Work Text:
He's thirsty. The ambient air temperature is enough to keep him from shivering- and it is dry. An interstellar spacecraft intended to be a grave did not house a humidifier.
Grace is wearing the largest shirt he could find, a soft blue fabric he found folded deep into a storage compartment, shorts that dig into his thighs, and mismatched socks. In terms of how Rocky perceived him, it was scandalous. His choice of attire is on the opposite end of the same scale: what won’t interrupt Rocky’s ability to sense every piece of him. He has a hypothesis to test; after all, the conditions are important.
The Hypothesis: If Rocky is in denial (or lying) when he says < Grace is disgust, disgust, disgust when leaky, statement. > then he will not ask Grace to stop or leave the room when he makes a show of it.
The Hail Mary’s lights have a blinding, harsh hue that Grace has taken to securing transparent coloured slides over. Rocky had trusted him when he asked for small panels of different materials to be made. He was grateful for it, for him. The concept of over-stimulation from harsh lighting had been difficult to explain. The room was a soft yellow at the moment, if Grace squinted, he could imagine him and Rocky ‘by a romantic fireplace-’ maybe he should stop thinking. The xenonite that makes up Rocky’s ball refracts the soft glow. It’s pretty.
Rocky looked- well, comfortable. Five arms sit loafed under him, not unlike a cat. Grace had considered that he might be bored, but Rocky doesn’t enjoy sitting still. The Engineer was eager to keep his digits occupied. The only thing of interest in this room for Rocky was Grace. It makes him squirm.
The table Grace is sitting at is a mess. The computer reserved for translation sits precariously on a throne of half-crumpled notes. He at some point in the ship’s imitated day cycle had been writing something. His long legs dangle off the stool he had been attempting to spin on a few minutes ago.
This is far more amusing.
Spit collects thick and heavy on his tongue, lips pressed thin part to allow for a sluggish drag of wetness across the chapped skin. Spit sticks to his teeth, parting like strings on a violin. He snaps his mouth closed. Only to part them again, the soft sticky sound of his skin pressed together only to be pulled apart was addicting. Oh, and it was annoying.
< Grace loud loud loud. > Rocky emphasized the last tone; he could hear the notes clash in his inner ear underneath the translation’s even cadence.
Grace did not stop, not that Rocky explicitly asked him to. He fought the muscles willing the inner corners of his mouth into a smile; it would ruin the fun of it.
The taste of his drool was sweet, a lack of hydration condensing every sense of flavour. The sour skittles had run out 108 cycles ago- more if you don’t count him finding the last one on the floor of the cockpit and shamefully savouring it on his tongue while shedding a single tear... He tried to not think about it.
The taste of his own mouth almost made him deliriously distracted. Lips parted once more, a bubble forming; a little noise of excitement from him popped it.
Rocky shudders. < Disgust. > He stands jerkily, and turns around in his ball before sitting again, four arms tucked under him- mimicking a literal cold shoulder.
Rocky had become very practiced at mimicking human body language. Grace had become more accustomed to understanding him in turn. The physical action almost distracted from the lack of disdain in the notes of the Eridian’s vocalization. Almost. Curious.
His water bottle—if you could call a pouch with a silicone mouthpiece a bottle—sat half drooping on the table’s edge. A bead of water collected on the tip, held there by surface tension.
They’re not in zero-gravity on their united journey to Erid, but the learned muscle memory of drinking water in free-float has remained with him- that is, at least how he convinces himself he is sane in what he does next, what he has been doing… every time he drinks.
His hand wraps around the plastic pouch, guiding the silicone mouthpiece to his outstretched tongue, and wraps his lips around it. Grace hollows out his cheeks and sucks- like a champ. It's arguably illicit, but Rocky doesn’t need to know this isn't normal. It’s more fun this way. He can see Rocky tapping a digit on the bottom of his xenonite ball out of the corner of his eye more than he can hear it- he is otherwise completely still. Grace swallows. Rocky shivers.
Grace parts his lips with a wet little pop. The sound he makes is quiet, for him. A small sigh wraps around his tongue, a soft sound. The tapping gets louder.
He laps at a bead of water collected on the silicone, pressing the tip of his tongue into the slit.
There is a pitched trilling that makes his shoulders jump and his gut tense; it does not sound as if it started suddenly- Rocky had mused to him once that the Eridian range of vocal ability was beyond Grace’s range of hearing, he said he had tested it. Grace has three theories on this specific matter: either Rocky has not tested it thoroughly (Grace knows better than to consider that plausible for more than half a second), Rocky is distracted enough to not realize he has shifted to a range that he can hear, or, Rocky is well aware.
It’s beautiful, in a way. It sounds like a song.
Grace squirms in his seat, inner thighs tacky despite the cold air. He is momentarily glad the translation software is not capable of generating an interpretation without previous manual entry; what would likely translate as a whine would leave him useless.
He hasn’t collected enough data for his hypothesis, not quite yet. But it is getting harder to think.
He wraps his lips around the silicone and swirls his tongue around the tip, swallowing eager mouthfuls of water. His neglected cock twitches against the too-tight fabric of his shorts. Grace cannot recall the last time he’s touched himself- there’s no privacy onboard, he can’t remember the last time on Earth either. His tongue wrapped around the silicone feels as if it’s on his own cock.
Eager hips shift on the metal stool, hem of the shorts slipping as the fabric drags over the head of his untouched cock. His shaft is pressed to his thigh, the hem now pressed under his cockhead- smearing pre-cum on his thigh and dripping onto the metal. The friction is distracting. It was too tight to wear boxers underneath when he struggled into them this morning; now the fabric strains. It’s tacky and warm from the sweat collecting on the soft, fuzzy skin of his inner thighs.
He’s certain his cheeks are dusted with pink. The excess of spit, courtesy of being appropriately hydrated, swims in his mouth. He plays with it, a quiet squelch is the sound he can hear in his own head. Another human would likely not hear it, Rocky will.
The whining, trilling song and the tapping in the room are now in-ignorable.
His saliva collects on his tongue and presses into the back of his throat. He knows his ears are red when he parts his mouth to allow for his tongue to lie over his bottom lip; the spit collects at the tip, only held there by surface tension. It breaks. The sound of musical cacophony is overwhelming, and Rocky finally, finally moves.
Simply not in the direction he anticipated.
His ball clatters and slams on the metal grates in his haste and stops violently- not before hitting the legs of the stool Grace sits on, the damp fabric clinging to his inner thighs leaves a sheen on the metal. Grace tumbles backwards onto the ball. Rocky is running hot, and the xenonite presses warmly to his balls, thighs spread over the transparent panels. When Grace goes to speak, the first to escape his lips is not sound, rather the dripping of pooled saliva that collects on the xenonite. It hits with a grotesque splat. Rocky presses his carapace to the panel- he’s vibrating.
“Oh- guah- Roc- kyyyy!” His thighs clench, which keeps him in place. His puffy, neglected cock grinds against the vibration, slipping on his own pooling mess of spit and slick.
< Leaky. Grace mouth and ♪♪ so messy. > The translator struggles to keep up with the laxity of Rocky’s diction; the notes are low. < Rocky see all of Grace. >
Grace is a pathetic sight. Rolling his hips into the slick xenonite. He’s never been this desperate in his life, forgoing all sense for pleasure. Rocky’s so warm. The heat presses into his thighs and wraps around his sensitive cock, it’s stifling and all-encompassing.
“Rocky- I can’t-” His words are cut off by the cracking of his voice, tears overwhelming him. “Feels soh good Rockky! You feel so good, good, good-”
< Grace has been bad. Teasing Rocky. Apologize. > Rocky pulls away from the xenonite, and it stops vibrating. His melodic laugh makes Grace’s cock twitch.
“Rocky, Rocky, Rocky, please, I’m sorry I-” Grace sniffles and sobs, hips grinding pathetically with no friction. His voice shudders on every word. “Please, I’ll do anything for you, so good to me always, please, please, please let me cum! Be so good for Rockyyy!”
< Grace enjoy being dumb, question? > The two taps that emphasize Rocky’s question make the ball vibrate minutely, and Grace whines loudly in response, nodding frantically. Lower lip quivering, tears dripping onto the xenonite. < Rocky make Grace stupid. Thank Rocky. > The ever-present sound of Rocky’s persistent polyphonic song makes his head swim.
“Yes, yes, yes, thank you, Rocky. Grace dumb for Rocky!” God, he could cum from this alone, balls tensing where they’re pressed against the skin-tight fabric. “Please, what can I do? I’ll be good-”
Rocky brings a digit to his carapace and taps, as if he’s pondering- ‘bastard. Sexy beautiful bastard that I lov-’
Rocky presses his carapace so roughly against the xenonite that it makes Grace jump. < Stupid Grace. Do not need to think, statement. Grace needs to ♪. Rocky watch. Again, again, again. > Rocky’s voice drops an octave. The vibration gets more intense with every word.
He’s dizzy, grinding his cock into Rocky’s vibrating heat wildly. Oh, he’s going to cum. He couldn’t speak if he wanted to. The only sound he can make is a pathetically drawn-out whine; it harmonizes with Rocky’s song.
< Grace Rocky thrum. Good, good, good. Grace is Rocky's, statement. >
Grace’s cum splatters on his mess of spit with a high-pitched cry. He falls forward, barely catching himself with his shaking arms- tongue dripping drool past his lips, panting.
Rocky does not stop vibrating. < Good Grace. My good Grace. >
Grace’s thighs tremble as he collapses forward, hips pressing down into his over-stimulated cock. The vibration is inescapable. His cheek presses into the spit and cum that has dripped down the side of the xenonite panels.
< Grace ♪ for Rocky again, question? > Rocky is tapping frantically, desperate to see every soft, vulnerable piece of Ryland Grace.
Grace can only whimper in response, glasses half falling off his face- Rocky is a blurry sight, cum, tears, and spit smearing on his glasses. He tries to match his pitch to Rocky’s pervasive trilling. He spins with excitement in his ball in response.
< Good, good, good! Grace is Rocky’s good boy, statement. >
His eyes roll back, and his hips stutter. Cock still pressed tight to his thigh, balls clenching as Rocky’s vibration and his own body weight trap his cock in a wet sticky heat. Rocky gets what he wants. The noise he makes is pitchy and pathetic- Rocky matches it all the same.
Rocky oh-so gently tilts the xenonite ball so that Grace ungracefully slides to the floor. His arms wrap around the ball in a weeping hug. Rocky leans into him, warm- he’s purring? The sound rumbling underneath his song.
< Grace clean up mess. Use mouth, question? > Rocky doesn’t tap two times, he stomps. A pleasant chill runs up Grace’s spine at the blatant threat to answer correctly. His lips are trembling when he starts to lap at the cum dripping down the refractive xenonite. Rocky shudders with every swipe of his tongue. < Grace is wet, wet, wet. Illicit on Erid. Grace skip courting, statement. >
Rocky presses one digit into the mesh panel he so perfectly aligned to be pressed up to his cock- he starts vibrating. “Guh-! Rock-” His arms tense around where he desperately wishes he could hold Rocky, but he does not move away.
< Grace will ♪ one more time. For Rocky, statement. > His digits wrap around his soft cock and strokes him gently- delicately, with the strongest vibration Grace has ever felt in his life. He harmonizes with every sound that leaves Grace’s parted lips.
Every muscle tenses- he wails. Rocky sings.
~
Grace blinks his eyes open. His glasses are skewed and blurred; beyond them, Rocky is bouncing in excitement. < Grace Rocky mated! Amaze, amaze, amaze! Will teach Grace courting ritual- Grace impatient, mate Rocky first but will teach. Rocky love Grace- has loved Grace long time. >
Oh, oh.
He makes two realizations.
One, his hypothesis was right.
Two- “I love you too, Rocky.”
Grace hums softly. Rocky harmonizes with him. He's the happiest he’s ever been.