive—or lack thereof. As if a person’s maturity or age is predicated on their sexual endeavours. Man, humanity really messed him up.

Grace traces the craggy lines of Rocky’s fingers splayed over the xenonite between them. Rocky hums and taps two fingers in their personal signal. Grace taps back with a watery smile.

One of the scientists pipes up in a high, excited voice from within a cluster of other people. Grace squints through the dome. They’re a tall Eridian, using two of their hands to hold and write on some kind of tablet device. Their carapace is pale and faintly speckled with blue and green across the vents and upper limbs. On the sides of their body, beneath their arms, is a subtle reddish streak of colour.

Robin, he decides. If they accept a human name from him, Grace is definitely going to call them Robin.

“Yes, you had a question?”

They’re practically bouncing in place, words tumbling out with little squeaks between the notes. It’s adorable until Grace’s brain finishes translating.

“Saviour Grace is a virgin, question ?”

The airlock door glides open and the Eridians on the other side—waiting assistants and technicians—flinch as an avalanche of noise pours out.

Ah, the beauty of cultural exchange.

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