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Ryland notes the smell most of all. An inescapable stench of iron so thick he can taste it in the back of his throat, feel the weight of it slide down to his lungs. By the ocean, it's so strong he feels the sticky mass of it seep into his skin.
And then there's a submarine. A broken, bloody mess of a human so marred he's nearly indistinguishable from the wall, and a heartbeat despite the odds. Gore like Ryland's never seen before, and he hopes he never has to see again.
In the moment, he's focused on the flesh melting over the hands of his suit and the sweltering heat of an iron submarine. It's not until later—after he's patched up and awake—that Ryland comes to notice a problem.
Thing is, Ryland is a scientist. He thrives on oddities and curiosities and he can't be blamed for questioning the teeth that jut through Simon's flesh or the pieces of bone that pierce his skin. It's why they're here in the first place, to examine the mutations Simon gained in the Iron Lung.
It's science. Purely science. Right up until he helps Simon strip his shirt off to get a look at his chest, and Ryland winds up getting a look at his chest. He winds up getting a look at lots of other things, too. A scattering of bone-like scales here and there, raised scars and red welts. But, also, thick brown hair that runs down the rather notable curve of his chest; thick, sculpted muscle framed perfectly by a—
"Harness," slips from his lips, entirely unbidden. A tight grey harness sits perfectly above his pecs.
Simon's eyebrows raise. "Harness."
"You, uh…" Ryland feels his face flush. No matter how hard he tries to look away, his eyes keep snapping back. "How? Your arm…"
"Armando. I don't feel right without it."
"…cool."
Cool cool cool. Ryland is cool with that. Very cool.
He focuses his attention on other things, like the slimy gray patches of skin like an eel's, and the abnormally sharp-looking point of his ribs, and how his hair trails down his torso to an enticing happy trail, and—
Ribs. Eel skin.
He clears his throat. "Can I touch you?"
Ryland should maybe start thinking about the words that leave his mouth.
"That's the whole point."
"Right. Right, yeah. Just checking."
Carefully, he presses the tip of his finger to one of the scales. He notices, of course, the bone-like texture. They're cool to the touch and burnt, and as he runs his fingertips along a patch of scales just under his ribcage, Ryland also notices that the touch makes Simon shiver. Makes him twitch.
He presses a little harder, taps the scales with his nail to hear the dull clink. Simon gives a sharp inhale. Ryland knows what he sounds like when he's in pain, and that's not it. So he lets it slide with quiet reassurance and slowly guides his finger to a piece of his ribcage sticking out.
The skin surrounding it has healed nicely, fusing with the bone. Ryland puts a little pressure on the area, just to check, and it doesn't give.
It earns him another twitch, though.
"I'm not going to break," Simon says suddenly. "You don't have to be gentle."
Oh, wow, okay. Okay, yeah. It's fine. It's totally fine. It's just that Simon is standing shirtless in his room, in the house they share, with nothing but Ryland's pants and a harness and telling him not to be gentle as Ryland touches the bone of his ribs.
Holy crap, that shouldn't be as hot as it is.
Maybe all that time alone in space crossed some wires in his head. Or, maybe, it's just Simon.
"I don't want to hurt you," he says.
"You won't."
"I could."
"You won't. You wouldn't. But if you do, I'll tell you. How 'bout that?"
The trust Simon has in him is absolutely insane.
It's taken so long to build that trust. Both ways. Outbursts and questions and learning to exist in a space where their lives aren't on the line at any given moment— long conversations and sitting close just to feel the heat of another human at their side. The endless ramblings in the tongue they grew up with. Building friendship, kinship, learning to accept kindness as a part of life.
Ryland understands just how much it means that he's allowed to do this— touch, examine, prod at will. It sends his heartbeat racing.
Oh, christ, he's a horrible doctor.
"Good," he replies much too belatedly.
Simon, thankfully, doesn't comment. Instead, he does something much worse: he sits on the edge of Ryland's bed and asks, "would it help if I laid down?"
"It would."
Why did he say that? It doesn't matter if he's upright or laying down, except in the sense Ryland is selfish and kinda wants to see what he looks like laying in his bed.
He thanks the past version of himself for having the foresight to ask Rocky for privacy. He doesn't think he could stand his friend pointing out the obvious right now.
His face is absolutely on fire as Simon lays down. He takes Ryland's pillow—that he sleeps on, god—and splays himself out, and ah, yeah. Science.
Not the halo of Simon's curls on his pillow, or the thick build of him spread across his bed, open and trusting, or the harness that is all too perfect at framing his bare chest— science, dang it!
He clears his throat, turning away to grab a needle just to hide the flush of his cheeks, and takes a deep breath. It's only by the grace of his own curiosity surrounding the mutations that he manages to somewhat school his expression and turn back around.
"I should warn you this isn't my area of expertise. I'm not that kind of doctor."
Simon shrugs, rustling the blankets. "If anyone's gonna be poking me with needles, I'd rather it be you than a robot."
"It could've been Rocky."
"Rocky has been trying to get the translator to sing. You won't burst my ear drums."
He grins, and Ryland can't help but laugh.
"Fair. This shouldn't hurt, but if it does, you let me know, alright? Your terms, so you better agree to them."
"I said I would. Go for it, Doctor Grace."
Ryland's title does not usually send butterflies fluttering through his stomach. Though, there's not usually a gorgeous man laying on his bed.
"Right."
It occurs to him, then, that he might be a complete idiot. He needs to be able to reach Simon's torso, and since he's laying down…well, Ryland's options are limited.
"How do you wanna do this?" He decides to let Simon pick. "We're going to have to get real up close and personal no matter what, but would you rather I lean over you, kneel next to you, or sit on you?"
He is, in fact, a complete idiot.
"Your pick. What's easiest?"
"Objectively? Sitting on you. But that's super personal so I would totally understand if you don't—"
"Sit on me then. Don't complicate this shit."
A huge, massive, idiot. He is never going to fight Rocky on that again.
"Sounds good."
Idiot.
A committed idiot, though.
He steels himself, takes a moment to just breathe and calm himself down, before climbing on the bed. He settles with his knees bracketing Simon's hips—god, his hips are wide. His thighs are thick as Ryland sits, making it a stretch. Wow. This might have been his stupidest idea yet.
He feels the hard outline of Simon's thighs under him, the ridges and bumps of ever-changing bone that's decided to cut through the pants today.
He wonders, briefly, what it would feel like for their bones to touch. Clink together, deep and resounding.
He wonders when those wires got crossed in his head.
"Ready?" He asks, instead of allowing himself to continue down that train of thought.
"Ready," Simon confirms.
Ryland meant it when he said he's not this type of doctor. He only looks at biopsies under microscopes, he doesn't take them himself. But he knows how, theoretically. And it's a lot easier when the bone is outside the body.
He takes his needle and scrapes it gently against one of the scales, then places it into one of the labeled dishes on the bedside table. He gets a new needle, and repeats the process on his ribs.
He tries very, very hard not to focus on the scrape of the needle against bone, but it is a curiosity. The way Simon reacts, the odd twitch and curve of his body, suggests he can feel it in some capacity. It's strange. There's no pain receptors on bone. Certainly no way to experience sensation from the bone itself.
Ryland sets his needle down on the nightstand and assures his samples are a safe distance away from the edge. Simon tracks him as he moves, curious.
He notices that Simon reacted to his touching the scales very similarly to the way he did now with the needles. A hypothesis begins to form, so a test must follow.
He scrapes his nail against one of his ribs. Not quite as gentle as he did with the scales earlier.
The result is instantaneous; Simon's hips buck up and his breath leaves in a rushed exhale. His hand comes to grip Ryland's waist, big and rough.
Oh. Oh.
Jesus Christ. The sheer size of him is astonishing on its own; he's not only taller, but thicker. Stronger. An involuntary push of his hips lifts Ryland like he's nothing, and that's not to mention the hand gripping his waist, steadying.
It's admiration, but it's also something else. Something much more selfish.
He likes that Simon, with all his strength and power, allows Ryland this. The research, the curiosity, the closeness. The touch that he's been craving after years without.
"D'you feel that?" Ryland asks, knowing full well what the answer is.
"Sort of. I feel the pressure." Simon makes himself very, very still.
Ryland is still reeling from the buck of his hips and how easily he lifted him along with them.
"Pressure?"
"Yeah. Inside me. Like when you tap a tooth and feel it in your gums."
"Inside you," Ryland repeats meekly. "Of course."
"Doesn't hurt."
"Good, good. Lemme know if that changes."
"Sure. Don't think it will. It feels…good, if anything." He taps Ryland's waist idly. "Like… when a ship rumbles and you can feel it shaking your bones. Weird, but good."
Ryland takes a chance: he presses 3 fingers into the bone. Hard.
The fingers resting on his waist curl in, gripping hard enough to leave bruises, and Simon swears, pulling him down.
"Jesus— fuck."
Ryland lets his hand linger over the bone, but presses the other onto Simon's chest. Right in the center, between his pecs, fingertips just barely grazing the edge of his harness. The erratic beat of Simon's heart can be felt under his palm. A wild thump that matches the pace Ryland feels pumping along his own body.
It hits him very suddenly that he wants this. Whatever this may be, however difficult it might get, he wants it. Wants to dig his fingers into every bone that cuts through Simon's skin, pry apart the different patches of skin to feel underneath. Inside. Wants to take this man apart and study him— his cells, his DNA, every infinitesimal piece he's made of. He wants to know everything there is to know about him, and he wants to keep it. Keep him. Keep this life they've built on Erid with Rocky and Adrian and the classes of kids. Keep the house and the clothes they share. Keep the mysteries that make up his mind, body, and soul, and cut himself open. Bend back every rib to mix them together. See what happens when two forces of nature collide.
Oh, god, he wants this desperately.
"You're gorgeous," he says in a rush. "Absolutely gorgeous, Simon."
"What?"
His heart rate picks up, and Ryland can feel it. He wishes he could open up his chest to watch it beat.
"This is probably a bad time to say that. Sorry, I haven't had human contact in years. Even before that I wasn't exactly a guy of many relationships. I don't know how this is supposed to work, or what's too fast. Or if you just don't want anything! Which is totally fine and I completely understand! I just—"
"Ryland." The deep rumble of Simon's voice cuts him off. "I'm confused."
"Confused?"
"You want this?"
"Well. Yes? I thought it was obvious. I've been staring at you this, like, entire time." As embarrassing as it is to admit.
"Because you're running an experiment!"
"Sure, but mostly you're handsome! You're wearing a harness!"
"I'm fucked up! My bones are sticking out of my body. I'm part fish. It's fucked. So fucked. You can't possibly…"
Oh. That's the problem.
"I do."
"It's disgusting .
"It's really not!"
"Oh." Simon pauses. A knowing look crosses his eyes. "You're into it, aren't you?"
Ryland wonders how he gets himself into these situations.
"Uh."
"Fuck."
"I— listen. I can back off. I won't ever do anything you don't want me to do."
"I know. I know. Just— fuck. The thing ruined me. Completely fucking ruined me. Beyond repair. And you still find me handsome?"
The disbelief in his eyes is astounding to Ryland. He knows there's so much that goes into it besides the rapid changes to his body. Lots of things he doesn't know, too. But.
"I find you beautiful."
Then, Simon's kissing him.
He kisses like he's starving for it, clutching at Ryland's shirt and reeling him down, sharp teeth dragging across his lip. A slight burn from the thin skin of his lips being torn open.
It's a pinprick of pain, and the slightest taste of iron. Not the thick, overwhelming stench of it like on AT-5, but something soft, almost sweet. Ryland finds that it makes his skin tingle. Sends heat shooting down.
Still, at the taste of it, Simon flinches back.
"Sorry," he gasps. "Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. I—"
"It's fine!"
"I didn't mean to…"
"Simon." Ryland licks his lips, letting the blood coat his tongue. "Simon, it's good. You've got nothing to apologize for. I like it. But we can stop if you want to. If the blood—"
"No. No, fuck. I just— I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't. But if you do, I'll tell you." Ryland gives him a reassuring smile. "How 'bout that?"
His own words, Simon can't fight. He nods, says, "okay."
Ryland kisses Simon again. Gentle, for a long while, until Ryland parts his lips and it's not. Simon reaches for anywhere he can touch, and realizes quickly that Ryland does like the small little bursts of pain that come from a hard grip or a deep bite.
He didn't know that about himself.
He likes that it was Simon who brought it out.
He wants to bring more out in Simon, too.
Ryland allows himself to dig his fingers into Simon's ribs, just to feel him quiver and jerk, groan into his mouth.
It's been years since he's done this. And he doesn't even know where to start naming every feeling that rapid-fires through his system, but it's good. So, so good.
Ryland decides to take a chance. If the bones feel nice, then maybe…
He runs his hand down Simon's chest, and settles it fully on a large patch of eel skin, pressing down and rubbing gently.
"Fuck," Simon's gasps, breaking away. "Fuck, what—"
"Did you know eels have sensitive skin? Not just to touch, either. An eel's skin is packed with neuromasts and chemoreceptors so they can smell and taste, too."
"Grace."
"They also emit constant, low-level electrical pulses. So it's good for me too." He pets the skin once more. Almost like—"
"Ryland."
"Yeah?"
"I'd love to hear it, but ... lesson later."
"Yup."
It is through absolutely no fault of his own that his hands wind up on Simon's chest. It just so happens there's both pieces of his ribs sticking through and a rather extensive bit of eel skin. Purely coincidental.
A great coincidence, though, he can admit now that he has Simon under him and knows exactly what it feels like to kiss him. Exactly what their bodies feel like pressed together.
"Off," Simon says suddenly, shoving at Ryland's shirt. "Get this fucking shirt off."
"Mhm," is the response. "On it, yeah."
Then it's skin on skin; sweat and hair and the warmth of another body against his without anything but pants and Simon's harness between them.
Ryland takes the chance to grab onto the tight harness and uses it to pull Simon up to kiss him again. He goes easily.
"Come on," Simon urges then. "C'mon, Ryland."
"Stop moving, please. Let me look."
Simon stills. Any part of him that was fidgeting or touching stops comes to a complete stop.
He lets Ryland look.
And the thing is, Ryland is smart. Perceptive. He takes in the way Simon stills and complies and flushes all the while, and he catalogues it.
"Huh." Ryland drags his hands up Simon's chest, taking his arm and guiding it up over his head. He's slow about it, gives Simon every chance to back out. He doesn't.
He catalogues that too.
"Is this a thing for you?" He asks.
"No."
"Really?" Ryland takes one big, crazy leap. One of many today. He's a scientist. He's collected data and he trusts himself to let it guide him to the right conclusion. "So if I say I'd like to be the one to fuck you, you wouldn't want that?"
Simon's pupils dilate. His breathing picks up speed and the hand in his grip twitches.
"Fuck," he says, entirely breathless, and Ryland smiles.
"It's okay either way," he assures. "Also okay if you don't want to at all. But if you'd like me to…"
"Yes. Fuck, yes, Ryland. I want you to fuck me."
"Are you sure? One-hundred percent? Like I said, we could totally switch, too, if you'd rather—"
"I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing. I want you to show me."
Ryland is not someone who sleeps around very much. His experience is limited, really, and he's only ever had sex with a guy once, back in college, a bit too drunk. Regretted it after because it always seemed like something special.
This is special. This is Simon. He doesn't know how to begin approaching that.
"I've got you." he says softly. "I've always got you. Is there anywhere you don't want me to touch? Anything you don't want me to do?"
"Don't choke or suffocate me. Don't let me get you out of my sight. I need to see you." Simon's hand grips his tight.
"I wasn't planning on any of that, but I'll be extra sure to avoid it now. I've got you, I promise."
"I know." Simon lets out a small, unbelieving laugh. "I know you do. C'mon."
Ryland kisses him again, different, this time, because how lucky can he be, that Simon is trusting him with this? How incredibly lucky?
Their hips roll together, and it's incredible. It's been years since Ryland has had anyone but himself touch him like this, and even longer since it was someone he knew wanted it as much as he did. Even then, he's never quite felt the way he does now. Especially knowing how much trust and power is being placed in his hands. Simon, who's spent his life taking orders choosing Ryland to lead him. It's staggering.
Simon groans, but pulls away all too quick.
"Tell me no one is watching us right now," he demands. "I swear if we have an audience I'll run away."
That startles a laugh out of Ryland. "We're good. I asked for privacy. Rocky's nosy, but Adrian will make sure he sticks to it."
"Thank fuck."
And they're kissing again.
From there, it's a rush. A blur of hands tugging at remaining clothes, kissing every patch of skin that's revealed, stubble leaving red trails of beard burn, sweat and pleasure and god, Ryland can't believe he gets to do this. Spread Simon out his fingers, kiss him all the while, tell him he's beautiful. Call him by his name, because god knows someone needs to say it with kindness. Eventually, fuck him. Rock the bed and listen to every sound Simon makes, feel his nails dig into his back, his teeth dig into his neck, the perfect pleasurepain of it. Watch him come entirely undone, gasping and writhing under his hands and Ryland did that.
He's not one to swear, but, holy fucking shit.
There has to be some sort of etiquette for this thing, some list of right or wrong things to say. But what comes out of his mouth is, "Thank you."
"Mm. You're a good teacher."
It's been a long time since Ryland has felt this kind of lightness.
The problem does not go away, after. Any hope of that goes out the window the moment they finished gathering samples and Simon grabbed Ryland's shirt off the ground to put it on.
Simon is bigger. More muscle, more height, more thickness. It means that the shirt stretches tight over his chest and biceps. Tight. And, Ryland wasn't ever good at keeping his stare in check, but it's a heck of a lot worse now that he has permission to stare. He couldn't pry his eyes away if he tried.
It's like a second skin, that's how tight it is. Aside from the bump of his chest pulling it taut across the front, the shirt clings to reveal the outline of everything underneath. Scales, ribs, harness, with a shirt Ryland's had long before he woke up on the Hail Mary, and beard burn turning his skin red.
Simon just gives him a knowing look and lays right back down.
"I always thought you were staring 'cause you thought I was weird," he admits. "Didn't think much of it."
"Really?" Ryland asks. "I thought I was being way too obvious. When you took your shirt off earlier I thought, no way I'm getting out of this without spilling my guts."
"Didn't know the harness would be such a hit."
At that, Ryland has to laugh. "Honestly? Me either."
He lays down next to Simon, allowing himself to curl into his side the way he's always craved. He looks at him— relaxed, in his shirt, reddish-purple marks peeking over the collar of his (Ryland's!) shirt, entirely unrelated from his mutations. He thinks about the time spent learning to trust, building a friendship. The companionship. And, this. Knowing what it feels like for Simon's teeth to break skin and getting to hold him and treasure him the way he deserves— curling into his side because he can. Because he earned it. Because Simon likes it too.
"I meant it when I said thank you, by the way," he says softly. "For, um, all of this. Trusting me, staying here, everything. Thank you. Out of everyone we could've pulled out of a blood moon, I'm glad it was you."
Simon wraps his arm around him. "Me too. Fuck, Ryland. Me too. Thank you."
Ryland can't stop touching him, even now. Especially now. He's making up for years without human touch, and long stretches where he had Simon right there, but didn't know the limits. He's also just plain selfish. He likes touching Simon, feeling every ridge and bump and twitch.
"I guess we're both pretty lucky, then."
"Yeah. I think so."
Slowly, leisurely, they dress themselves back to a presentable state. It's almost funny how they can't keep their hands to themselves. Attached like magnets.
Simon keeps the shirt.
Thankfully, it's then that Rocky comes barreling into the room.
"Experiment taking too long," Rocky declares as he runs into the room. "Why so slow, question?"
As far as invasive questions go, Ryland has heard worse. He's a teacher.
"We, uh…" he glances at Simon, who just snorts. "Got distracted?"
Still, it's embarrassing.
"Distracted doing what, question?"
Simon pats his shoulder, and stays perfectly silent. Ryland's problem. Great.
He clears his throat, reaching back to his teaching days for an explanation that won't make him wish he would turn to dust on the spot.
"Do you remember when we talked about sexuality?"
"Yes! Grace bisexual!"
"Yeah, uh. And remember when we talked about, um, human mating rituals?"
"Yes! What— oh! Oh! Rocky understand!" Then, mortifyingly, "Can Rocky watch, question?"
That gets Simon sitting up again. "The fuck?"
"Is question!"
"Absolutely not." Simon looks at Ryland. "It's not happening."
The scientist in Ryland understands. The very smitten human in Ryland is with Simon.
"Sorry, Rock," he apologizes. "You heard the man."
Rocky makes an annoyed little chirp, and turns away. A fun little habit he picked up from Ryland that has absolutely no effect on his vision whatsoever. "Boo. Boo. Boo."
"We're, uh, done. Anyways." Oh, jeez, has his face ever been this red before? It feels like it's on fire. "So."
"Fine. Grace Simon happy, question?"
It's not a hard question to answer.
"Very," he says.
And, "Very," Simon echoes.
"Good good good. Grace Simon mates like Rocky Adrian now, question?"
He seems excited by the prospect.
"It's…I mean, it usually takes some time for humans to, uh, mate. For life. Get married, remember? We talked about it ages ago."
Rocky chirps happily. "Yes, Rocky remember now! Grace Simon getting married?"
"Aw, jeez." Ryland glances at Simon, who only stares back, eyebrows raised.
"If this is how you propose I'll be real mad."
"What?" He asks.
"This would be a really bad proposal is all I'm saying. I don't need a fuckin' ring, but a direct question would be nice, at least."
"Do you— do you want me to propose?"
"Ryland, I chose to stay here, with you, until the day I die. I committed to spending my life with you a long time ago."
Simon lets that sit.
Ryland is having trouble processing.
"That's— oh, wow. Wow. Okay. So, if I asked, you'd say yes?"
"Yeah, is that you asking?"
"Not yet! Oh my god, no, I want to do it right. You deserve for me to do it right. Holy crap."
"Grace Simon mating!" Rocky exclaims.
"Not yet," Simon corrects. "This guy's gotta get himself together first. Unless he wants me to propose. I can. Don't know how good I'd be at it, though. Marriage wasn't…a big thing in Eden. Procreation to keep the population alive, sure. Marriage? Not worth it up there. Distracts from the mission. So it's not like I've seen many proposals in my life."
Oh, this is big. This is big big.
All the time spent unlearning everything taught on Eden, balancing faith and reality and abandonment and everything he's done. It's all that work, years of it, right here.
"I'm going to give you the stupidest, sappiest proposal you could ever dream of."
"Yeah?" Simon grabs his hand. "I'll be waiting."