Archive of Our Own

If you asked Grace how he got to this point in life, he could technically give you an explanation of all the moments that led him here, to this exact spot. It still doesn’t fully connect the trajectories of his decisions to his sitting in an astrophage-fueled spaceship, with his alien best friend fully decked out in the latest version of the exosuit, pressed against his back and guiding his hands over the intricate xenonite model of Grace’s solar system.

Two of Rocky’s legs are squeezing Grace’s sides as he’s hunched over, cross-legged on the floor. The other two arms are hugging him from behind, so he can hold Grace’s hands, which are fitted with the exoskeletal welding tools Rocky made specifically for him.

Grace is biting his bottom lip in concentration, the tip of his tongue wetting his lips now and then. He barely hears Rocky over the loud pumping of blood in his ears.

“Grace must connect Earth to the base now,” he says.

Grace gingerly holds the long rod-like wire with a small sphere on one end, representing his home planet, between the mechanical thimble finger attachments.

He sighs. When he first had this brilliant idea, he had been looking for something to watch for their next movie night and came across Ghost (1990) in the downloaded collective history of the Internet.

One of his rare childhood memories resurfaced then—of his mom sitting on the couch in their carpeted living room. A glass of wine in hand, she gushed about how romantic Patrick Swayze and Demi Moore were, getting all covered in mud behind the pottery wheel, while Grace silently worked on his science homework in the corner, his socked feet kicking in the air behind him. He probably shouldn’t have been in the room watching with her, but his mom didn’t seem to care what he was doing as long as he was quiet. Given how limited his memory is now, thanks to his drug-induced coma and subsequent amnesia, he still doesn’t know whether her not seeming to care was typical in their relationship and is why he remembers so little about her.

What he does remember is how Swayze’s arms wrapped around Moore, their hands sliding together, the wet squelch of the clay, and the downright erotic intertwining of their dirtied fingers.

He doesn’t show Rocky the film, but he does ask him to teach him how to make xenonite sculptures using Eridian welding tools.

“This will be good for Grace. Exciting! Your models always so bad bad bad. I teach!” Rocky said, his claws tapping and clicking, the notes in his voice singing excitedly as if Grace had just given him an early birthday present.

So now, Grace is suffering the consequences of his actions and late-night reminiscing-induced decisions, having tricked his best friend into recreating one of the most famous romantic scenes in film, akin to maybe only the fogged-up glass handprint in Titanic.

He’d feel bad if only the feeling of Rocky’s limbs wrapped around him, and the weight of him at his back, heavy and sure, weren't exactly what he'd been craving for weeks.

“Grace be careful! Attach rod gently gently slowly.” Rocky grips Grace’s wrist to steady his hand, crowding in even closer, and Grace suppresses a shudder working its way down his spine.

“Like this?” He connects the tip of the rod to the base, delicately, and waits for approval.

“Good good, now use welding tool to join.” He moves Grace’s wrist to position the rod so it turns farther outward, having committed to his perfect memory the exact measurements, distances, and angles needed to create a scientifically accurate 3D replica.

“Slow slow gentle,” he repeats. Grace is actually going to die.

He stretches his finger, tugging the wires connecting the mechanisms, and clicks the fingertips together to create a spark. Rocky chitters cheerfully behind him.

“Good good, Grace doing good.”

Grace’s face is burning. Rocky’s body heat seeps into him; he’s running hot all over, but especially in his face. Rocky doesn’t comment on it yet, hopefully ascribing Grace’s fever-like state to his own body being a smelting furnace.

He wets his dry lips again. “Thanks, bud, I think I’m getting the hang of it.”

In case it wasn’t clear, Grace knows he sucks at this. Not the welding part; he’s not half bad with delicate tools and careful handling of materials. He can’t be in his line of work. His hands don’t shake, and even though artistry is something that eludes him, with Rocky’s guidance he is finally able to recreate something decent, compared to his earlier attempts when they were first trying to connect. His makeshift models, made on three hours of sleep and slapped together with the grace of the least gifted but most enthusiastic kid in the 4th-grade art class, still make Rocky burst into a giggling fit.

No, he sucks at the usually quite straightforward practice that came naturally to most people around him back on Earth. Flirting. Or courting, which was Rocky’s preferred term from when they very briefly scratched the surface of human and Eridian mating habits, since Grace wasn’t in the mood to recount his failed, half-hearted efforts at intimacy. Forging a genuine romantic connection has always been a slow, painstaking process. He could make friends relatively quickly; he was generally well-liked by his students and colleagues, but that’s, of course, after he let his youthful arrogance burn out a little. But letting them any closer than the proverbial entrance gate, where they would hang out for a while, making pleasant small talk, maybe having a drink or two, that’s not something he could ever do easily. Until Rocky.

He recognizes he’s never felt a desire so bright. Rocky and he have crashed way past the entrance, falling into each other headfirst, drawn together with the gravitational pull of two planets colliding the moment they first met. They have become so interwoven, together in their world of two. Sometimes he doesn’t know who he was without him, or if it’d ever be possible to untangle the tightly-knit unit they’ve merged into.

His heart beats a little too fast to sound casual, and he’s starting to think he might genuinely want Rocky to pick up on it, to make a comment, say anything. It took a long time for Grace to reach this point. He’s always been oblivious to these things, or rather, unwilling to focus on them. After seven months on Mary with Rocky, as their closeness grew, so did his desire. It might be bordering on cosmic now.

“Grace pay attention.” Rocky tugs on his hand, pulling him out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, spaced out.”

Rocky’s claws move over the thin skin of his wrist again, the pulse leaping wildly beneath them. The xenonite layer of the suit is too smooth; Grace wishes he could feel the texture of Rocky’s carapace rubbing against him. He wishes he could press the pads of his fingers against the surface to see whether they would glide or catch. He wonders how it would feel for Rocky, and whether he ever thinks about them touching, too.

Sweet Mother of Mercy, help him. He thinks he’d even like having Rocky burrowed under his skin.

Rocky taps impatiently. Grace grips the last rod with renewed determination. Fine, if he’s trying to actively put himself in situations that might trigger some response from Rocky, any kind of response, that’s his business. He doesn’t trust himself to address whatever’s been brewing up a storm inside him head-on; he needs to ease into it. Test the waters, if you would. Among his numerous credentials, this is the one area he can’t take pride in, and he doesn’t want to screw it up or come on too strong. He knows Rocky loves him. The scar on his arm is tangible proof. Only, to Grace’s greatest surprise, the love he has for Rocky has started to simmer, then spark, engulfing him little by little, burning low and incredibly hot in his gut.

They agreed to always be honest with each other, serving as each other’s sole reference for light-years in any direction when it comes to shared knowledge and processing emotions. Grace knows he’ll have to discuss this, even at the cost of Rocky never reaching the same stage in their relationship. Rocky will understand and try to make it easier for him. He knows this, but he still can’t find the courage to lay himself bare.

“There and done!” He attaches the last piece of the puzzle.

“Not half bad. Full good.”

“I guess I just needed a good teacher.” Grace is absolutely not pushing, just testing the waters.

“Grace make joke! Teacher need teacher. Get it.” Rocky lets out the cutest melody of soft, tinkling notes known to man, or at least to a man named Ryland Grace. Grace feels it against his whole body, and he doesn’t suppress a shiver this time.

Opportunity to establish a flirty line of dialogue: missed. Opportunity to make Rocky laugh: seized successfully.

Rocky shifts behind him. “Grace patient now, I take off tools.”

Grace sets the finished model down and holds out his hands. “Have a go at it.”

Rocky is slow to remove the equipment. He takes Grace’s left hand first; the claws clasp around it, caressing the meat of his palm. Grace gulps very loudly. His lips are still dry, and now the inside of his throat feels like he hasn't drunk a sip of water in hours. The tip of Rocky’s claw presses into the mechanism on the side of his wrist, and it pops, lessening the hold on his wrist bones.

Grace watches Rocky take off the thimble attachments wrapped around his finger joints in circular frames. He slips them off like he’s taking off a ring. Grace can’t think too hard about it.

He repeats the process with his right hand. Except now, Rocky’s claws caress the lines running across his palm. He follows the arch around the base of his thumb, there and back again. Grace’s skin tickles. Suddenly, it feels like his whole universe has shrunk, focused on the point of contact where Rocky maps out his heart line.

Over time, Grace might have developed a slight obsession with watching Rocky’s hands move with decisiveness and self-confidence whenever he works on a project, claws tinkering with his genius inventions. They work with a competence that, in his weakest moments, Grace imagines could be applied to other areas, like making Grace fall apart with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel making an incision. It is one of the reasons he asked for Rocky’s guidance with this in the first place.

He is touching him with slow, careful movements; it seems almost deliberate. Grace’s skin is so sensitive. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his temple. He’s burning up.

He should say something. He should definitely say something. Should he? His brain might’ve turned off.

“Rocky, wh—“ He’s cut off when Rocky suddenly crowds in on him again, rubbing his carapace against the knobs of Grace’s spine.

“Grace hands sound good. Soft but strong. Capable. I like your hands.”

Holy—

Rocky holds his hands, now free of Eridian manipulation tools, with Rocky’s limbs pressed parallel alongside his arms.

“Um, thanks? That’s… a lot of praise.” God, he’s useless. He’s exactly where he wanted to be, and he’s useless.

Rocky lets out his version of a snort, a few musical notes that make Grace’s heart grow in size. “Not get used to it. Grace still clumsy.”

Grace grins, and the tension in his body eases a little.

“You really are a good teacher, albeit a little bossy.”

“You like bossy.”

And the tension is back. His face must be seen shining back from Tau Ceti. Grace is acutely aware of every inch of his skin in contact with Rocky’s body. The heat concentrates low in his belly, scorching and unforgiving. The light suddenly hurts his eyes. He’s locked in Rocky’s embrace, and Rocky can hear everything happening inside his human body without any distractions.

Rocky gently hums and vibrates at his back. Grace feels it everywhere.

“You tell me now why so important I teach you working with tools, question?”

Tap, tap against Grace’s knuckles.

“Well, to quote you—to make my terrible, terrible models look better than if a child made them. And it was you who ended up super excited about the idea, ecstatic even!” He doesn’t mean for it to come out so defensive.

“Apology. Correction. To make Rocky teach you in this specific position.”

Rocky shifts again, as if to point out how Grace is nestled between his limbs. Grace’s boiling blood freezes instantly. Of course, he wouldn’t just get away with it. Rocky’s the smartest person he’s ever met, his lack of pop-culture references, including ’90s movies, notwithstanding.

“See,” he laughs awkwardly. “That must’ve been where our wires got crossed. Cultural miscommunication. I just said I prefer the hands-on approach, and then you actually took my hands and guided them and I thought you thought this would be easier…” He's blabbering, and he's a coward.

“You said, quote, [get behind me].”

Oh fudger, Rocky sounds amused. He really, really can’t do this now. He’s not ready. He's short of breath. Rocky still doesn’t say anything about the blood circulating his veins with roaring veracity.

“Rocky, bud, could you please let go of me?”

He lets him go instantly. The charged atmosphere changes as if with a flick of a switch, and Rocky’s body radiates concern. His limbs tap for a clearer image, shifting from one leg to the other.

“Grace okay, question?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Aces. Bueno. Nothing to worry about.”

He hates not being honest with him more than anything. More than being a coward, more than never seeing Earth again.

Rocky may not have any facial features, but Grace can feel his nonexistent eyes narrow in suspicion.

“You should rest now. Bed time soon. Model take many hours. Grace tired and confused.”

“Yes. Thank you again. It means a lot that you shared your skills with me. A lot, a lot,” he adds for emphasis.

Rocky tilts his carapace in a human mimicry of a silent nod. “Anything for you. Now go get ready. I watch sleep.”

Grace turns toward the dormitory, shoulders slumped in defeat. He said he sucked at this. Royally.

There’s one thing he knows. He’s going to have to learn to be the man Rocky sees him as. He’s going to have to be brave.

——

The movie is on, and the lights are off in the don’t-go-crazy room. Grace is sitting with his back ramrod straight next to his best friend slash crush slash potentially the love of his life, and he tries to seem very relaxed and unbothered about it.

It’s been his turn to pick what to watch, and following the after-sculpture-workshop fiasco and his declaration to be brave, he settled on showing Rocky Ghost after all. It’s his last-ditch effort to fix the weird mood that's sat heavy between them since yesterday and his chance to steer the ship back to the desired waters where he might lay the groundwork for telling Rocky how he feels. He’s picked a version of show, don’t tell, which he knows is the easy way, but he can’t imagine a scenario where going straight to the point would work out in his favor. He’s notoriously bad at talking about things that matter to him.

“This movie very popular back on Earth, question?” Rocky interrupts his very calm, very laid-back flow of thoughts.

“Yeah, in the ’90s, it was all the rage in the romance department. Actually, my mom used to watch it all the time. Patrick Swayze was the sex symbol, you know. You’re gonna have to watch him in Dirty Dancing. He made everyone crazy.”

“I no see it. Human expression.” He clarifies with some amusement.

“No, really, he was voted Sexiest Man Alive. Even I can see he’s objectively among the best of what humanity has to offer.” He clears his throat. “Do you… Can you actually find human features attractive? Objectively?”

Rocky seems to freeze in thought, then spins around his own axis once, his claws clicking. “No objectively. I only hear sound of one human.”

“Oh, okay. So, Patrick Swayze does nothing for you.”

“Only hear sound of one human, and I always like it best. No other [do it] for Rocky.”

“Um, that’s… a pretty subjective judgment, then, I guess. Buddy.” He stacks the buddy on it like a Hail Mary and prays he doesn’t sound too much like he’s choking on it. He doesn’t know what to do with himself when Rocky drops truths like that, when he reminds him that he’s his only contact point in the universe.

Rocky says nothing to that, only imitates a shrug for Grace’s sake, their shared language and nonverbal cues facilitating their communication.

Grace stares straight ahead, “no other do it for Rocky” replaying in his mind on a loop like a broken record. He tries to divert his attention back to the movie only to realize his great reenactment scene is coming up. A wave of heat hits him in the face again.

He watches Swayze slip behind Moore at the pottery wheel, casual intimacy unspooling in the lines where their bodies touch, thighs to thighs, arms to arms. Grace remembers Rocky pressed against him from behind, his limbs sliding along his ribs, his warmth seeping beneath the layer of his skin. His palms start to sweat.

He chances a quick glance at Rocky, only to see him watching the scene intently through his screen-reading device. He knows Rocky’s focused because his hands are tapping on the floor, his body slightly shifting to get a better hearing angle, and for once, he doesn’t offer any comments. Grace snaps his head back to the screen, and his neck cracks.

He winces quietly and decides the time has come for him to do good by his words. As Moore’s thumbs bear down into the wet clay, a slick sound accompanying them, Swayze’s fingers sliding suggestively, Grace rolls his neck and shoulders back as if stretching. He then spreads his arms in a wide arc and lets one of them fall on top of Rocky sitting next to him.

He considers yawning for good measure, but he’s already brimming with embarrassment, and being that cliché would definitely add to it. He moves closer to Rocky, who has stopped tapping.

The couple on screen starts kissing. Grace has grown accustomed to the new normal of his quickened heart rate, and he doubles down, leaning his weight on Rocky, his side fitting perfectly between the two limbs.

“Disgust,” Rocky finally adds his two cents, and Grace immediately wants to lean away, but Rocky’s arm comes to rest on his lower back. The place where he touches him burns. Rocky starts rubbing circles over the small of his back, and Grace swallows back a tiny moan as he melts into it.

“What… You mean the kissing?”

“No kissing. Wet clay. Humans make activity look like mating initiation, but sounds are gross, no Eridian would welcome this as invitation.”

“Oh.” Grace suddenly hopes Mary will start flashing and signaling a critical failure so he can run away from his own, which somehow keeps rolling down the hill uncontrollably and only picking up speed. “Good to know. I guess that falls into predictable patterns for the way you categorize different sounds.” He tries to extract himself again subtly, but Rocky doesn’t let him.

“Yes yes yes. But Rocky used to wet disgust sounds from Grace now. As I said, I like all Grace sounds.” Rocky splays his claws over his lower back and pushes into him. Grace can’t help the soft sigh that escapes him. “Like that,” he says, and Grace is so far gone that he doesn’t stop to think about the question forming on the tip of his tongue.

“So you don’t really mind the kissing sounds, then?” He’s horrified at himself.

“I no care for it in movies. But if Grace want try real experience, I want too. I admit Rocky curious.”

Again, Grace can’t explain how his life has come to this. He is reduced to a quivering, vibrating human shell, ready to fall apart at the thought of getting to kiss his best friend.

Has it all actually worked? The Ghost scene, the move where a guy puts his arm around his crush at the cinema… Is Rocky letting him know he feels the same chest-splitting ache when he’s close to him as Grace does?

He presses his cheek against Rocky’s xenonite suit. The movie is still playing, but Grace couldn’t care less about it now. “You know I’m always up for an experiment, but—”

“Good good good. Grace kiss Rocky now.”

“Wait, now?”

“Yes, I want experiment now.”

“I’m not sure you know what you’re asking, Rock.”

“I want form subjective opinion on kissing. Rocky know what I ask.”

“Yes, but… kissing is,” he searches for a word. “Intimate, private.”

Rocky taps thoughtfully. Grace recognizes the tone of his voice as careful. “Never done between friends or family?”

Something sharp dislodges in his chest then, scraping painfully against the inner side of his sternum. “You’re right. Of course.”

“Then kiss now.”

Grace takes a deep breath. He feels tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He rubs his cheek against the xenonite, turning his face so the tip of his nose scrunches against the suit's hard edge. “Okay. Here goes.”

He expects great fanfare, fireworks bursting behind his closed eyelids, but it’s just warm pressure against his lips, the mineral tang of xenonite mingling with the salty wetness running down his face.

Sweet stars, he loves him so much. And he wants this to be real more than anything he’s ever dared to want. It’s unfair to ask that of Rocky.

Rocky very carefully presses closer, his vents rhythmically pumping hot air and fogging the top of his suit. He chitters quietly, low-set notes Grace has never heard from him before, vibrations that reverberate deep within his core.

“That was it, question?”

“Yeah, that’s it.” His voice catches on a sob, dragged out from him against his will.

“I need more data. Rocky no hear much. Need more kisses.”

“Maybe not right now, bud. Let’s just finish up the movie.”

“You need better poker face, human expression. Grace just want out of situation again.” His notes ring too slow, too pronounced, and Grace hurts. “Leaking normal when kissing?” He taps twice hesitantly.

“Um, sometimes.”

“When good or when bad?”

“Good.” That’s as brave as he gets this time.

Rocky still doesn’t let him go, so Grace stays leaning into him, his cheeks drying in the warmth radiating beneath. By the end of the movie, they manage to get into a heated debate over the possibility of supernatural and ghosts existing either on Earth or on Erid—Grace is mostly against it out of principle while Rocky seems mostly excited and perhaps tickled by the idea. He calls Grace narrow-minded and challenges his views on the inevitability of continuous exploration and the evolution of the unknown. Grace acts like it offends his sensibilities, but he knows his heart isn’t in it. It beats tiredly between them, halfway out of Grace’s chest and nestled in Rocky’s hands, impossibly fond.

The whole time, Grace tries to force himself to forget the kiss. He already has everything with Rocky, their own whole world of two. What more could he possibly want?

Later that night, as he settles in for sleep before returning to his part of the habitat, Rocky stops at his bedside and hovers over him. Grace keeps his eyes firmly shut.

Rocky sings Grace’s name, the longer version of it that Grace just recently discovered was meant for him, and, as always, it knocks the breath out of him.

“Grace no believe in supernatural but how can explain how we met? Was it not what you humans call fate? Rocky alone for so long and Grace found me when I lost all hope. That is no natural. In big big big universe Grace and Rocky meant to find each other. I believe that is no coincidence.”

Grace can’t allow himself to cry for the second time that day. “I don’t believe it was a coincidence either.” He whispers into the dark, not daring to open his eyes and try to read Rocky’s blurry stance with his imperfect sight.

He feels Rocky’s claw press into his cheek, gently, with care, and he imagines it as a kiss, lingering until the heat of it seeps in. Rocky hums, the sound so sweet that Grace almost reaches for him again.

Grace tries not to dream of anything, but he does. He always does these days.

——

“Eye movement detected.”

His brain is slow to wake. He’s warm and snuggled under the blanket, and a vague memory of a kiss pressed to his face makes his insides tingle in that pleasant way that's on the verge of turning into a low simmer in his belly if he lets it. He instinctively reaches for the usual source of warmth, always close when he’s waking up, only to come up empty. Rocky isn’t there.

“Wait,” he mumbles into his pillow.

A sudden spike of anxiety jolts him upright so fast he hits his head on the xenonite wall enclosing his bed.

“Oh, cheese balls and crackers, what am I—“

He massages the flat spot on the back of his skull furiously. He can’t hear Rocky’s signature chuckle on account of Grace doing something particularly clumsy as he usually would. Because Rocky isn’t there.

It all comes back to him, and his stomach immediately ties itself up in a tight knot. He kissed Rocky yesterday. He kissed his one and only best friend in the entire universe, and then he cried about it. What’s more, he stole Rocky’s first human kiss without addressing the fact that he’s in love with him.

Rocky trusted him to be honest with him. He trusted him to be perfectly capable of providing a teaching opportunity while Grace kissed him with every intention of turning said opportunity romantic.

He groans, slaps his cheeks with both hands, and drags them down, his skin stretching and sagging under the pressure. He presumes Rocky’s absence has something to do with him screwing up again.

“Okay. Time go.”

He gets up and goes about his morning ablutions, his internal monologue firing off rapid thoughts in a stream of consciousness, each more melodramatic than the last as he goes over his past two attempts to prepare the grounds for his confession. He must come up with a way to approach this, and he’s run out of time.

Rocky, I know I’ve been acting strange lately. Even by human standards—

Hey, so, you've probably noticed these past few times we hung out—

Listen, I owe you an apology because I forced you into situations where my motives were completely ulterior and—

He only stops practicing for the brief time he spends on the toilet because he has more respect for Rocky than that.

“I’m actually going mad. Genuinely should let Armando scan for brain damage.”

He mutters quietly to himself as he shakes out his hands and legs, stretches his arms overhead and then bends down to touch his toes.

He still hasn’t let himself think one word that is making their honesty deal weigh heavily on him; he’s been avoiding it even in his subconscious: Adrian. Rocky’s mate. Grace has been so greedy with his feelings that, even though Rocky’s already given him all that he could, he still wants more. He always wants more despite the fact that Rocky can’t and shouldn’t share what he already shares with someone else.

His heart is racing, and he feels sick, but he braves the discomfort and makes his way to where he thinks he can hear Rocky tinkering.

“Rock? What are you up to? Bud?”

He finds him in the lab, out of his atmosphere and in the exosuit, the side of him that Grace came to think of as his face turned away from him. He’s hiding something behind him.

“Something wrong with Grace brain?” Rocky acknowledges his presence.

“Oh, you heard that.”

“Always listening.”

“Nothing’s wrong. I was just talking to myself. Listen, can we talk?”

Rocky trills and turns around for Grace’s benefit so he knows he has his full attention. Grace spots something that looks like a display case behind him.

“What is that?”

“Grace either want talk or want Rocky explain. Choose.”

He’s curious but also tempted to buy himself some time again, and he knows he can’t allow himself to fall back into his concerning habits now.

“Okay, talk.” He rubs his sweaty palms together. He really can’t hear anything over how loud his heart thuds in his ears. He shifts from one leg to the other. Rocky questioningly taps the floor.

“Look, I’m not very good at this, but we promised to be honest with each other. And the truth is… The truth is that… fudge!” He groans and runs a hand through his hair, messing it up. “You know, I tried to practice what to say, but I still don’t have the faintest idea where to start.”

“That is why you took so long in private room, question?”

“No! Yes!”

“Grace take time, it okay.”

“I am out of time, Rock, that’s the problem.” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. He starts again. “I wanted to apologize to you.”

Rocky tilts his carapace in a gesture that signals he’s waiting.

“I’ve been having these… thoughts about you. Feelings. Intentions.” Rocky lets out a soft whistling tune. Grace closes his eyes and covers them with his hand. He feels a little ridiculous and, for a second, imagines himself as a romantic lead in a Regency drama, complete with pouring rain and declarations of undying love.

“I kind of… tried to create these situations where I could show you how I felt? What with the model making and the movie last night.” He clears his throat. “But then I realized I just tricked you into it. Like with the kiss yesterday.”

“That was not Grace idea.”

“No? But I definitely had my hand in it turning out that way.”

“I can no be coerced into doing things I not want. Rocky full grown Eridian and Grace no master manipulator.”

That tugs at the corners of Grace’s lips in the tiniest flutter of a nervous smile. He peeks at Rocky, then immediately has to look up at the ceiling. “The truth still stands that I haven’t been honest. Actually, I’ve been a fool. A complete, greedy, selfish fool.” His hands come up to grip his hair again.

“You gave me your friendship, you gave me your love, we’re currently on our way to your home which you want to share with me… And it’s still not enough for me!” He laughs. “I wanted you to see us in a different light, to show you… But it’s not like I can ask more from you! You already gave me everything. I don’t even deserve it, and you and Adrian—”

“Grace, stop.”

He realizes he’s breathing heavily. He still can’t look at Rocky. Somehow, his muscles strain and tremble slightly with exertion. The adrenaline rushing through his veins is akin to the desperate fire that consumed him when he stood at the wall in the tunnel, knocking and screaming, waiting to see if Rocky still lived, if he still waited for him.

“I’m just so freaking sorry.”

Rocky’s lilting tone is tinged with concern. “You apologize because you think I mind or because you want to take back?”

“Fuck.” Now he has both palms pressed hard into his eye sockets. “No, Rock. I’m selfish and a coward. I don’t want to take it back. In fact, I’d probably do it again if given a choice. I’m not the most ethical person around. But I do owe you an apology for the situation I put you in without your consent.”

“Grace say [fuck].”

Grace laughs again, a little desperately. “Yeah, pal, I think the situation finally warrants it.”

“Enough talk now.”

“But—”

“I choose for Grace. Will explain now before you hurt yourself.”

Grace feels two of Rocky’s hands tug at his elbows, pulling his arms down and away from his face. He startles, but Rocky’s hands are on his hips, then to steady him. He looks at him, red-faced and out of breath.

“Grace not dare say sorry one more time.”

Another snort-laugh escapes him. He’s confessing to loving his best friend on a spaceship hurtling through space toward an alien planet so they can save their world, and that best friend is making him laugh mid-pathetic apology for the feelings he’s been secretly harboring.

Rocky’s vents ripple, and he sings Grace’s name. He’s pulling him toward the back of the room, to the display case he noticed earlier. Grace tries not to trip over his feet.

“Look Look Look.”

In the case made of clear xenonite glass lies the model of Grace’s solar system they made together earlier that week. Grace’s brilliant attempt at trying his hand at flirting was put on a pedestal, as if it were something worthy of being a centerpiece.

“Rocky, that’s beautiful.” His eyes sting again.

“No. Look.” Rocky takes Grace’s hand and guides it toward a plaque at the bottom of the case. Rocky’s hand is so warm. The pads of Grace’s fingers catch on an engraving on the xenonite.

“What is it?” He has to crouch to see, except now he’s on Rocky’s level, and his heart gives up its beat again at their closeness.

There are letters. Letters engraved in English that spell [GRACE ROCKY].

”It’s our names.”

“Yes.” Rocky’s voice warbles, and he stomps his feet as he does when he’s impatient because Grace takes too long to get to the point.

Grace’s fingers trace two lines beneath the inscription; dotted lines like tiny stars inching closer together as he travels from left to right, finally merging into one at the end. He has an inkling of what they might represent.

“Is it us? The lines meeting?”

“Yes yes yes. Grace Rocky star mates.”

“Oh, like star buddies. Because we met among the stars, I get it.”

“You not get nothing!” Rocky stomps his feet again, this time clearly frustrated. His vents are moving rapidly on top of his carapace, steam fogging the suit, and he lets out a sound that would scare Grace if he heard it in traffic, using all five of his voice boxes.

It feels a little backward that Grace stands there with his heart on the line, yet Rocky’s the one who’s worked up now.

“Star [buddies].” Rocky keeps muttering, the tilt of his voice mocking as he emphasizes the word. Grace doesn’t know what's so offensive about the term of endearment he uses for Rocky daily, but his whole world has been out of balance these past few days, and he accepts he doesn’t know everything.

“Hey, Rock.” Grace places his hand on top of Rocky’s claw, tapping against the case. “Bud.”

“Grace temporary ban on word sorry [and] word buddy. Until I explain.”

“Um, okay, deal.”

“Apology, I know it cost Grace much to finally say what feel.”

“I think if I can’t apologize, neither can you.” Grace tries not to get stuck on finally.

“Grace so brave for Rocky. All time.” He puts so much tenderness into his words; Grace feels the song rattle his whole being. He sucks in a breath.

“You always have to directly contradict me.” But it sounds wobbly to his ears, and Rocky catches it, too, squeezing the hand Grace placed on him.

“Rocky tell Grace about fate.” Rocky’s voice drops to a lower register, growing more serious and urgent at the same time. Grace nods, blinking rapidly because his eyes well up again. “Lines mean Rocky Grace meet in stars but not as [buddies]. Star [mates]! It mean two beings come together that are destined to be one. Destiny to meet, to find each other!”

He doesn’t dare misinterpret what Rocky’s saying. “Are you telling me… Is this whole display case about us being soulmates?”

“Yes! Soulmates, starmates, Rocky Grace one. And you say [buddies] and apologize for feelings. I no can believe!” He pushes out a puff of steam that serves as an exclamation point.

Grace has to sit down. He plops down in front of Rocky, resting his arms over softly bent knees, his eyes zeroing in on their names written next to each other.

“Starmates.” His lips form the word without making a sound. And then, because he’s the biggest loser and worst friend under the sun, or any star in any solar system for that matter, and because there's no chance Rocky means it the way Grace desperately, frantically needs him to, he asks: “You mean like a platonic, fated best-friends-forever situation?”

If Grace thought the sound Rocky made earlier was loud, this one doesn’t even compare. His ears are ringing. Rocky drops his hand, and his body shakes, moving up and down like he’s on a trampoline, but with his feet glued to the floor. The multilayered chord he produces with his vocal systems echoes through the room, and Grace covers his head before the foghorn blows out his eardrums.

“Rocky! Stop!”

Rocky’s voice climbs in decibels and agitation, and the computer translator barely picks up the tones that tangle and break apart. Grace has never been on the receiving end of such clamor, not even in a class full of hormone-driven teenagers.

“Actually Rocky [can] believe! [Platonic]! ♫♪♩♬♪!” That was an Eridian expletive. “Rocky wait [weee-eeeks] for Grace to make move! I give all space! I know no easy for you! ♩♬♪! [Platonic!]”

Grace’s head shoots up, and his back straightens as if someone had poked him right between his shoulder blades. “What.”

“I know for weeks! Grace so careful, but I read his body like open book, human expression! I try encourage Grace, reciprocate. Ask for kiss so you know I feel same!”

Grace feels a blush in deepest scarlet spread from his face to his chest.

“Like that!” Rocky punctuates with his claw now, pointing at the blood rushing to the surface of his skin. “You think you try to make move and I not know, question?! You ask make model and ask Rocky to sit behind you, feel your body respond to my touch and I not know?”

Grace feels all words die on his tongue. A warm thrill follows the flow of his blood down between his legs.

“Rocky know.” The resonant chords quiet, growing pliant like a trickle of water. Grace feels it wash over his body in a warm wave.

“Rock…” He swallows, his mouth dry.

“And Grace had that genius idea from movie! You show Rocky movie and hope I notice. You finally make move and get close, and when I make move back, you cry! What Rocky supposed to think, question!”

Rocky’s outrage peters out, and he just sounds exasperated now. Grace can’t blame him; he's exasperated with himself, too. But mostly, he can’t even begin to process what Rocky’s saying to him.

“I—” He starts, but his brain moves at a sluggish pace. “I admit…Thinking these things through is not my strongest suit.”

“Not even medium strong! But I appreciate you [fiiii-nallyyy] let Rocky know.”

There it is again.

“Finally?”

“Grace.” Rocky hums his name, slowly, deliberately. “Rocky want… No. Need word.” He bobs up and down again. “Want someone. Want be with someone, but no have them. Die from want all time.”

Grace’s world is turning in on itself. Up is down, left is right. He focuses on his feet to see if he’s floating; if there's any gravity holding him centered.

“You mean… Yearn?”

“Yes. I [yearn] for you since you save me.”

Grace falls.

He sits there, unblinking, Rocky's image smudged in his vision, and he’s falling down a black hole, his tether to gravity severed, sending him flying out there through the stars, no chance of stopping.

“Grace?” Rocky’s two hands touch his knees. They pull him back.

“Rocky you can’t say that…”

“No can? Grace confess first and now no can accept I feel same? Why, question?” He taps against Grace’s legs.

His brain finally catches up. His mouth moves before he decides on it.

“Not can’t. Shouldn’t! I was supposed to confess, and you were supposed to tell me how you appreciate me as a friend but can’t return my feelings. You were only meant to accept my apology!”

Rocky warbles something the computer doesn’t catch. “Even if Grace hope for something more?”

“Even if I… Rocky, what I hope for is irrelevant.” He hangs his head down between his knees again. “You have someone waiting for you back home, and I’m already taking more from you than is reasonable or fair.”

And then, Rocky reaches with his claw and takes Grace’s chin in his hand, lifting it so Grace has no choice but to look at him.

“Grace. My Grace.” He sings sweetly, and it hurts like a knife twisted in his chest, like a syringe stabbed into his neck. “Yes. Adrian wait for Rocky. Wait long time. I [yearn] to see them, always. But Rocky wait, too. Wait long long long, alone and sad. Until Grace came and give Rocky hope. Give everything. I no can deny that Grace is part of Rocky fate, just as Adrian is.”

Grace’s lips part.

“And Grace no can deny it too. No but. No sorry. Meant to find each other.”

Grace wants to shake his head, wants to tell him how wrong he is, how he’s going to regret this, how he can’t just give Grace what he wants, not this time.

“I yearn for you, too.” He says instead.

“Rocky know.” He caresses Grace’s cheek with his claw, and Grace feels embarrassed by just how big an effect that admission has on him.

“You seem to know everything, huh.” He leans into the touch, licks his lips, and tastes salt on his tongue. Rocky’s claw traces the path from the corner of his eye down the line of his jaw, catching the tears Grace hasn’t realized he shed.

“Most things. It is Grace who not know.”

Grace lets out a shaky snort. “Is there anything else I should know? Besides the fact that you like me?”

“[Like] you. Grace talk like new-hatched pebble. I no like you. I love you.”

Grace wishes Rocky would stop putting him through the emotional wringer for even ten seconds of this conversation.

His voice is hoarse when he manages to speak again. “I love you, too, bud—” He swallows the last word as the claw on his face presses harder into his skin. “I’m sorry, I’m so—”

“[Graaa-cee]!” Rocky whines. “What I say? You tell Rocky you love me [FINALLY] and call me buddy [AGAIN] and then immediately apologize [AGAIN]!”

“Wow, you’re bossing me around even when I try to confess.” Grace grumbles, but he’s laughing, smiling so hard his face hurts.

“Confess better.”

Grace snorts again, the joy inside him so big, so tenacious, he thinks he might burst with it.

“There [is] something else Grace should know.”

“Yeah? What is it?”

Rocky fidgets. He pulls his hands away, and Grace misses the touch instantly. “Something I did not tell you. Because I not want to rush Grace.”

Grace shifts from his position and gets his legs under him, kneeling in front of Rocky with his palms pressed into his thighs.

“Actually, it is all Grace fault for no knowing.” He stomps his foot. Grace can’t wipe the smile from his face, even though he has no idea where Rocky’s going with this. “Grace embarrassed when talking about Eridian courting rituals so know very little. When you ask me to teach you…” His voice goes up in a high-pitched squeal. “Make art together very intimate practice on Erid. When Grace ask, you did not know what it did to Rocky.”

Grace’s smile drops at that. His breathing grows shallow. He truly has been a fool. A genuine, colossal fool.

“What… did it do to you?” he asks. You know, like a fool.

“Grace want know what you made me feel?”

Grace nods. Rocky’s computerized voice doesn’t change, but Grace hears the chords beneath, hears them quiver. He needs Rocky to put his hands back on him.

“Grace ask Rocky to help create something together, make solid proof of union. Rocky hearts work faster, much excitement.” Rocky clicks his claws. “Then Grace body react under my limbs.” He croons. “I hear blood pumping fast, heart rate elevate, skin excrete fluid, blood vessels dilate, muscles tense. I know signs. I know Grace body.”

Grace’s body is reacting to Rocky’s words even now.

“I hear all pressed so close to Grace. And I react too.”

Rocky suddenly shifts, moving behind him. Grace wants to turn around to look, but Rocky locks him between his limbs and presses against his back. He’s mirroring the pose from their previous encounter.

“Rocky, I want to see you—”

“No need. I tell everything.”

Rocky’s hands glide over Grace’s, touching the inside of his wrist with tender care. Grace breaks out in goosebumps, and the fine hairs on his arms rise.

“When Grace in my limbs like this, when Grace press mouth on me, when hear all fluids in Grace body loud and so present… Rocky should feel disgust. Discomfort. But Rocky only want hear more. Only ever want more. Grace and Rocky same.”

Rocky’s claws travel up Grace’s arms, leaving a blazing trail in their wake. They stop at Grace’s bicep, where Rocky’s handprint is burned into his skin. They rest there, almost reverent.

“Rocky want feel all of Grace. I no feel this for many years. Should not be possible, but Rocky want Grace. Yearn.”

“Crave.” Grace’s brain supplies the word. He sounds wrecked.

“Rocky feel like when mating cycle start. Rocky body respond to Grace in same way.” Rocky’s voice rings out in layers, tones cascading over one another, trembling over Grace.

“I [ooo-peen] for you.” And he rubs the bottom part of his carapace against Grace’s back.

Grace might have died right there, and then. He doesn’t know.

“Jesus. Christ.” It sounds filthier than anything anyone has ever said to him. He wants to see. He wants to see what he’s doing to him.

“This is how Grace wanted Rocky touch?”

Rocky locks tighter around him, his carapace rubbing against him in slow, deliberate motions. His hands continue their exploration, now caressing Grace’s pecs and sliding down his ribs. Grace throws his head back with a groan, hair falling over Rocky’s vents.

“This is what Grace want.” Rocky’s claws pat around his thighs, squeezing the soft flesh there.

“Yes. Yes, please.” Grace spreads his thighs a little more, putting his weight on his heels and leaning against Rocky behind him.

“Please, Rocky, touch me.”

Rocky’s touch is exploratory, tapping and kneading, running up and down his thighs, excited yet unhurried as if he has all the time in the world.

“Rocky already touching.”

“You know… exactly what I mean.” Maybe Grace skipped lessons in Eridian courting, but he knows they did cover human reproductive systems and mating very early in their conversations.

“Only if Grace say [please] again. You are never so nice. Is always, Rocky so bossy, but Grace same.”

“Could we put a pin in it and return to the conversation about manners later?”

Grace tries to move his arms, but they are firmly held in place, squished against his sides. He flexes his fingers.

“See? Grace very impatient.”

Grace is discovering many new things about himself in his current position because he’s never been more thrilled to be at someone else's mercy. Rocky’s strength is incredible; Grace can only arch his back slightly and strain his thighs to lift off his heels a few centimeters, but not much else.

Rocky suddenly scratches at his scalp, running his claws through his hair. Grace’s eyelashes flutter, and he lets out a sharp exhale through his nose.

“Ah, that's good.”

“I love this sound. Love all sounds.” Soft hair rustles under Rocky’s touch. Grace assumes what Rocky hears sounds even more heightened.

“Rock, please.” If only his younger, very much arrogant self could see him now. He was above begging then. Heck, he still mostly is, but it doesn’t carry any weight with Rocky.

“Grace say please and [fuck]. At this rate I not know who you are anymore.”

“I should’ve known you’d be a tease, ah…” Rocky’s hands draw closer to a growing bulge, bunching the fabric of his pants.

“Grace [tease] me for months. Is only fair.”

Rocky runs his claws over him, feather-light and so slow.

Grace bites his lip to keep himself from letting out a pathetic whimper. It doesn’t really work as he bucks up into Rocky’s hand, chasing the pressure, any pressure. Rocky doesn’t laugh at him outright, but that doesn’t make it any better.

The claw in his hair moves down and slides under his shirt, riding it up. Grace’s abdominal muscles tense, and he quivers from the effort of keeping himself still. He feels Rocky everywhere. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

“Rocky touching Grace for four hundred and seventeen seconds and you are already mess. Messy messy.”

All Grace wants to do is beg again, but he won’t let such biased accusations stand. “Stop acting like you’re not affected. You just told me—Ahhh…”

Grace moans. Rocky’s claw presses down on him. He’s almost fully hard now.

“I am affected.” Rocky continues to rub against him. “Full open for Grace.”

Every nerve ending in Grace’s body is set ablaze. His head feels empty, dizzy. The knowledge that he could make Rocky react like that hits him harder than a sledgehammer.

“Fuuuck, Rocky…”

Rocky’s voice trembles in staccato bursts, jumpy and disconnected. “Grace change vocabulary today. Finally polite when say [pleaaa-se] please so sweet… But at same time so very rude. Rude Grace not himself. Have no control. I like.” The notes climb an octave. “Feel like Rocky responsible.”

Rocky rubs him through the fabric, squeezing a little too hard. Grace loves it. He leans into it, panting around his bitten lip.

“Making me lose my mind, yeah.”

“Rocky like like like.”

Grace laughs. “You usually complain when I’m being stupid.”

“Special circumstances.”

“Of course.” He knows he has a lovesick smile plastered all over his face. “Hey, maybe you could…” He tries to move his arms again; this time, Rocky lets him. Freeing his right hand, he covers Rocky’s claws on him.

“You guide me now,” Rocky says, and Grace feels himself twitch in his pants. “Grace clothes off.” His claws attempt to grab the zipper of his suit, already pulled down to his crotch, but he has trouble grasping it with the xenonite layer hindering his dexterity.

“It’s okay.” Grace reaches over him to pull the zipper down. Rocky immediately moves his hand under the waistband of his boxers.

Grace wasn’t ready for him. He has only a second to reflect on how this could possibly be his life before his brain reboots.

“Wait, wait,” he pants.

“Not good? Now Rocky impatient, apology.” A worried, self-conscious chime accompanies his words.

“No, real good! No apology! Just… Here.” He blushes even deeper, his whole face down to his chest on fire as he takes Rocky’s hand and brings it to his mouth.

Rocky squeals. He must know what he’s about to do, judging by the way Grace's whole mouth suddenly floods with saliva.

“This might disgust you, but… it will feel good for me.”

Rocky squirms against his back, the heat of him becoming almost unbearable.

“You can back out. It’s totally fine.” Grace wants this so badly.

“No. Rocky used to messy. Do it. Now.”

“Okay, alright.” He opens his mouth wide, sticks out his tongue, and places Rocky’s claw inside.

“Leaking wet wet!” Rocky’s chords crest over one another, a single trembling note lingering like a high-pitched scream before reaching its peak.

“Bad?” He mumbles around the claw, licking the smooth xenonite.

“[Goo-ood.]”

Grace expected a much more spirited protest, but he won’t lose sleep over it. He has his mouth full. He sucks on the xenonite-covered fingers, his tongue pressing into the crevices. Rocky’s claws spasm. He has to grip his arm more tightly.

“[♫♬♫♪♪!]” Rocky warbles what Grace only assumes are Eridian expletives.

While Grace is distracted, saliva leaking down his chin, lips wrapped around his friend’s hand with a tinge of desperation, Rocky’s other hand presses down between his legs again. He automatically moves his hips to meet him. Rocky’s carapace strokes against his back, and he feels himself leaking into his boxers.

He releases Rocky with a wet pop.

“Uh.” His lips are swollen, and he tastes Rocky on his tongue. “That had to sound horrible to you.” Rocky shivers around him. “Rocky?”

“No horrible. I told you. Love love love Grace sounds. [Looo-oove] Grace mouth.”

The admission has Grace’s brain short-circuiting once again. Rocky just defied everything Grace knows about Eridian culture. All because he’s hot for a leaky, soft space blob.

“Rocky, you want to kill me.” He whines—just a little.

“Other way. Grace want kill Rocky.” He clicks his wetted claws eagerly. “Now show me.”

“No, really, you're mostly succeeding in getting rid of me for good.”

“Grace quit playing.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Grace takes Rocky’s hand and guides it down. The first warm touch has him flexing his heels and lifting himself off them. The muscles in his thighs scream. He doesn’t know if he’s chasing the feeling or trying to get away from it. He guides Rocky to wrap his claws around him. They’re too short compared to a human hand to fully encircle him. It still feels impossibly good.

“Now, you just move up and down. Like this.” He forces the words out with great effort.

“How fast, question?”

“However you like. Mix it up.” He answers through gritted teeth.

“Squeeze?” Rocky taps against his hip.

“Sure.” Grace is already thrusting up into Rocky’s hand before he decides on it consciously.

Rocky moves just as he showed him, spreading the slick along his length. At first, he still goes slowly, but he quickly catches on. He must be monitoring Grace’s heart rate because he finds just the right rhythm that makes his heart thud like he’s running at full speed up a very steep hill.

“Grace like?” He squeezes at the base, a little too gently.

“Hhhh… You can… squeeze harder. ’S fine.”

“Not want hurt you.” But he does what Grace asks. Grace’s eyes shut tight with a groan.

“Can’t. Promise.”

“And this?” Rocky’s claws flick over the head. Grace lets out something that sounds very close to a shout, embarrassingly enough. His back arches without his control.

“Grace look. Leaky everywhere.”

Grace looks down, and there’s a thin string of pre-cum stretching from the tip to Rocky’s claw. He might pass out.

“Sensitive here?” Rocky rubs the head, slick with Grace’s own fluids. And Rocky still doesn’t seem the least bit weirded out. In fact, he’s increased the tempo at which he’s grinding the bottom of his carapace against his back. “Blood much pooling.”

“Yeahhh, lots of nerve endings.” Grace finds Rocky’s hand again, interlaces their fingers. “I did think a lot… about your fingers on me. How they would feel. What they could do.”

Rocky, honest to God, whines. They move together. After a gentle nudge, Rocky takes the lead again, faster now. Their hands glide over the head with every pass.

“I think about Grace hands too. All time. Want on me.”

“Oh, dear Jiminy, you…”

Grace’s breathing is erratic. He’s straining on his knees, thrusting into their joined hands. He’s so close.

“Want Grace fingers in [mee-ee]. Rocky so open and empty. Feel good and bad at same time. Wish you could touch me. [Here].”

Rocky roughly bumps into the small of his back. That does it.

It’s too dry. Too new. There’s an ever-present barrier between them. And none of it matters. It’s Rocky. Only his words would be enough to push Grace over the edge. He was already halfway there when Rocky admitted he yearned for him. His vision whites out. He comes with a near sob, spilling over their hands with no care for the mess. He shakes in Rocky’s arms with the force of it.

“Rocky, Rock,” he keeps mumbling his name like a prayer. He unwinds their sticky fingers and reaches behind him, finding the bottom of Rocky’s suit. He can’t feel anything except the pulsating heat, but he presses his hand firmly against it. He pushes up, tapping his fingers frantically on the surface.

“[Graaa-aace.] My Grace. Yes yes yes. There.”

The computer stops recognizing Rocky’s words because he’s not using any vocabulary that was put into the system. Rocky’s croons fade into low humming, his carapace quivering against Grace.

“What should I do? How can I…?” Grace twists his arm to reach him better.

“Good. Doing good. Just no stop.”

Rocky’s vibrating under his touch. The low sounds grow in intensity, as if all five of his voice boxes join in harmony.

“[Pressuu-re. More.]” Rocky hisses.

Grace doesn’t know what else to do but jam his palm upward. First the heel, then he slaps his whole hand flat against Rocky’s bottom. Twice, with as much force behind his strike as he can manage at this angle.

Rocky screams his name, that foghorn trill again, and then he freezes. His limbs lock in place, and he goes completely still and silent.

“Holy shirt, Rock. Did you…?”

Grace counts to twenty, craning his neck to see him. Rocky only warbles weakly. His limbs slowly come back online, and he finally loosens them, letting Grace go. Grace immediately scrambles to turn around, his knees aching and legs that have fallen asleep protesting the movement.

If Grace hadn’t just come, the sight of Rocky, silvery liquid dripping from his open seam and pooling at the bottom of his suit, would make him hard again. This image is certainly going into a folder in his brain he’s naming “The Most Erotic Things Grace Never Thought He’d See.” He almost goes for a cartoonish whistle, but he can’t make his mouth work.

“Rocky, buddy, is that…”

“Yes. I lied. Rocky leaky too. All for Grace.”

“God. I wish I could touch you so bad.”

Rocky’s leg kicks out as Grace puts his palms on him, pushing his thumbs into the seam, although the barrier doesn’t give.

“Rocky make more flexible suit soon. Give me…” Rocky squeals as Grace bends down to press an open-mouthed kiss where the mercury leaks out of him. “…A moment.”

Grace grins against him. He wishes he could taste it. “I’ll give you all the moments.”

And then, he can’t hold back a snort as he rubs his cheek against the xenonite. “Well, flippin’ heck, we just did that.”

Rocky pets his hair. Caresses the line of his jaw. “Grace feel good?”

“So good.” He sounds rough. He turns his head to meet Rocky’s hand, pressing another kiss to it.

“Human reproductive fluid all over Rocky suit.”

Grace looks at Rocky’s claws, the tips rubbing together, as if testing the viscosity of his ejaculate. It’s hot.

“You know I won’t ever take you seriously again if you complain about my leakiness.” He grabs Rocky’s hand and licks. “You love it.”

Tasting himself definitely counts as one of his weirder experiences, but it’s worth it when Rocky’s vents dance and he huffs out so much steam that part of him turns blurry. Rocky struggles to stand, trying to stretch tall to regain some semblance of authority. He’s so cute; Grace feels his face melt again.

Rocky puffs out the front of his carapace. “Grace satisfied with Rocky performance then, question? Feel like in Ghost? Rocky better than [Patrick Swayze]?”

Grace tilts his head, thinking. “Better than the sexiest man alive? Hm, I don’t know…”

“Grace take back right now! Rocky not a man.”

Grace shifts forward, resting his whole weight on Rocky, and wraps his arms tightly around his body. He smudges his face on top of his vents and feels Rocky’s arms hug him tightly back. “Rocky. No one could compete with you, ever. No one I’ve ever been with, or shown even a remote interest in… No one comes close. They’re not even in the same league… And, like, bud, that was the hottest sex I’ve ever had.”

Rocky chirps a few pleased notes. “Because Grace Rocky [starmates]. Nothing better.”

“Yes. Starbuddies make the best sex partners.”

Grace doesn’t hear Rocky’s expletives over his laughter.

“Grace banned from talking. No talk ever again.”

“May I at least kiss my starmate some more? Pretty please?”

He finds he’s not above begging, full stop. Rocky graciously relents.

See, if you ever asked Grace how he ended up in this situation, he could probably give you a logical explanation of all the steps and decisions taken, the roads traveled, and the paths chosen. But he won’t. It was fate that brought them together.