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Simon has this one shirt that he wears.
It’s something Grace had initially been given by the textile team, but he didn’t like how long it was and how it tangled around his hips, so he’d put it aside. Now that Simon is here he’d been given the rarely worn clothes at the back of Grace’s closet, and Grace gets to see Simon discover the joys of the textile team’s perfected cotton-like fiber. This particular shirt is a deep forest green, not Grace’s favorite color to wear, but Simon loves it. With their different proportions it hits the middle of Simon’s thighs, the sleeves long enough to cover his hand. He often pushes the right one up to his elbow so he can use his hand, but it inevitably falls down again when he lowers it.
“I could pin the right sleeve up,” he offers after seeing Simon push it up for the nth time while tidying up the kitchen. The left sleeve is folded up and sewed to fit loosely around the end of his stump, which Grace had done for him. He’s wearing his usual slim pants and no socks, moving so quietly Grace once again contemplates putting a bell on Simon so he stops getting spooked by him.
“It’s fine,” Simon says. “I don’t mind it.” Grace is frying up me-burgers while Simon puts away clean dishes. He’s fidgety when he doesn’t have something to do, which reminds Grace of the autistic and ADHD students he’s taught, and the easiest way to remedy it has always been to give him something to do.
Simon has to stand on his toes to reach the highest shelf in the kitchen. Grace’s eyes are drawn to the curve of his shoulders, how the soft fabric is taut over his hips and shoulders but loose around his waist. It looks more like a dress than a shirt, and Grace is dragged from his inappropriate thoughts when he touches his hand to the skillet accidentally and burns himself.
“Fudge balls,” he hisses and rips his hand back. “Ow!” Simon startles from his exclamation and almost drops a cup, but catches it against his stomach. He puts it down on the counter and steps toward Grace with concern on his face.
“Did you burn yourself?” he asks. Grace grimaces and sticks his hand under the faucet and turns it on cool.
“It’s not that bad. Can you keep an eye on the me-burgers?” he says, and Simon steps around him to poke at the patties with the spatula. His hair falls over his face and he tosses it back.
Simon is not a woman.
Obviously, Grace knows that. He’s a man, and a masculine one at that. He’s muscular and bearded with a deep voice, and one time Grace fell from a cliff into the ocean and hit his head while out exploring a bio dome extension and Simon had to carry him up from the water. He’d hefted Grace over his shoulder and brought him to shore, and Grace had gone through the singular experience of being Prince Eric in The Little Mermaid after he’d been rescued by Ariel. Simon had kneeled above him and pushed his soaking black hair out of his face to look at Grace with big worried eyes, and Grace had coughed up water and felt a striking bout of sexual attraction.
So, Simon is pretty. He’s got curly black hair that frame his cheekbones and dark, thick eyelashes that line his eyes. When Grace gets to see one of his rare smiles it softens his entire face, cheeks rounding and eyes creasing, and when he sees a flash of his teeth it makes Grace’s body warm.
Grace is pretty sure his brain is broken.
Back on Earth he was a very vanilla guy, if mostly sexless. He didn’t mind the sensation, didn’t mind the bonding and happy chemicals in his body, but he wasn’t seeking it out much. Usually someone else would initiate and he’d respond, but he was happy without it. He’d tried bondage once and hated the feeling of the ropes on his skin, he’d spanked one of his girlfriends in college when she’d asked for it, but he didn’t seek it out for himself.
Now, after decades in space and on an alien planet and gaining a friend and housemate in a mutated man from a different universe, something has snapped in his brain.
He can’t exactly ask a therapist about it, since there’s no one on Erid who specializes in human sexuality. He can’t ask Rocky about it, because Rocky may be his best friend and platonic soulmate but he’s a nosy little jerk about certain things and Grace doesn’t know if he could manage being courteous about the topic. He could maybe ask Adrian, but they get so enthusiastic about human experiences that they get overbearing.
So, he’s left to stew with his own perverse thoughts. Thinking about how he wants to embrace Simon and explore his entire body in thorough, excruciating detail.
Simon moves more acrobatically than Grace first had expected while he recovered. He’s flexible and fast, and probably hyper mobile with how he bends his elbow and wrist. He can jump and spin like a dancer, and when he does his prescribed physical therapy exercises he moves nimbly. He likes doing them outside, on a firmer part of the beach, and Grace tells himself that he shouldn’t watch but he often ends up sitting at a window and covertly watching. He usually brings his laptop to pretend he’s working but the documents he opens always stays blank.
The long sleeved T-shirt is Simon’s favorite shirt, and it’s a pain for Grace. He can’t stay focused when Simon wears it, his eyes stray. He gets lost in the curves of his body and how the fabric clings to them. He’d be a moron if he thinks Simon hasn’t noticed, but he hopes he doesn’t come across as creepy.
On a random Wednesday, Grace wakes up to a pounding on the front door in a pool of sweat. He groans and tosses his blanket away from his body so he can go answer the door. When he answers it’s Adrian, who nervously whistles.
“Something is wrong with temperature regulation. Team is working on it but there is serious malfunction that needs to be investigated. I apologize,” they say as they’re let in, and Grace sighs.
“Will it be dangerous? Do we need to go to the medical wing?” The medical wing has always been a separate structure from the bio dome, with a separate power structure, so it can’t be affected by the issues in the bio dome. Rather elegant, according to Rocky.
“Should not be. We recommend staying indoors, but air conditioning should keep house at habitable level.”
“It’s way too hot in here right now, Adrian!” Grace says and rubs sweat out of his face. He hears a door creak and Simon comes padding out of his room, looking similarly frazzled.
“Apology, apology, apology,” Adrian says and bows. “Will not be able to reach below 82° indoors until we fix the temperature regulation in bio dome, apology.” Grace sighs, rubbing his hair again.
“Will it affect our water temps? In the taps?” he asks, and Adrian hums a no.
“That is what we check first, do not worry. Rocky will be by in 7 200 seconds with a fan of oscillating design for you.” With that they say goodbye and Grace goes to take as cold a shower as he can stand. He dumps his sweaty clothes in the laundry hamper and wraps himself in a towel before hurrying to his bedroom to change into fresh clothes. He’s got the shorts he made when he first woke up on the Hail Mary and takes a pair of scissors to one of his T-shirts that’s started to develop holes in the armpit to make a tank top. When he exits his bedroom he hears the shower shut off, and after a moment Simon steps out of the bathroom and Grace feels his heart skip a beat.
“How long ‘til Rocky comes with the fan?” Simon asks and ruffles his wet hair with a smaller towel, looking out the window so he’s completely oblivious to how his bare legs are affecting Grace. He’s wearing only the long shirt like it’s a tunic or dress, and he’s either wearing briefs or he’s bare underneath because Grace can’t see the hem of boxers below the hem.
“Uh,” he chokes out and takes off his glasses to fiddle with them, “in about two hours. He’s making an oscillating fan, which is a bit overambitious but it’s Rocky, so it’s expected.”
“We’ll suffer in the heat until then,” Simon grumbles and hangs the towel around his neck. Grace shoves his glasses back onto his face and rubs his hair.
“Until then, I’m gonna listen to music,” he says, and Simon nods before going back into the bathroom. He doesn’t close the door so Grace can see him hang the towel up to dry before reaching for his tube of basic deodorant on top of the mirror cabinet. His shirt rises and Grace glimpses the short, almost feminine black underwear under it, and spins on his heels to go to the living room.
His heart is pounding as he sinks down on the couch and picks a random playlist on the living room tablet. It’s in his head. It’s just in his head. They’ve both ordered their clothes with specific instructions and ideas from the textile team. Simon has chosen a type of underwear that looks more like women’s boy shorts than men’s briefs, and Grace has obviously not pried into his discussions with the textile team about his clothes, but he wonders why that choice. Why something that hugged his hips and butt like that?
“Do you want water?” Simon comes in to ask, still not wearing pants, and Grace nods with a sigh.
“Anything to drink,” he says, and Simon leaves long enough that Grace can calm down his racing heart and relax back into the couch. Simon comes back with two bottles of water, and when he hands it to Grace it’s ice cold. Simon sits down as well, shirt riding up his thighs, and chugs a third of the bottle in one go. They’re both already starting to sweat again.
“Could I borrow the tablet?” Simon asks and Grace is thankful the tablet is right next to him on the side table. He hands it over and watches Simon tap his way around until he’s connected to all the house speakers and he’s got cheerful classical music playing at a soft volume.
“You have great taste in music,” Grace says and waves his fingers in time to the music. Ignoring the heatwave it’s lovely, drinking cooling water and listening to soothing music in good company, and Grace wishes they had alcohol. He wonders how Simon reacts to booze, if he gets Asian flush or if he can drink like a fish.
Simon’s eyes soften; not a true smile, but the first step towards it. He’s relaxed, legs splayed out in front of him, and he closes his eyes as he listens to the music. Grace is drawn to him like a magnet, his eyes categorizing everything about the swathes of skin he’s not seen like this before. He doesn’t have much body hair so it doesn’t obscure the tone of his leg muscles.
Grace closes his eyes and focuses on the music. He fears he’ll pop a boner if he doesn’t empty his brain.
“The cooling systems used to break down on Eden constantly,” Simon says, and Grace perks up; he’s always hungry for more knowledge about Simon. “We’d have to climb inside the vents where they were and fix them, and then it’d take fucking ages for them to properly reboot. Me and my Brothers, if we didn’t have to fix them, would find the coldest room to sit in together. Inevitably we’d all get too hot from that and have to find somewhere else to be.”
“When it was hot during the summers, I would to sit in the sand with my feet in the water.” Grace turns so he’s sitting with his back against the armrest and his feet on the seat cushion. “And I’d come home with wet jeans, barefoot and carrying my shoes, and my Nana would be so mad at me,” he adds with a smile, and Simon shifts so he’s leaning against his armrest, legs crossed in front of him. His shirt rides up and Grace’s eyes are drawn to the movement and he gets a flash of Simon’s tight underwear and he snaps his head up instead.
“I’d like to do that. Later, I mean,” Simon says, rocking his knees side to side.
“Right now we’d probably get heatstroke if we did that,” Grace says and looks up at the ceiling. It has a lot of interesting textures that Eridians find pleasing, and Grace likes following them with his eyes. They’re a good distraction.
“I have a question,” Simon says after a few minutes of silence and sipping water. Grace looks at his face again, and Simon’s expression is pinched, nervous.
“Go on,” he says, putting his water bottle down on the floor so his hands are free.
“On Earth… Well, where you lived, at least.” Simon is fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Would men wear tunics, or dresses?”
“Uh, yes. No. It’s complicated. In some cultures on Earth everyone wears skirts, dresses, or tunics. Where I grew up it was really common for men to wear skirts as a way to break gender norms, or do drag, which is dressing up as another gender for performances.”
“We had that,” Simon chimes in. “For certain performances men would dress up as women to tell a story.”
“Yeah, that’s really common throughout human history. Men dressing up as female characters or vice versa. Where I lived though, it was a cultural thing. Men wearing women’s clothing, or women wearing men’s clothing, it was to express themselves. Heck, I wore skirts sometimes during college,” Grace says, hands moving rapidly in front of him as he explains.
“So you’re used to it,” Simon says, and Grace nods. Simon’s eyes narrow, and he shakes his hand so the sleeve slides up his arm. “Okay then. Why do you stare at me when I wear this shirt?”
Grace twitches, body drawing into itself to protect him, and he grimaces.
“It’s not out of judgment,” he starts quietly, grabbing his bottle again to drink.
“Then why?” Simon asks, eyes hardening. Grace flushes.
“I…” He taps his fingers on the bottle, quiet light clinks. “I think something’s wrong with me,” he admits quietly. Simon cocks his head, now completely confused.
“What the fuck? What do you mean?” he asks.
“I didn’t even really… feel attraction to anyone back on Earth. Sex was fun sometimes but I didn’t seek it out. I didn’t like anything kinky, it never made sense to me. I didn’t understand it.” Grace taps his fingers faster. “I don’t feel like that anymore.”
“What does that mean?” Simon interrupts, sitting up and crossing his legs so he can hold his shirt down against his knees. He’s cautious.
“I’m staring because I find you attractive,” Grace says. “I find you in that shirt, especially when you wear it like a dress, really attractive, and it’s specifically because of the, uh, feminine— your feminine traits.” Simon narrows his eyes, shoulders folding inwards.
“I’m not a woman,” he says, and Grace sits up and puts down his bottle on the floor, almost knocking it over in his rush.
“No, I don’t think you’re a woman! I don’t think of you as a woman, I don’t think wearing a dress makes you a woman, but everyone has feminine and masculine traits. Yours are—” Grace has to clear his throat, “—very appealing to me.” Simon relaxes a touch, lifting his hand to rub the ball of his shoulder.
“In what way?” he asks, and Grace’s brain is bombarded with the most R rated thoughts he’s had in a long time. He tries to sort them into something he can actually say to Simon’s face without sinking into the mantle of Erid.
“Sexually,” he chokes out, hanging his glasses below his chin to rub his face with both hands.
“Oh.” Simon huffs a laugh. “That’s it?” Grace lowers his fingers from his eyes to look at Simon, who seems amused.
“What do you— Yeah! I’ve never felt like this before!” Grace says and throws his hands in the air. “I feel like a deviant.”
“What’s deviant about it?” Simon asks, and Grace opens his mouth to answer before his brain catches up and actually thinks about it. What is deviant about it? Simon is an attractive person, why is it deviant to be attracted to him in flattering clothing?
“… Uh, nothing. Nothing is deviant about it, actually.” He rubs his hands over his face again and then tucks his folded glasses into his shirt instead. “Christmas Eve, I’m too old for this.”
“Too old for what? Being horny?” Simon teases, and Grace groans. “You’re overthinking it, like you do with everything.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Grace collapses against the backrest with a heaving sigh. “Laugh all you want, I’m going through something new here.”
“What, getting hard at the sight of me?” Simon pulls the collar of his shirt to the side, showing more of his collar bone, and Grace reflexively averts his eyes.
“Geez, Simon,” he mumbles.
“Am I too hot?” Simon laughs, lounging against the armrest again. His legs are spread and stretch the shirt over his crotch, and Grace can see everything.
“Yeah,” Grace mumbles, leaning his chin in his palm. He lowers his gaze to Simon’s thighs. “You’re pretty and honestly, that makes me nervous.” In the edge of his vision he can see Simon’s toes curl.
“I’m not pretty. I mean, look at me,” he says and rubs his stump, uneven eyes flicking down to his knees.
“You are though. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Grace says and Simon eyes him.
“You can have your nonsense opinion,” he says and Grace snorts. Hesitant, carefully, he reaches out and runs two fingers down Simon’s leg. The man shivers and Grace does it again; he’s never been one to initiate, but he knows what has worked on him. With a little luck it should work on Simon too.
“Even if you don’t believe me, you could play pretend for a little. Play along with my nonsense,” Grace says and gives him an encouraging smile.
“It’s a play?” Simon asks, subtly spreading his legs. The shirt rides up his thighs.
“Yeah, make believe.” Grace swallows and scoots closer so he can walk his fingers up Simon’s calf up to his knee.
“Men usually aren’t pretty,” Simon mutters, but he doesn’t move away from Grace’s touch.
“You can be anything you want,” Grace says and puts his other hand on Simon’s other knee. “It’s play, you can choose your role. You can be a pretty man, or whatever.”
“Whatever?” Simon’s lips tremble. “Like, I could be a pretty girl?” Grace’s stomach does a backflip, then a front flip, and he feels his ears heat up.
“Yeah?” he whispers, and he doesn’t know how he’s managing to sound like anything but a nervous wreck but it seems to be doing something. He gets up on legs that feel like they’re filled with ants and kneels between Simon’s legs. Suddenly they’re so, so close, and Grace can feel the body heat radiate from him.
“Yeah,” Simon whispers back. He’s got a handful of his T-shirt in his fist by his waist, pulling the fabric taut and showing the outline of his body. It’s like he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his shirt— his dress, and what it’s doing to Grace.
“Pretty girl you are,” Grace murmurs and Simon shudders, throwing his head back against the armrest. Grace moves his hands up his thighs, under his dress, and slowly finds the edge of his hips. His stomach is a soft, flat plane that Grace rubs his thumbs over in oscillating half-moon shapes. Simon presses the back of his hand to his mouth to hold back a high pitched noise.
“Grace,” he mumbles.
“Gosh, look at you,” Grace says and pulls one hand out so he can plant it on the seat cushion next to Simon’s ribs. He hovers above him for a moment before pulling his other hand up too so he can run it over Simon’s clothed stomach and then up, over the middle of his chest. “Can I tell you something?”
“Tell me,” Simon says, putting his hand on Grace’s stationary arm and running it up and down. His calloused, broad hand on Grace’s bare skin gives him goosebumps.
“I have a really hard time not looking at your chest when you wear this dress. They’re so pretty,” Grace says and his entire face feels like it’s on fire. He barely swears in his own internal monologue, and now he’s trying to say every dirty thing he’s ever thought about Simon’s body to his face. “Can I touch them?” he asks, rubbing his fingers up and down Simon’s sternum.
“Please touch me,” Simon whispers. He wraps his fingers over Grace’s shoulder and squeezes. Grace spreads his fingers and cups Simon’s left pec, awed by its softness for a moment. He massages it gently until he feels the nipple has hardened, pressing against his palm, and then he moves to pinch it instead. Simon jumps and squeezes his thighs around Grace’s hips, then pushes his chest into his touch. Grace hums and gently rolls it between his fingers until Simon’s breathing is rapid and heavy.
“You’re so quiet,” he says and switches side, circling a finger around Simon’s peaked nipple before he cups his breast and squeezes.
“I learned to be quiet when I was younger. I bunked with seven other people, I had to stifle any noise so I wouldn’t wake anyone up,” Simon explains with staggered, gasped breaths. “Habit.”
“That’s unfortunate,” Grace says, pausing in touching Simon’s chest to run his thumb over his jaw. “Your voice is so pretty.” Simon swallows hard. Grace continues touching his chest, unable to resist bouncing his pecs from underneath just so he can see what it looks like under his dress. Simon lets out a breathy, weak moan, and Grace bites hard on his bottom lip. Simon still has his hand on Grace’s shoulder, and he uses that grip to pull him down lower so they’re nose to nose. Grace inhales through his nose when he realizes what Simon wants, and he closes the last distance between them to kiss him.
They’re both warm, but Simon’s mouth is hotter than even the air outside. His tongue teases first, a careful touch, but it quickly becomes a mess of open mouths and tongues licking. Grace doesn’t know if he’s breathing; he’s light headed. Simon’s beard and the teeth on his cheek scrape against his face and it lights up his nerves.
“Holy fudge,” he pulls back to say, panting. Simon bumps his nose against his, breathing shaky again.
“Would you— Can you fuck me?” he mumbles and slides his hand into Grace’s hair. Grace’s heart rate peaks and then settles, and he nods. He nods eagerly, moving his hand up to cup Simon’s cheek.
“Two things; we need lube for that, which is in the bathroom, and I feel like I’m starting to overheat. Coolest room in the house is the bathroom,” he says, and Simon raises his eyebrows.
“You want to move there?” he says, with the tone of a man who’s ready to take it dry on the spot, which concerns Grace with a capital C.
“Yeah,” he says and pecks Simon’s lips. “I don’t want to get lube on the couch.” Simon nods in resignation and after Grace gets to his feet he also stands up, brushing down his dress. Never has their height difference felt so pronounced than the way Grace has to lean down to kiss him, and he gets caught up in the feeling and pulls Simon close. They sway a little, Simon wrapping his arm tight around his waist and taking a small step back towards the couch, and Grace has to force himself to not give in to that. Simon pulls back and looks disappointed, but follows Grace to the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and then they stand awkwardly in front of each other for a drawn out moment.
“So, where do you keep the lube?” Simon asks and rubs his stump. It’s a nervous tick he picked up after the amputation had mostly healed. Grace spins around and squats down to pick through the cabinet underneath the sink. There are single use sachets of medical grade lube in a slightly smashed cardboard box and he grabs one and stuffs it in his pocket before standing up. Simon is still fidgeting and Grace takes his hand so he can squeeze his fingers, then steps closer and kisses him. Simon wraps his arm around the back of Grace’s neck.
“Standing or on the floor?” Grace asks while kissing him on the neck, and Simon gasps.
“On my knees,” he says, “from behind.” Grace doesn’t know where he gets the courage from; maybe it’s the high of having Simon in front of him, so pretty with his hair curling from body heat and his cheeks flushed and his hand covered by his sleeve. He spins Simon around and presses him against the nearest surface, which ends up being the sink. Simon swears in shock and reaches back to grab onto Grace. They make eye contact in the mirror and Simon’s eyes are wide as plates.
“Arch your back?” Grace asks in a mumble, and Simon breathes heavily before slowly doing it, pressing his stomach forward while angling his butt back and pressing up against Grace’s erection. He’s so flexible. “Good girl,” he says and Simon almost looks pained.
“Grace, please,” he pants. There’s only so much he can do while pinned with just one hand, and for now it has a cramped grip on Grace’s waist.
“God,” Grace mumbles. He wants to say everything he thinks about Simon’s chest, about his waist and thighs and butt and arms, but the words are too filthy to leave his mouth smoothly or at all. “Have you done this before?” he asks, cupping Simon’s chest with both hands and kneading.
“Receiving? Yeah,” Simon breathes, pushing into his hands.
“With lube?” Grace follows up with, and Simon only answers by pressing his lips together in a thin line. Grace doesn’t pry; he knows Simon went to prison, he can extrapolate. He decides on a different approach, kissing the thin skin behind his ear and making him shiver. “It’ll feel so good, I promise. You’ll love it.”
“Do we have to do the whole rigamarole?” Simon mutters, eyes fluttering closed. “We have lube, that’s enough.” Grace pushes his nose into Simon’s hair and breathes in, shaking his head. He can’t say what he’s thinking if he has to make eye contact, so he closes his eyes.
“I want to know your body inside and out,” and Simon audibly swallows then clears his throat. “I think a pretty girl like you deserves the best.” Grace slides his hands down to Simon’s hips and hikes up his dress until he can hook his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear. He pauses there, unsure if this is going too fast.
“Okay,” Simon says, gathering his dress in his hand to hold it up for Grace. “Don’t touch my dick,” he adds, and Grace holds down the burning question of ‘why?’ to instead pull Simon’s boy shorts down his hips and let them fall down to his feet. He pulls out the sachet of lube and tears open a corner with his teeth, squeezing out a good amount on his index finger. He reaches awkwardly around Simon and puts the sachet on the edge of the sink, then guides Simon to lean his hips back.
The last time Grace had done this on anyone had been on himself, a month after waking up on the Hail Mary, drunk and having just remembered that he’d experimented in college. It’d been fun but lonely, as many things were those months before he met Rocky. Now he’s pushing his finger inside Simon and feeling him clench down on the digit before breathing deeply and relaxing.
“Feels odd,” Simon mumbles and braces himself on the sink. Grace strokes his hip, running his fingers over old, faded stretch marks. Simon’s body accepts the first finger so easily, so Grace pulls it out and two fingers against his entrance, and with a series of short breaths they slide in easy. Grace feels around, light thrusts until he finds the firm spot of his prostate, and he rubs against it. He rests his chin on Simon’s shoulder and makes eye contact through the mirror.
“How’s that?” he asks, other hand stroking up and down Simon’s side. Simon scrunches his nose, breathing through his mouth.
“I—I don’t know,” he says. “It’s not bad.”
“What do you like about receiving?” Grace asks and leans his head to the side. Simon looks flustered at the question, tongue flicking over his lips as he pants.
“Having something inside me,” he says with a shudder as Grace rubs harder against his prostate. “Something bigger than fingers, something more solid.”
“You’re good at taking it?” Grace says and frick, what part of his brain knew all this? He has to have watched or read a ridiculous amount of porn when he was younger because Grace was sure he wasn’t this creative on his own.
“I want to be,” Simon says and turns his head to press his forehead to Grace’s temple. “Come on, fuck me,” he adds quietly and pushes back on his hand. Grace closes his eyes for a moment. He’s not touched his dick at all and he feels like like he’s gonna explode if he doesn’t do something about it soon.
He carefully pulls his fingers out and pushes his shorts and boxers off his hips, stroking the leftover lube from his fingers onto his dick. Simon leans on the sink and looks behind him, then jerks his head toward the bathtub.
“There,” he says and straightens up.
“In the tub?” Grace asks and Simon rolls his eyes.
“Against it,” he says and kneels on the plush mat that sits outside the tub. He leans on the side of the tub and looks up at Grace in anticipation, who snatches the lube and gets down behind him. His dress has fallen down again over his hips and it feels like unveiling something precious when Grace lifts it up again. He gets more lube on his dick and tries to breathe through his sudden nerves.
“Ready?” he asks and Simon nods without looking at him. Grace presses his tip to Simon’s hole and after a moment of resistance he slides in slowly.
“Fucking god, Grace,” Simon moans and pushes his hips back.
“Crap,” Grace mutters and braces his hands on the edge of the bathtub on either side of Simon, sheathed fully inside him. “Jesus.” Grace is immobile but Simon moves like he can’t stay still. He rocks back and forth, breathing fast and hard.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Simon hisses. When Grace puts a hand on his lower back he slows, bottom flush with Grace’s hips. “Shit.”
“Calm down, Simon, give me a moment,” Grace says and rubs his back. “God, you’re pretty. You’re such a pretty girl,” he mumbles and runs his hand under his dress and up along his spine, then down along his ribs so he can feel his chest. Simon whimpers when his nipple is touched and Grace pushes his other hand in too, so he can massage Simon’s chest.
“You really like my tits,” Simon mumbles with a shiver, and Grace pinches his nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. It makes him whine again.
“They’re so pretty,” and Grace suddenly feels like an awkward teenager talking about boobs, “and big. And they’re sensitive.” The tips of Simon’s ears are poking out of his hair, completely red, and Grace starts thrusting.
Simon is a mess of moans and shivering breathing, face buried against his braced forearm. Grace can’t keep his hands away from his chest, not with how each touch makes him move like he’s been shocked and he wants more. A thought emerges from the back of Grace’s head and it slips past his mental barrier of politeness which he registers with a shock of guilt; he fully understands why this was Simon’s role in prison. He shakes his head and focuses on thrusting, staring at Simon’s hunched, broad shoulders and how his dress is bunched around his waist.
He slides his right hand down to rest low on Simon’s stomach, above his dick, and feels Simon tense his abs.
“Can I?” he asks, realizing he hasn’t even seen it.
“No. Yeah,” Simon mutters. He turns his head to look at Grace. “Yeah.” Grace holds his gaze for a second before nodding, Simon seeming sure, and then grasps his shaft. Simon moans and clenches down hard. “Please,” he whines, shoulders trembling.
“Are you close?” Grace asks in amazement, and Simon groans and pushes himself up on a straight arm. It gives a completely different angle and Grace yelps at the sudden increase in pressure. Simon’s back is close to his chest, he’s almost sitting in Grace’s lap, and Grace wraps his arm around his chest. Simon grabs onto his forearm.
“When I come, you don’t need to pull out,” Simon says, words slurred from how he rushes them. “Keep going if I come.” Grace is surprised but doesn’t question it, just keeps his hand tight around Simon’s dick while he thrusts. He can see over Simon’s shoulder and the sight of his hand around Simon’s shaft, covered by his dress, is obscene. The way his pecs move with each thrust, a steady jiggle with his stiff nipples poking through the soft fabric, is obscene.
“Gosh,” Grace mutters. “You’re beautiful, really beautiful girl.” Simon stutters in their set pace and Grace can feel Simon blushing down his neck.
“You talk too much,” Simon says and digs his nails into Grace’s arm. “Shut up.”
“Shit, I wish we had a mirror here so I could see all of you,” Grace babbles, brushing his lips over Simon’s shoulder and neck as he speak. “You’re so pretty, Simon, I can’t get enough of looking at you.” Simon shakes his head and grabs onto Grace’s wrist, and with a tense, spastic moan he comes. His semen soaks into the dress and Grace’s hand, and Grace slows down before he remembers that Simon asked him not to stop, and instead he moves his hands. He shoves them both up under the dress and grabs Simon’s breasts, massaging them while he starts fucking him hard. He’s not far away from his own orgasm. With his forehead pressed into Simon’s neck he thrusts up into him, soaking up the tiny whines and moans from his chest, and that’s how he comes. He has to hold on tight to Simon so he doesn’t fall backwards and hit his head, and instead they tip forward and he has to put his hand on the edge of the bathtub so Simon doesn’t crack his forehead open.
Simon clings onto the edge of the tub while Grace sits back, his flaccid penis slipping out, and they just breathe for a minute. Simon brushes the shirt down so it covers him fully again and wraps his arm around his waist.
“Wasn’t it better with lube?” Grace asks as he tucks himself away, just so he has some dignity, and Simon bites his lip. He leans his head on the edge of the bathtub.
“Yeah,” he says with a sigh.
“Next time, could—” Grace cuts himself off when Simon inhales softly, looking hopeful.
“Sorry, continue,” he prompts, and Grace smiles.
“Could we do it facing each other next time? I know it’s sappy but I want to see your face,” he says and rubs the back of his head. A shadow of doubt passes over Simon’s face, and at Grace’s pointed look he hums.
“I don’t look very pretty from the front,” he says, and Grace blinks. “From the back I’m more— I’m more of a pretty girl from behind.” Grace’s jaw falls slack.
“You think I don’t think you’re pretty?” he stutters out and Simon’s shoulders shrink. “That’s— Hey, I think you’re pretty from all angles! Don’t put words in my mouth.”
“I thought this was nonsense play?” Simon says and the corner of his mouth tugs up a little, and Grace shakes his head.
“For you maybe. I meant everything I said,” Grace says and resists the urge to cross his arms and huff. “Don’t think it was a heat of the moment thing.” He scoots over and sits next to Simon, back to the bathtub, and relaxes with a sigh.
“Sounds like it took a lot out of you,” Simon says, still not smiling, but the crease of his eyes is amused.
“Oh, and you’re just raring to go again?” Grace says and stretches his arms out in front of him. Simon shrugs, whatever he was going to say being cut off by a yawn. “I think I need another shower,” Grace adds and plucks at his damp T-shirt. It’s really on them for having sex when it’s boiling hot.
“So do I,” says Simon and stands up, and Grace gets to his feet with a bit more difficulty than he did.
“Who goes first?” he asks and Simon finally smiles, a small but warm thing. He steps into the tub and gestures for him to step in as well, and Grace smiles wide. He slips out of his clothes, tossing them in the laundry hamper, and steps into the tub. Simon doesn’t touch his dress, just stands with his hand at his side. Grace breathes deeply for a moment, then steps close and grabs the hem of it and gently raises it over Simon’s head.
It’s the first time he’s actually seen Simon naked, properly naked, and he’s speechless. His left side has the scars flowing down from his shoulder over his ribs and collarbone, which Grace had felt while groping him. They’re swirled, almost like tree bark, and the patterns are beautiful on Simon’s body. Then there’s his body, the weight of his chest and thickness of his thighs and arms, his tapered waist, his face, and Grace blindly tosses the dress aside so he can kiss Simon. It’s passionate but not heated, and Simon wraps his strong arm around Grace’s waist to hold him close.
“Hey, pretty girl,” Grace mumbles when they pull away and Simon’s face goes through a complicated journey before settling on something almost timid. He turns his head to kiss Grace’s hand when his cheek is caressed, and Grace kisses him again.
“If Rocky gets to know about any of this I will never let him back into the bio dome again,” Simon says and the suddenness of it catches Grace off guard, and he laughs.
“I won’t call you pretty girl if he’s here, I promise, but can’t I tell him we’re, you know?” he says and intertwines their fingers.
“Fucking?” Simon asks incredulously and Grace squeezes his hand.
“Together?” he says, voice desperately hopeful without him intending it to be so raw.
“Oh,” Simon says. He looks down at his left shoulder. “You’d want that?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to?” Grace says with a gentle smile, and Simon leaned up to kiss him again. “And I’ll tell Rocky not to ask you any questions about it, or I’ll not let him into the bio dome,” Grace adds when they pull back from each other. That makes Simon laugh silently, and he kisses Grace one last time before letting go of his hand to turn on the shower. They keep the water cool while washing the sweat off then turn it colder and colder until they can just barely stand it. When they’ve cooled down their core temperatures they get out and dry off, and Grace helps Simon tie his hair back after drying it so he doesn’t get it in his hair constantly.
“I shouldn’t have gotten jizz on it,” Simon says as he picks up his shirt, and Grace takes hold of the fabric too.
“I could try to wash out the stain for you? It should dry fast if we hang it up outside,” he says. Simon looks at him with a soft, surprised expression.
“I’m gonna go get something else to wear while you do that,” he says and walks out of the bathroom, naked with his towel slung over his shoulder, and Grace watches him go before he turns on the sink. He scrubs at the stain with a little bit of soap and then rinses the whole garment with the shower head to hopefully get some of the sweat out too. He leaves the shirt on the edge of the tub so he can quickly throw on another pair of shorts before getting it again. Simon comes out of his room, wearing a pair of shorts and a shirt that’s also on the longer side. It’s not as long as his favorite, but the sleeve reaches past his thumb and he’s playing with the hem of it.
“I’m gonna hang this up and I’ll be right back,” Grace says and moves towards the door, but Simon makes an aborted movement towards him and he turns back. “Did you need something?” he asks, and Simon looks apprehensive for a moment before stepping closer and pressing a kiss to Grace’s cheek.
“I’m gonna warm up food,” he says and goes to the kitchen, and Grace barely resists touching his cheek where he’s still feeling Simon’s soft lips. He braves the heat outdoors and hangs the dress up on the laundry line he has behind the house, hurrying back inside so he doesn’t heat up too much.
They eat together and Grace washes the dishes. He hurries through it so he can go join Simon in the living room. Simon has shucked his shorts and laid down to rest on the couch, and Grace lays on the other side and tangles their feet together. They lay there, drinking more water every so often, until someone starts pounding on the door. Grace gets up and opens it, letting Rocky in.
“I finished it early!” he says and holds up a large box. “I will set up for you, where do I put it, question?”
“The living room,” Grace says and leads him in so he can point to where he wants it. Simon has put his shorts back on and sits on the couch while Rocky assembles the fan and plugs it in. It’s quiet and powerful, and Grace heaves a huge sigh of relief while standing in front of it.
“To your satisfaction?” Rocky says smugly and makes a proud gesture, and Grace blows a raspberry at him before sitting down on the couch again, next to Simon so he can sling an arm around his shoulders. Simon shrinks into his side and sighs, and then they’re both stared down by Rocky. “… Something has changed.”
“Yeah, pal,” Grace laughs. If Rocky had been in a possession of a face he’d be squinting at them.
“Mates, question?” he asks, and Simon looks at Grace at the same time as Grace looks at him.
“Yeah,” Simon says, putting his hand on Grace’s thigh.
“When?” Rocky asks and points an accusatory claw at Grace.
“What— I’ve not been keeping things from you! We only became mates today,” he sputters, squeezing Simon’s shoulder. “I don’t need to update you on everything as soon as it happens.” Rocky grumbles and fusses with the fan.
“Rocky is happy for you. Grace will have to tell me more later,” he says and folds up the box he’d carried the fan in. “I have no time to stay and interrogate, Rocky will be back when the temperature is fixed,” he says and waves to them both, showing himself out.
“He was in a hurry,” Simon comments and picks up his water bottle. Grace chuckles, waiting until Simon has put his bottle down to kiss him.
“He probably didn’t wanna hear us being leaky and squishy anymore than he had to,” he says as he pulls back, and Simon rubs their noses together before kissing him again.
“Do you think he can still hear us now?” he asks and Grace cranes his neck to look out the window, but can’t see him.
“Probably not,” Grace says and leans back on the couch. Simon leans against him with a small happy sigh and presses his nose against his shoulder. “I have some, from my crewmates. Some other clothes.” Simon hums in question. “Ilyukhina had a few skirts packed and— I wear them sometimes. Or wore them sometimes, but if you want to try them, you can do that.”
“Really? You don’t want to preserve them?” Simon asks. Grace shakes his head.
“Clothes are made to be used. I think they’d look better on you than stuffed in my closet,” he says and Simon smiles at him.
“You’re sweet,” he murmurs and pulls his legs up under him so he can lean heavier on Grace’s shoulder. Grace feels all warm inside his chest, burying his nose in Simon’s hair and already planning on how to ask the textile team for more feminine clothes for Simon.