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Heat pours off of Rocky in waves even through the xenonite EVA suit. He straddles Grace's midsection, with one claw wrapped partially around his left bicep, one claw covering the scar from when he'd touched Grace skin-to-carapace, and one claw…
Grace swallows. This whole thing had started out as an impromptu biology exchange, where Rocky had explained the basic nerve structure of his digits and palm, and Grace had, in turn, explained some of the nerve structures in the human body. Including in his neck, where Rocky's third hand rests. His heart is hammering in his chest, and now he knows that Rocky can feel it through his fingers instead of just hearing it as he usually does.
A distant part of him thinks he should feel trapped. Rocky is doing a precarious balancing act to keep his 300 pound bulk from crushing him, but that doesn't mean that his hold on Grace isn't secure. If Grace decided he wanted to leave, he'd be hard-pressed to do anything to budge his partner. But Grace doesn't feel trapped in the slightest. He doesn't think there's anywhere else he'd rather be than right here, right now, with the hard panels of Rocky's suit pressing into his skin.
Rocky has his palm over Grace's pulse point, clearly relishing the sensation of his beating heart against it if the low, pleased rumbling is any indication. "Grace's vocal chords near, question?" he asks, though they both know he knows the answer.
"Y-yeah," Grace says thickly anyway. "More, uh. More central to the throat."
Rocky's hand drifts towards Grace's Adam's apple and stops. His fingers press into Grace's skin there. "Say Rocky's name."
He doesn't have to be asked twice. Grace hums the notes that comprise Rocky's name in his native language, the notes that he's practically engraved on his heart since before they came to be traveling to Erid together. He's gotten better at hitting the pitch just right, due both to practice and the things he's read about improving one's singing voice.
Above him, Rocky shudders as he had the very first time he'd made Grace say his true name. Feeling the notes instead of just hearing them has quite the effect on him. Vibration is important to Eridians in a way that it isn't for humans. After all their discussions about physical and cultural differences, the link between closeness, touch, and vibration is pretty much inevitable.
Grace hums his four-note nickname—or perhaps 'pet name' is a better term—and takes no small amount of pleasure in the way Rocky shivers and tightens his grip on Grace's arms. His hand on Grace's throat also flexes, just a little. Not enough to be uncomfortable but enough to be noticeable. Grace swallows again.
That same distant part of him informs Grace that he should be frightened. Rocky is so much stronger than he is; it would be trivial for him to do a lot of damage to Grace's limbs. Heck, he'd already done damage to one arm with his bare-carapace contact. He could easily grind Grace's bones to dust. He could crush Grace's trachea in the blink of an eye, and there's nothing Grace could do to stop him.
Except that Rocky would never, ever, do that. He's proven time and again that Grace's welfare is of the highest priority. He's pulled himself through icy hell to make sure that Grace was okay. He's fought tooth and nail (carapace and claw?) to ensure that Grace knows how deeply he cares. Maybe Grace should be frightened by his strength, but he's not. He trusts Rocky in a way that he's never trusted anyone before.
He takes in a long, shuddering breath, something he's certain Rocky can feel, too. "Grace's throat loud," Rocky says in low, almost reverent tones. He's still making that pleased rumbling noise, too, and it almost drowns out his next words. "Heartbeat. Breathing. Voice. Pretty pretty pretty."
Just as Grace saying Rocky's names had clearly had an effect on him, Rocky's words have an effect on Grace. He can't help but squirm under Rocky's regard, though it's not to get away. It's just… It's a lot. He can't recall the last time anyone had called him 'pretty,' let alone in such a reduplicative way.
"Grace leaky but make pretty sounds," Rocky continues. He applies a little more pressure to Grace's arms to hold him in place. The panels of his xenonite suit dig into Grace's flesh just hard enough to be the right side of painful.
The pronouncement does things to Grace's insides, terrible things. He doesn't want to shift more and give Rocky the impression that he wants to get away, but it's impossible not to quiver underneath him. Heat pools in Grace's cheeks and in the pit of his stomach, which he staunchly ignores because now is not the time, not with Rocky straddling him, not with three of Rocky's hands bearing down on him…
Okay, that train of thought is doing the opposite of helping. "Rock…" he croaks.
"Yes, ♪♬♪, question?" he asks, and oh god is he stroking Grace's throat with one of his digits?
Grace takes another deep, quavering breath. "It's, uh. You're, um." They haven't really talked much about human arousal beyond the very basics, which Grace regrets in this specific moment. The thought of having to give a more overtly sexual lesson within their ostensible biology lesson should have made it a little easier to think, but the way he can feel Rocky's heat not-quite-burning the tender flesh of his neck is not doing his mental faculties any favors.
Rocky makes an encouraging hum, still running one digit over the skin next to Grace's Adam's apple. All Grace can think about is how close to dangerously hot Rocky's carapace is through his xenonite suit, how his outer shell had seared Grace's arm like a brand, and how badly he wishes they could touch without needing a barrier between them.
Rather than anything sensible like, 'we should stop,' or 'I need to explain something to you,' Grace blurts out, "I like, uh. I like it when you touch me there."
"Rocky like touching Grace," he says solemnly. "Like how soft Grace is. Not like Eridian at all."
"Good," Grace says hoarsely. "Good. Um. We're in agreement."
"Yes yes yes," Rocky says. His hand has stilled, perhaps so his nerve endings can absorb the vibrations from Grace's vocal chords better. "Grace good. Voice good. Heartbeat good. Breathing good."
Grace feels almost delirious from the praise. It does nothing to help the embers slowly being stoked into a fire within him. 'You don't understand,' he wants to say. 'There's other things I want,' he doesn't say. 'I'd do anything for you to keep touching me like this,' he can't say. All he can do is lie there and breathe through the urges that grip him. The urges that grip him almost how Rocky grips him.
"Can feel Grace's heartbeat elevated," Rocky says then, a hint of marvel in his tone.
"Yeah," breathes Grace. "This is pretty intimate. I don't know what to tell you, bud."
"Tell Rocky what Grace want," comes the very simple reply.
What does Grace want? Nothing sensible, that's for sure. A lot of impulses war within him until he finally hedges, "This biology lesson was your idea. What do you want?"
Rocky makes another thoughtful humming noise as his digits on Grace's throat flex again. He shifts his weight just a little, leaning slightly forward as his hand slides over Grace's skin and comes to rest directly over his carotid artery. "Heart rate loud loud loud here," Rocky practically coos.
"Y-yeah. One of the major arteries in the human body is right there."
Rocky applies more pressure to the skin beneath his palm, presumably to get a better feel for Grace's pounding heartbeat. His fingers dig into Grace's neck as he bears down, chasing the sensation of blood rushing beneath his hand. He presses down and…
The next thing Grace knows, Rocky has reared back, withdrawn all his limbs, and is making a high-pitched noise of panic. "Why Grace ♫♫♪, question? Something wrong, question?"
Grace clears his throat and reaches up to where he last recalls Rocky's hand being. He'd been applying pressure… oh. "I'm fine, Rock," he rasps. "If you put too much pressure on the carotid artery and obstruct it, it doesn't take long to lose consciousness."
"Rocky cause Grace to lose consciousness, question?" he asks, clearly horrified. He takes a few skittering steps backward. "Bad bad bad!"
"It's fine, Rocky," Grace says, pushing himself up on his elbows. "I'm fine. It's not like you did it on purpose."
"Why humans have place that makes them lose consciousness, question?"
"We just do," says Grace with an awkward shrug. "Heck, we've got several different places that can cause us to pass out if they get damaged. If you cut my femoral artery, I'd lose consciousness and die pretty quickly then, too."
"Human biology stupid stupid stupid," says Rocky with a stamp of two feet.
A wry half-smile finds its way onto Grace's lips. "You're telling me, pal."
*
Grace notices the bruises the next day when he's tending to his personal hygiene. The one on his bicep is the most prominent, shaped very much like the 'gloves' on Rocky's xenonite suit. There is a small amount of mottling near the scar from where Rocky had dragged him to safety, also shaped not unlike Rocky's hand. And on his neck…
This bruise is a little less noticeable. Rocky's hand hadn't been pressing hard there for long, but there is a mark there: a blotchy hint of purple on his otherwise unblemished skin. His fingers brush the bruise, but it's not particularly tender. It's just a faint physical reminder of Rocky's hand on his throat.
"Grace okay, question?" Rocky chimes from the other side of the door. He's kept a respectful distance since yesterday's… lesson. He'd retreated back to his side of the xenonite partition as soon as it became apparent that Grace had not suffered any damage from his very brief flirtation with unconsciousness, and he had stayed there ever since.
At least until now. For the sake of Grace's sense of privacy, the xenonite partition doesn't extend close enough to the bathroom for Rocky to really talk to him while he's in there, which means Rocky has to be in his EVA suit or his hamster ball.
Feeling strangely melancholy about the motion, Grace lets his fingers fall away from the mark on his neck. "M'fine, ♫♪," he says. "I'm almost done."
There's no immediate response from his partner, but Grace would bet money he's still hanging out until Grace is ready to leave the bathroom. He's done with his routine, so there's no reason not to go ahead and open the door, but…
He flexes his hand and observes the way the bruise on his bicep moves based on the pull of the muscles and tendons beneath it. Then he shakes his head. This is stupid. He shouldn't be so hung up on a bruise. Three bruises.
Three bruises shaped like the hands of his best-friend-turned-partner.
He looks away from the mirror and opens the door. As he'd suspected, Rocky is on the other side, but he's chosen to eschew his suit for the ball. "Grace take longer than normal," he points out.
"Yeah, sorry," Grace says. "Just got a little distracted."
Rocky makes a short vocalization that doesn't quite translate; it's mostly just a prompt for elaboration or continuation. A more expectant, 'Uh-huh?'
"I just… I noticed I have a couple of bruises from yesterday," he continues. He can't help but reach for the one near the twist of scar tissue in the shape of Rocky's fingers.
"Need word," Rocky prompts.
"Bruises? Um. Do you remember blood vessels under the skin? Well, when those blood vessels get broken, they can leak blood under the skin that can hurt a little and cause some discoloration."
Rocky makes a horrified noise, recoiling. "Rocky injure Grace, question?" His pitch is high enough to nearly be outside Grace's range of hearing. "Humans fragile fragile fragile, statement."
Grace chuckles a little, at a loss. He hadn't expected Rocky to take the concept of bruising so poorly. "You didn't hurt me," he says in his best soothing tone. "It's just a minor inconvenience. It'll heal up quick and be like it never happened soon enough."
His partner fidgets in his ball, clearly torn by Grace's assurances. "Fragile fragile fragile," he mutters in a lower register.
"Yeah, human biology can be pretty stupid," Grace responds. "I promise, it's fine."
Rocky makes another sound, wordless assent, but Grace suspects he doesn't quite mean it.
*
Grace notices that Rocky doesn't don his EVA suit in the ensuing few days. When Grace sees Rocky outside of his side of the partition, he's in his ball, even during the next cultural exchange night in the don't-go-crazy room. He's brought his texture pad so he can ostensibly watch their chosen media, but Grace frequently caught him pointing his 'camera' in his direction out of the corner of his eye. As if Rocky were studying him instead of watching what's on the screen.
They're supposed to be watching Blue Planet, but when it becomes clear that neither of them are paying attention, Grace stops the playback.
"Talk to me, Rock," he says with a sigh.
There's silence for a while. Rocky spends the time fidgeting with his 'camera' and texture pad, clearly not wanting to turn his attention to Grace. It's his attempt at looking away. Finally, he stops and says, "Not want to hurt ♪♬♪. Rocky see bruises. Bad bad bad."
Instinctively, Grace's hand comes up to cover the bruise on his neck, the reminder of Rocky's searing touch. He has two other bruises, sure, but this one… this one feels weightier than the others. Far more intimate than the one on his bicep, though the one that encompasses Rocky's brand on his arm is closer in gravity to the one on his neck.
"Not bad bad bad," Grace tells him. "They're value neutral. You didn't mean to do it, and—and I don't mind that it happened."
That isn't quite the truth though, is it? His fingers have gravitated to the mottled markings even when he hasn't consciously been thinking about them. There's no difference to the texture of his skin, nor do the bruises particularly ache (even when he touches them), but there's something almost comforting to the concept that they're there.
Before Rocky, the last time he'd felt someone's hands on him, it had been to drug him and send him hurtling through space to his certain demise. Then Rocky had come along. His touch had burned, but it had been to save Grace, not doom him. And now… now, Rocky's touch has become a more than welcome part of Grace's life.
He forces himself to lower his hand, resting his palm flat against Rocky's xenonite ball. "I want you to touch me," he adds. "Please. Don't think this means you aren't allowed."
Hesitantly, Rocky raises one hand to rest on his side of the xenonite with his own palm pressed flat against it. Grace wonders how much of his vital signs Rocky can feel; the ball's xenonite panels are thicker than the suit's, and it isn't like his hands are close to any major veins or arteries. He curls his fingers a little.
"Don't want to hurt Grace," Rocky says, his tone low and somber. "Even by accident. Humans fragile. Soft. Easy to hurt."
"You won't hurt me, ♪♩♫," Grace replies softly. "If you don't trust yourself, can you trust me to let you know if it gets to be too much?"
Grace gets the sense that Rocky would be side-eyeing him if he had eyes, or really any sort of directional sense. His carapace is tilted slightly away from him, and he's shifting his weight from one leg to another. "Rocky trust Grace," he finally concedes.
"Will you come out of that ball, then?" Grace asks with a relieved half-smile.
"Yes," says Rocky, dropping his hand and gathering up his texture pad and 'camera.' "Do now."
"I'll be here. Maybe now we can actually watch the show."
Rocky hums noncommittally as he begins rolling back towards his airlock. "No promises."
Grace arches an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?" But Rocky is already down the hall.
A few minutes pass, during which Grace sets the video back to the beginning. Rocky returns not long after in his EVA suit and settles in with his texture pad next to Grace. Notably, he does not assume his loaf position, instead keeping three of his five legs free. One arm angles his 'camera' at the don't-go-crazy room's main screen, but that leaves his other two unoccupied.
"You ready to start again?" Grace asks once Rocky's settled in.
"Ready," says Rocky.
Grace taps the spacebar on the laptop to restart the show. The room's screen becomes dominated by images of the ocean accompanied by the strains of soothing music. Rocky keeps his 'camera' on the screen, occasionally panning around to follow one of the sea creatures as it glides by.
After the first few minutes, Grace discovers why Rocky is not loafing. His other two hands reach over to take one of Grace's between them. That's not out of the ordinary, though. They've held hands many times as they've done cultural exchange when neither of them need their hands for demonstrations; Rocky had picked the habit up from the romcoms they've watched, and Grace has not objected.
This is different, though. Usually, he rests one hand over Grace's and occasionally gives it a tentative squeeze while Grace basks in the warmth against his skin. This time… Rocky takes Grace's hand and presses it between two of his own, not hard enough to hurt but with more force than normal. Grace turns away from the screen to look at Rocky.
"Rock…?"
"Grace's fingers interesting," Rocky says matter-of-factly. "Many bones. Much to feel."
Grace has enough fluency in Eridian now to know that the word Rocky's made up for 'bone' is 'inner-carapace,' which makes him smile a little. He flexes said fingers in Rocky's grasp. "Yeah, humans have lots of bones. Why the sudden interest?"
"Want to touch Grace and learn anatomy," comes the soft reply, almost as if Rocky is shy about his desire. But that can't be right, this is Rocky. Then he adds, "Like before," and the reticence suddenly makes sense.
The smile falls from Grace's face as he studies Rocky's body language. His partner isn't making himself small, but he's clearly not sure of how Grace will react. It makes Grace's heart hurt a little that he'd made Rocky feel unsure. "I'd like that a lot," he says, his response equally soft.
Rocky makes a pleased trilling noise as his body language loosens. He sets aside his 'camera' and texture pad and releases his hold on Grace's hand. Then he pushes himself to a standing position. Without asking permission, he straddles Grace's lap and places his hands firmly on Grace's shoulders.
Oh. He really does mean 'like before.'
Not that Grace is complaining. He lets himself be pushed so his back is flat against the floor and he's vaguely gazing up at the top of the screen. It's almost as though he himself is underwater, looking up at the scattered light of the sun filtering down. But unlike truly being underwater, he's not drowning.
Rocky's hands skim over Grace's arms until they reach his wrists, which Rocky wraps his digits around. "How many bones here, question?" he asks. His digits give Grace's wrists a squeeze. "Ten, question?"
Grace had never been a student of anatomy, but he remembers some trivia about the human body, including the total count of bones in it and the names of some of them. "Eight, actually. Though I guess it could be ten if you count where the radius and ulna join in."
"Radius—" 'inside-bone,' "—here, question?" Rocky's digits trace up the inside of Grace's forearm with just enough pressure and intensity to make Grace shiver.
"Y-yeah," he says. "You're gonna need a better name for it, though, because we have a bunch of inside bones. Like, that's almost all of them."
Rocky hums a low, dismissive chord. "Worry about names later," he says. His hands continue their journey up Grace's arms, pausing at the mark he'd left just below Grace's elbow. He taps it softly a couple of times before singing a mournful, "Apology apology apology."
Grace's breath hitches in his throat; the scar has very little feeling to it, but he can still sense the touch. "Hey, don't apologize," he says. "You did what you had to do."
"Makes no sense," Rocky says. "Rocky hurt Grace. Should apologize."
He smiles wryly. "It's kind of like a reminder that you care about me. Sometimes things that hurt can be positive. Like bruises."
Rocky does not pause his exploration; he's good at multitasking. His hands instead continue up Grace's arms and then trace over his clavicles. "How, question?"
Suddenly, Grace is grateful that Rocky cannot see color as his cheeks redden. "Sometimes you do something that's a little dangerous or rough, and you get bruised in the process. Then the bruises remind you of what you did, and if it was pleasant…" He leaves the thought hanging, not quite wanting to bring attention back to what's on his skin.
"Why do dangerous things, question?" Rocky asks as his digits roam over Grace's collarbones and come to rest above Grace's heart.
He can feel his pulse quicken under Rocky's palms, which his partner must surely also feel. Grace swallows around a lump rapidly forming in his throat. "It's—it's called 'dignity of risk,'" he says. "It's when you do something that might harm you a little because the pleasure or reward is worth the risk."
Like letting an alien with insane strength have a hands-on anatomy lesson. Yeah, his heartbeat is definitely faster than normal.
Rocky taps on his sternum with one digit, a counterpoint to the beating of Grace's heart. It's almost like Rocky is trying to look at Grace's insides. Heck, maybe he is. Water transmits sound pretty well, and humans are made of mostly water. Grace takes a shuddering breath under Rocky's scrutiny.
"♫♪…?" he begins, though he's not entirely sure where to go after the term of endearment.
"Grace's heartbeat always so fast when like this," Rocky comments, as if Grace ends up under him often. Which, okay, now that Grace thinks about it, it's happened at least three times now, which is plenty often enough to raise questions.
"I don't know what to tell you, bud," Grace replies with a huff of nervous laughter. "I guess… part of it's probably the way humans get touch-starved, and part of it is…" He pauses. "Well. It's because it's you."
"Why, question?" presses Rocky.
Grace waves one hand in a gesture that does not help elucidate the matter and he knows it. He tries speaking again. "You're my partner," he says. "Humans like being with their partners—" he winces at how obvious such a statement is, but continues, "—and sometimes that manifests as elevated heart rate. Uh. Among other things."
But he is trying not to think of that particular biological response to Rocky's proximity. Especially with one hand resting on his heart and the other starting to travel down his ribcage. God, he's never felt this way about anyone before and now he's suddenly hit with things he hasn't felt since he was a freaking teenager.
"How many bones here?" Rocky asks, blessedly changing the subject. Grace lets out a breath which Rocky can most assuredly feel.
"Uh," says Grace intelligently. His mind goes blank for a moment as Rocky trails one of his digits along a rib. "M'not that up on my anatomy. The—the computer probably knows."
"Rather ask Grace. Or count." Rocky hesitates for a moment, as if trying to decide if he wants to continue. He reaches a decision and adds, "More fun."
Grace's breath hitches again as he scrambles to think of a response. All he can manage is a strangled, "Oh."
"Grace enjoying this, question?" Rocky asks as he pauses his exploration. He's clearly ready to withdraw if Grace gives the word.
Which is an absolutely untenable idea. Grace nods emphatically. "Yeah. Yeah. I like you touching me. It's, uh. It's nice."
"Good good good," trills Rocky. He flattens the hand not over Grace's heart against his side, and it continues its downward trajectory. He applies a little pressure at Grace's waist. "Internal structures so soft. Squishy. Disgusting."
The last word is impossibly fond. 'Disgusting' has, in the past several months, become shorthand for things that Rocky finds interesting about their physiological differences, in the same way that 'leaky' has become shorthand for emotional responses that fascinate him.
"Not much I can do about that," Grace says, trying to sound glib but not quite succeeding. Rocky's tone combined with the feeling of two of his hands pressed against Grace's skin is doing a number on Grace's cognitive function.
Rocky makes a wordless hum that could be appreciation or could be dismissal before his hand settles on Grace's hip. "Bone name, question?" he asks as he gives the indicated area a gentle squeeze.
Grace wracks his brain as he tries to remember how to breathe normally. "Hip bone. Part of the pelvis, I think?"
"Good good good," Rocky repeats. "Will name later. What other bones here?" His hand moves down to firmly grip Grace's thigh. He tugs up on it, hiking Grace's leg up closer to his body, an action that just makes Grace feel even hotter than he already did.
"Femur," he manages to say. "Just, uh. Be careful. If that bone breaks, I could bleed out internally." He winces as the words leave his mouth. The last thing he wants is to give Rocky the impression that he's fragile like glass.
"Rocky will be gentle gentle gentle," Rocky hums. The hand over his heart presses down just a little bit more, as if Rocky were trying to get a better sense of Grace's racing pulse through the xenonite. Maybe he is. After a moment, he says, "Wish Rocky could touch ♪♬♪ more. Without xenonite suit."
Grace thinks about the scar that Rocky left on his arm from the first time they'd touched. He thinks about the remainder of the bruise there and shivers. "You and me both, pal. But you've got my permission to touch me anywhere you want with the suit on."
"Anywhere, question?" Rocky asks, his tones soft, almost uncertain.
Well, okay, there are a couple of places that Grace could think of that he'd prefer Rocky not touch, due mostly to not wanting to have to explain certain things. But he feels pretty confident that if he called that out, he'd end up having to answer those questions anyway. "Yeah. The world is your oyster. Go wild."
"Do not know what Grace means," Rocky replies, sounding a little less unsure despite his confusion at the turn of phrase.
"It's just a human saying," Grace says. "Oysters are moll—you know what, that's not important. What's important is that it means you can do whatever you want."
"Rocky not want to hurt Grace again."
"You won't, bud," Grace coaxes, not wanting to lose Rocky's touch. "You said it yourself, you'll be gentle gentle gentle, and I'll let you know if you're doing something that could hurt."
"What if Rocky want to touch somewhere that Grace got hurt before?"
Grace raises one hand to press flat against one of the digits resting above his heart. "I meant what I said. You can touch wherever you want."
Rocky moves his hand so he can clasp his digits around Grace's, then gently-but-firmly pulls Grace's hand away from his chest. The hand holding Grace's thigh releases it and comes to trace the tendons at Grace's wrist down to near his elbow, a gesture that sends a pleased little shiver down Grace's spine.
"What about here, question?" Rocky asks, pressing one digit into the center of the scar he'd left branded on Grace's arm. Then he aligns his digits so they overlap with the ghosts of themselves that they'd left in Grace's skin.
"Y-yeah," Grace stutters. "That's—that's fine. You can, um. You can do that. If you want. It's your handprint."
"On Erid, this would be mate mark," Rocky says in a rueful register. "Apology apology apology."
"Hey, don't sweat it," responds Grace. "You didn't mean anything by it, and you saved my freaking life."
Rocky's digits flex, the tips of them digging into Grace's skin slightly. "Mean it now."
Oh. Oh. "Okay. Yeah. That's fine. Good good good." Grace somehow manages to keep his tongue from tripping over itself as he quickly reassures his partner. He feels lightheaded at the revelation that Rocky would intentionally leave a mate mark on him given the chance. Not that Grace particularly wants another third degree burn, but he'd be lying if he said that the scar didn't occupy a weighty place in his heart.
Rocky makes a motion like he's about to pull his claw away, but Grace's other hand goes to his wrist to hold it in place. Rocky could easily overpower Grace's meager grip, but he does not. Instead, he lets Grace apply some more pressure to the scar. "Wait," Grace whispers. "Don't… don't go. Not yet."
Rocky says nothing, but he also doesn't try to pull away. The digits wrapped around Grace's wrist twitch as though they want to do something but aren't allowed to. Grace realizes then that, more than anything else in that moment, he wants Rocky to leave another mark.
He swallows. "I, um, like it when you touch me harder," he manages to get out. "The bruises… I couldn't stop thinking about how I got them."
Making a slightly distressed noise, Rocky releases his hold of Grace's wrist and tries to pull his other hand away again. Grace's grip on him remains steadfast, however, and Rocky doesn't seem to have it in himself to apply his full strength to the situation. Probably because of his promise to be 'gentle gentle gentle.'
Grace haltingly continues, "It's nice. To be reminded of you touching me. Even if it hurts a little."
"Rocky won't hurt Grace." His tone is low, serious.
"Dignity of risk, remember?" Grace responds. "Just a little bit of harm for some pleasure later. It'll be okay. I promise. I trust you."
Above him, Rocky trembles a little, clearly torn. Finally, he says, "♪♬♪ certain, question?"
"Oh yeah. I'm—I'm very certain."
Notes quavering just a little, Rocky asks, "Where, question?"
That is a very good question. "Here," Grace says immediately, squeezing Rocky's wrist. In response, Rocky tightens his grip on Grace's forearm, which elicits an almost relieved sigh. Then, Grace hesitates. Where else does he want Rocky's handprint on his person?
The honest answer is everywhere, but that isn't terribly useful. Does he want somewhere easily visible, so he can look at it often? Or would it be better to have it somewhere hidden, where he can pretend it's his little secret?
"And here," he decides, releasing Rocky's wrist and taking one of his other legs to guide it back to his hip. "For now."
Rocky shifts his weight to make sure he maintains his balance before grasping Grace's hip and pulling him closer. His digits dig into the flesh there as he angles Grace's hips as he pleases. Grace is once again aware of Rocky's heat, once again aware of… other things that he'd prefer not to address at the moment. Still, it's good. Very good.
"Grace so cold," Rocky comments.
"I'm not cold," Grace protests weakly. He raises his free hand to rest it over the top of Rocky's EVA suit. "You're just hot."
"No, Grace could numb even the hardest carapace," Rocky says. "Lucky Rocky's hands ♬♪♫♪."
"Word?" Grace asks dumbly, not able to suss it out from context clues. The fact that Rocky's digits are digging into his skin isn't helping his cognitive capacity, either.
"Moves good. Good control."
"'Dexterous,'" Grace's brain supplies. "All that and good with fine details."
"Yes yes yes," says Rocky. "Dexterous. Works in cold conditions, too."
Grace has seen firsthand how dexterous Rocky's digits are as he's worked on various projects (both technical and artistic). Unhelpful thoughts of how else Rocky's dexterity could be applied in the current situation surface in Grace's mind, but he pushes them aside.
He'd never really considered how he must feel to Rocky as he absorbed the heat that permeated through the xenonite panels of the EVA suit. He feels a small pang of guilt, in the same way that he'd felt some guilt at not having learned to say Rocky's name properly until it was almost too late. "If it's a problem, you don't have to—"
Rocky cuts him off with a discordant burst of sound. "No problem. Touching Grace good good good."
"Very good good good," Grace echoes as Rocky's digits bear down on his skin. It's just this side of painful, which pulls a pleased sound from his throat. Distantly, he knows that there's a lot to unpack about the fact that he wants Rocky to mark him up so badly, but he can't bring himself to interrogate his desires. Not right now.
Absently, he drums his fingers on the xenonite separating his free hand from the top of Rocky's carapace for lack of anything better to do with them. The gesture causes Rocky to freeze.
"You okay, pal? Did I do something wrong?"
Rocky hums in the negative before saying, "Tapping on carapace is like human kiss."
Oh. "So… good?" Grace ventures.
"Good good good. Do it again."
Grace doesn't have to be told twice. He resumes tapping out an aimless rhythm as Rocky continues to pin down his other arm and hold his hips where he wants them. On a whim, Grace hooks his leg around Rocky's own back legs and adjusts himself so his lower half is almost pressed flush with Rocky's underside.
A thought occurs to Grace. "Wait, does that mean when you've been tapping on me…?"
"Kisses," Rocky agrees. Does he sound a little sheepish? No, Grace dismisses that notion.
"You should've told me. I would've done this a lot sooner."
"Didn't want Grace to think things are weird," Rocky says.
Grace huffs out a brief chuckle. "Hate to break it to you, Rock, but this whole thing is weird. But it's good. Really good."
Rocky makes a humming sound of agreement before speaking again. "Can Rocky touch Grace more, question?"
"Yeah," Grace says thickly. The concept of more marks on his skin, more proof of Rocky's desire to touch him, is like a siren song. "Like I said, the world is your oyster."
*
The next day (in as much as days can be said to happen in space), Grace still hasn't unpacked why he so very much enjoys having purple blotches in the shape of Rocky's hands on his skin. Instead, he just smiles a little whenever he catches a glimpse of them in the mirror or out of the corner of his eye. Rocky had been careful careful careful not to truly injure Grace, but just rough enough to leave some light bruises.
He's in his ball when Grace leaves the bathroom, and Grace taps the top of it briefly, a chaste Eridian kiss. Rocky trills a couple of cheerful notes. "Grace in good mood."
"Yeah, I guess I am," Grace agrees. "Hey, uh. Thanks. For yesterday."
"Welcome welcome welcome," says Rocky, his tones still cheerful. "Like touching Grace."
"Well, I like it when you touch me, so I guess it works out." Grace taps on the top of the xenonite ball again before changing the subject. "Alright, time to check on the taumoeba."
The pair of them make their way to the lab where the taumoeba farms churn away and where Grace has been doing his research into the nutritional value of said little organisms. He settles in before his equipment and glances back at Rocky.
"So," he begins, "why the ball this morning?"
"Don't want to distract Grace," says Rocky simply. "Grace have important science to do."
That causes Grace to chuckle. "I'm so irresistible that you can't keep your hands off me?"
Rocky hums a noncommittal note, but there's an undercurrent of amusement to it that Grace picks up on. A grin spreads across his face. "I am, aren't I?"
Shifting side to side, Rocky responds, "Rocky like touching Grace."
"Well, I guess I'd better get this work done so you can distract me later," Grace says, still grinning.
"Yes yes yes," agrees Rocky.