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Grace — Ryland, Ry —makes this noise in the back of his throat that's high and needy. He's got his mouth sealed up like Rocky is gonna hear them from across the xenonite, deep into sleep as he is, so the sound's all muffled. Colt rocks his hips, grinds down until Grace is even further inside of him. The medical lube they've been rationing for Erid is high-grade, like everything else on the Hail Mary, so it's an easy glide. Grace's hands grasp at his hips, help him along. He's got his hands planted on Grace's stomach and when he raises himself up, his fingers dig into the meat hard enough to bruise.
Grace is looking up at him, eyes focused on him like he's the only thing in the whole wide world. He can see Grace's throat bob with every movement of his hips, his eyes flitting down to where he disappears inside of Colt with every thrust. He's beautiful like this, all his attention on Colt and Colt alone.
He lowers himself down until he has his elbows on either side of Grace, until he can pepper kisses across the bridge of his nose. Grace's eyes flutter closed, and he tilts himself into it. Colt slows his hips down until he's just slowly rocking. This close, he can hear every little sigh Grace makes and they all go straight to his cock. It drags against Grace's stomach and his own, little sparks of feeling with every pass.
"You look good like this." He tells Grace, voice low. "So pretty, like a doll."
Grace smiles, flushes just a little.
"A little narcissistic, Seavers."
God, he doesn't have a clue, but Colt just hums and presses his face into the crook of Grace's neck, leaving little pecks in his wake. He can feel Grace shivering against him, fingers flexing and un-flexing against his ass. He has to adjust to not knock into Grace's glasses, still hanging from his neck.
"You wear it better then me. The face, i mean. Make it look–" he struggles with the words for it, "Soft. Sweet."
It's quiet for a bit. Nothing but the ever-present sound of Mary's electrical circuit and his skin against Grace's.
"You're, uh…" Grace sounds a little flustered, "not too bad looking yourself, y'know."
He doesn't respond to that, doesn’t know how to without running his mouth and making it all worse. Instead, he latches onto Grace's skin, adds more hickeys to Grace's already pretty gnarly looking neck. Grace squirms underneath him, hands drawing up Colt's body until he's got them at his shoulder blades, pressing them closer together. Colt's bare skin to the worn cotton of Grace's t-shirt. He can feel the heat of him through the fabric and he tries to get closer on impulse until he's leaving all his weight on his chest. Grace grunts when he fully lets go, but he doesn't say anything other a little muttering under his breath that Colt doesn't try to catch. At this angle, Ryland is half pulled out of him.
He pulls his face out of the crook of Grace's neck and presses his forehead to his, stares him down. This close, he can see the red at the apples of Grace's cheeks, can count his moles one by one. Grace can only put up with the staring for a bit before he darts his eyes away, face growing even redder and Colt smiles.
Colt can see himself in every bit of it, the twist of his mouth, the bright blue of his eyes. There's a photo of him and Jody, pinned somewhere in the cockpit, where he's looking up at her the same exact way. He feels his stomach twisting and he can't tell if it's longing or hunger or just guilt. He tries not feeling it so much, but he can't distract himself when the reason for the guilt is just in front of him, unknowing.
He only realizes he's stopped moving because Grace settles into it, brings one of his hands up to cart through his hair as they just lay there. It's all Grace, from every direction there is. He can hear his heartbeat crystal clear, and he can smell the cologne he gifted him for his graduation, and all he can see is his eyes. He feels like they're back in the womb, and the past forty something years of their lives has been one long rollercoaster of a dream.
He sort of wants to cry, and then that turns into his eyes burning. He presses his face into their pillow to try and blot them out so Grace won't notice it and tries to stifle any noises that come.
It's a little stupid, it's not like Grace is blind (or dumb), but if Grace doesn't ask he doesn't need to acknowledge it. And Grace doesn't ask, just tightens his arms around him and pats his back. It's a stiff, stilted couple of pats, but he melts into it as easy as breathing, and after a few seconds he can feel Grace relaxing against him, loosen up a bit. It's nice, comforting. He hugs a bit like their grandma. Colt doesn't even feel bad thinking about the fact that Ry hugs like their grandma, that's how comforting the hug is.
It'd be nice if he could blame that all-knowing comfort on them being brothers, but they were never that close on Earth. He can't tell if that makes all this worse or better. He tries weighing it out to distract himself but that actually just makes everything worse and he instead goes for just trying to toss everything out of his mind and focus. Just Grace's arms around him and his breathing in his ears and his cock in his ass. It only barely works, but it's something.
He wipes his face off on the pillow, tries to pull himself together at least a little. God, he's gotten mopey. Or maybe it's just a lot to cope with all at once. Either way, Colt's pretty sure he never cried this much on Earth.
He gets his arms under Grace and starts to flip them over, trying not to let Grace slip out of him. It's a little hard to do in the small bed that they sleep in without falling over the edge, but Colt manages. Grace lets out a little 'oof' as he lands, glasses nearly falling from him in the process.
"Not feeling so hot," Colt admits, "Could really use some 'help' here, if you know what i mean."
Grace gets up onto his elbows, looking him over. He can tell exactly how bad he looks because Grace frowns in that concerned way he's getting way too used to. When he actually speaks, it's quiet, soothing.
"You okay?"
He gives Grace a thumb up. Grace's eyebrows only knit closer in response and not for the first time Colt can see their mom in the way Grace moves. Somewhere, several light-years away, Freud has to be spinning like a top.
"Just peachy." He reaches for Graces glasses and fiddles with them, "Just tired."
Grace's mouth draws into a thin line, but he doesn't say anything. He just pats him, gentle but firm, and adjusts their position.
Grace rolls his hips, slow and careful. He's got his eyes on Colt, looking him over to check that he's not in pain or still crying. It reminds Colt of the kind of stern look he had sometimes on the Vat, and it's just awkward enough to meet head on that he just doesn't, pressing his face into the crook of Grace's shoulder instead.
Grace pulls back, then pushes in at a snail's pace, running his hand down Colts side gently as he does it. It feels a little like someone trying to soothe a startled horse, but it still makes Colt feel warm, soft.
Unfortunately, it's also torture, way too slow for Colt's tastes. Grace's cock presses up against his prostate for a while each pass before he pulls out again, and the lack of force behind it means it's more a really long poke at his prostate then it is anything else. He tries setting the pace himself, rocking himself forward on Grace's cock, but he's doesn't have enough leverage to actually get a good rhythm going. Grace doesn't change his pace, either.
He moves his hands down Grace's back, down until his hands have a good hold on his hips. He spreads his legs a little further and pulls Grace against him, further inside him. Grace's breath catches in his throat and he makes this low sort of groan. He sounds a lot more like Colt when he does it. That shouldn't be as hot as it is.
"You can move faster then that. I'm not gonna break."
"I didn't think that." Grace mutters.
Even so, Colt can feel the flex of Grace's hips as he speeds up bit by bit. Grace's tongue peeks out to lick at his lips. Colt wants to kiss him bad enough that it hurts.
"Come here," he reaches up, sinks his hands into Grace's hair, "Need you closer. Come on"
Grace leans down and Colt tilts his face the rest of the way, latches on for dear life. It's more teeth and tongue then normal, Colt feeling his way through Grace's mouth. Grace returns the favor. Lower down, Grace's hips speed up, driving into him hard, the harsh slap of skin on skin drowning out almost everything else.
He can hear himself, little groans leaking out under the sound of Grace's gasping into his mouth. He starts to meet him with every thrust, raising his hips for it. It makes his back ache a little, some old pain there he's tugging on, but it's worth it, cause every time he moves now, Grace hits his prostate dead on.
He hooks his legs up, wraps them over Grace's hips and pulls him in even further, grinds against him. Grace lets out this loud moan which Colt can feel in his throat. Like this he's got him pinned and Grace can only rock into him, pull out an inch before sinking down to the hilt again. He's stuffed full, stretched out like nothing else.
One of Grace's hands go from his side to his hip, and then to his stomach. It drifts down, leaves a trail of sparks as it stops just above the base of his cock. He doesn't stroke him, though, instead pressing his fingers into his stomach.
"Is this alright?" Grace asks, hand twisting and pressing further as he pulls back. He's looking down at him with laser focus.
"Yeah, 's good. Right—" Ry grazes past his prostate inside almost the same as his hand bears down, and he groans, "there. Shit"
He feels like he's being squeezed in from every direction, feeling coming from every inch of his body at once. The pleasure builds and builds in waves, from his core to everywhere else. He can feel his own pulse inside, around Grace's cock, getting stronger and stronger until Grace's hand grazes against his cock and he's gone.
His whole body tenses, everything tightening up as he spurts onto his stomach and Grace's hand. The aftershocks come through and he clenches and unclenches around Grace, can feel exactly where he is inside of him. Almost every muscle in his body cramps with the force of it, and he can hear himself moaning.
Grace keeps thrusting, pressing down even harder with his hand as he watches Colt come. Everything feels good, bad, painful, great, like a punch to the gut. He closes his eyes but he can still feel Grace's eyes on him.
Grace's thrusts start to get sloppy, too fast one second and too slow the next. He keeps letting out these weak, pathetic noises every time Colt tightens around him.
"Can," Grace pants, and then tries again, "Can i—"
It takes Colt a second to understand what he wants, and then he nods, whips his head up and down with enough force to give himself a migraine.
"God, yeah, yes. Go for it. Please, Ry—"
Grace tenses, eyes widening with one last jerky thrust before he finally pushes in to the hilt and comes inside. He makes this long loud groan as he does it, curling against Colt. He can feel his cum flooding his insides, warm and wet.
It takes a few minutes for Grace to catch his breath, face pressed into Colts hair as he gasps, shuddering against him. Colt cradles him close, strokes his back.
He pulls away, pulls out of Colt with weak legs and settles on his side right next to him, his leg over Colts as he presses close. They're both sweaty and sticky, and right now they're too hot for it to feel nice, but Colt nuzzles closer anyway.
Colt feels busted wide open and he doesn't need to look to know he's probably leaking Grace's come onto the sheets right now. He probably should be trying not to do that (it's a bitch to clean things with the limited soap they have), but he feels floaty and soft and doesn't want to move. He can feel Grace breathing right next to him, the rise and fall of his chest, and it's working almost like a lullaby.
"Colt?"
He tilts his head to look at Grace.
"Hm?"
"You know, if…" Grace shuffles a little, "If you want to talk about something, I'm always here for you."
He wants to. Wants to actually say something, anything, because there's a million things in his head that he should say or wants to say or just needs out of his mind. But then the words reach his mouth and they get all jumbled like nothing else. None of the words are good enough for this, big enough, sorry enough.
I love you. I remembered something. I don't think this is right. I love you anyway. Have you remembered anything? It was our fifth birthday. Last party we had together. Our parents were screaming at each other in the kitchen and i saw your face in our Dad's. I can't tell if i resent you for not remembering or not. I don't think you'd love me if you did. I don't think I've ever felt so alone.
I wish i told you sooner. I wish i could tell you now. I wish i wasn't such a coward.
A beat. Then two. The silence stretches on for a while. Colt stares up at the bottom of Rocky's bed and doesn't think, or at least tries to. It doesn't work. Figures.
He turns over and Ryland is staring a hole into him, face still set into that worry filled look. For two people with the same face, Ry worries very differently. It's the way he holds his brows, he's pretty sure.
Colt goes to speak and then he hesitates, just for a second.
"I know." He says, and it's not a lie, "and… same here. If you need me, I'm here."
Ry's face doesn't relax much, even as he sighs and lays his head on his shoulder. But it's going to have to be enough.
He nestles his cheek against his brother's hair, settles down to sleep.
Until Colt can get it together, it has to be enough.