Chapter Text
Four days out from the launch of the Hail Mary, Ryland realizes that he’s absolutely terrified.
He’s terrified of what could go wrong. The plan is shoddy at best, cobbled together with hope and a prayer, and he’s never been one to believe in the divine. Even with the world’s greatest — and craziest — minds working together, the general consensus among them seems to be that the probability of the project being a success is only a smidge higher than zero. To think all of their grueling work and the damage they’ve done could be for absolutely nothing — it’s more than a little offputting.
He’s terrified of losing his friends. Yao, Ilyukhina and DuBois are unequivocally heroes, sacrificing their lives for the good of all of humanity. But they’re also his drinking buddies, his backup singers on karaoke night, his confidants — he knows it’s wrong to put his own interpersonal relationships above saving their entire planet, but Ryland would rather remember them as friends than these mythical saviors.
He’s terrified, maybe more than anything else, of what the future will look like. Even if the mission is a complete success, it’ll take years for them to even tell. They’ll have no contact with the ship, no way of knowing what happens out there. And here, on Earth? It’ll be a living nightmare. The temperatures will drop drastically, an estimated billions will die, countries will be at each other’s throats, fighting for survival and power. Ryland worries for his kids most — growing up in a world like that.
Stratt thinks he’s being ridiculous. She’s insistent that simply worrying about the outcome won’t change it, and she’s right. Still, Ryland doesn’t understand how she stays so calm and collected all the time. If there was anything ever worth worrying about, it’s this.
The thoughts swim in his head for hours. His sleeping quarters on the base have no windows, but he already knows it’s pitch-black outside. He glances at his watch, charging on the nightstand. 3:37.
He groans softly, pushing himself into a sitting position. He has to be up at five in the morning, which leaves him only a little more than an hour to get some real sleep. Yeah, right. Not a chance. And even if he did miraculously manage to fall asleep, he already knows he would feel less refreshed in the morning than if he’d just pulled an all-nighter. (The human body is weird and Ryland doesn’t pretend to understand it. He studies the little organisms, not the big ones.)
He palms at his nightstand until he feels his glasses, unceremoniously shoving them onto his face. He blinks the bleariness out of his eyes and grabs his phone, shoving it in the pocket of his pajama pants. It’s become not just a habit, but a necessity. Being so strangely and accidentally high up on the level of importance for this project, he needs to know what’s happening at all times — Stratt instilled that into him well enough after an incident where he’d left his phone behind on a coffee run. (How is it that he’s the second-most valuable person on the team and still somehow the coffee guy?)
He slides out of bed, throwing an oversized tee on (this one has the text All the Good Science Puns followed by an image of the periodic element argon) and throwing the door open. Everyone’s sleep schedules are a little different, on account of everybody being from different timezones, not to mention the insane jet lag for newer recruits. As a matter of fact, he’s pretty sure Lokken is holed up in the lab at this very moment. If anyone asks, he’s checking on her.
That’s not what he’s doing, though. Instead, he crosses the base until he finds the quarters of the astronauts and their backups. Stratt is supposed to be the only one who knows where they sleep (besides the astronauts themselves) since she’s freakishly paranoid about anything happening to them, but Ryland has his ways of getting information. (You’d be shocked how far big blue puppy eyes can get a man in life.)
The frigid breeze leaves goosebumps on his skin, but the air is surprisingly warm compared to the last few nights. He takes a deep breath of fresh, not-salty air, once again thankful to be off that wretched ship.
He wanders until he finds the quarters he’s searching for, stopping just short of knocking on the door. His stomach suddenly feels queasy, his throat tight. Oh, god, not now.
This happens every single time. You’d think after being together for so long, Ryland would be able to get his nerves under control. They’d seen each other so much, and yet Grace still gets butterflies at the very idea of seeing him again. It’s ridiculous, and they both know it. He’s been mercilessly teased by his lover enough times to understand that, at least.
He knows he’ll be awake. He’s always awake at the most ungodly hours — sometimes, Ryland is convinced he’s secretly some kind of nocturnal creature.
He sucks in a breath through his nose and steels his resolve, eyes fluttering shut. He shifts his weight from foot to foot and finally knocks on the door, the soft rapping of his knuckles cutting through the silence.
“Come in, Ryland.”
Ryland widens his eyes as he gently pushes the door open, taking a step inside the room. It’s far nicer than his own quarters, which he supposes makes sense, but still makes him feel a bit cross with Stratt. (He gets a flat-screen TV, while Ryland can’t even be afforded a closet?)
“How’d you know it was me?” he pouts.
Simon takes his sweet time to dog-ear the page of his book and set it on his nightstand. Without looking at his lover, he says simply, “You just told me.”
Ryland gapes at him, then releases an obnoxious whine from the back of his throat. “Not fair.”
Simon finally cracks, his lips turning upwards into a pleased smile. He glances back at Ryland, a teasing lilt to his voice. “You’re getting better. I didn’t even count up to a minute before you opened the door.”
“You count how long I spend at your door?”
“Current record’s 11 minutes and 26 seconds, but I’m sure you can beat it.” Simon shoots him a wink that nearly sends Ryland into cardiac arrest.
Ryland flops unceremoniously onto Simon’s bed, groaning as he throws his head back into a pillow. “It’s not my fault you make me so dang nervous!”
Simon laughs, shoulders rising to his ears and bobbing up and down. It’s stunning. “It’s been months, Ryland.”
Ryland sticks his bottom lip out in defeat. “Well, it’s not like you’ve gotten any less swoon-worthy overtime.”
Simon’s cheeks dust with red. He lays on his side, facing Ryland. “Swoon-worthy?”
“Yes! You’re— jeez, you could knock a man right off his feet with that face!”
Simon rolls his eyes, as if his entire face and neck haven’t gone pink. “You’re ridiculous.”
Ryland looks at him, a smile creeping on his face. He pulls his glasses off and sets them next to Simon’s book. “Ohhh. You’re liking this.”
Simon scoffs. Locks eyes with him. “Yeah, I like compliments.”
“Not compliments,” Ryland counters immediately, shuffling in closer. “I think you like the praise.”
Ryland notices the way Simon’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows down thick. “I like praise?” he parrots dubiously, though there’s something hidden underneath it.
“Oh, yeah,” Ryland chuckles, leaning in further until Simon can feel his breath on his lips. “You just love it. Don’t you? You love being good for me.”
Simon’s lips part. His face has gone completely red, though his eyes never stray from Ryland’s gaze. “Ryland…”
Ryland isn’t really in the mood for talking anymore, so he quiets Simon by pressing their lips together. Simon releases a soft noise from the back of his throat and pushes back against his lips, his hand rising up to caress Ryland’s cheek. Ryland shivers, unable to hide how insane Simon’s touch makes him feel. It really does shake him to his core, just how far in he’s fallen.
Simon’s tongue breaches the minuscule gap between them, beginning to explore Ryland’s mouth. Ryland’s brows jump to his forehead in surprise, and he pulls back just enough to where his words are at least semi-coherent. “You’re eager today.”
Simon huffs, his breaths coming in short little pants. “Screw you, I’m horny.”
Ryland doesn’t even have time to smile before Simon’s going in for another kiss. Ryland closes his eyes, taking in the blissful feeling.
He clumsily climbs on top of Simon, straddling his hips, not breaking the kiss once. His hips roll almost on their own accord, his pajama pants rubbing tantalizingly against Simon’s boxers. Simon arches his back until it’s nearly off the bed, warbling a sharp moan muffled by Ryland’s lips.
Ryland does it again. Simon’s moan this time is longer, breathier, and he pulls away to tilt his head back. “Fuck, Ryland, don’t tease me,” he begs.
Ryland grins, his lips finding Simon’s jaw, right next to his ear, and nibbling softly at the skin. “You’re doing so good for me, starlight…”
Simon sucks in a needy breath, his hands finding Ryland’s hips and grinding against his crotch. As much as Ryland craves it, he somehow gathers the willpower to take Simon’s wrists and pin them at the sides of his head. “Ah, ah,” he teases against his skin.
“You’re the worst,” Simon mewls, curling his hands into fists. He could knock Ryland and his string-bean stature flat on his ass in seconds, but he doesn’t, and Ryland knows it’s because he’s exactly where he wants to be.
Ryland peppers kisses along Simon’s jaw, down to his neck. He begins biting and sucking on the skin in earnest, resuming the rolling of his hips against the thin fabric of Simon’s boxers.
Simon gasps wetly. “Oh, fuck,” he whines, twisting in Ryland’s hold. He lifts his knee off the bed slightly, pushing his heel into the mattress.
Ryland presses his lips quick to the red mark forming on Simon’s neck, then pulls back. He looks down, grinning at the growing damp spot in between Simon’s thighs. “So good,” he rumbles, his fingers releasing Simon’s left wrist and gently carding through his cropped black hair. “You’re just perfect, starlight.”
Simon looks up at him, his dark brown eyes glassy and clouded with arousal. “Ryland, please…”
“Shh,” he hushes softly, bringing his thumb up to Simon’s lips and gently breaching the gap. Simon quietly closes his velvety mouth around his knuckle, and Ryland smiles. “Tell me what you want.”
A beat passes before Ryland carefully retracts his thumb from Simon’s lips, connected only by a thin string of saliva. Simon pants softly and tilts his head back. “Fuck me, Ryland, please.”
Ryland grins. “Well, since you asked so nicely…”
He slips his fingers under Simon’s waistband, pulling the elastic down to his thighs. Simon sits up, practically wrestling his shirt off and tossing aside. The pads of Ryland’s fingers find Simon’s belly button, gently tracing down his happy trail.
He rubs softly at Simon’s clit. The reaction is instantaneous — Simon moans wantonly, his hands closing into tight fists as he grasps the bed sheets under him. “Ah! Fuck!”
“Good boy,” Ryland breathes. He continues the motions until Simon’s whines and moans raise an octave, squeaky and needy, his upper half writhing in the bed. He pulls his hand away from Simon’s clit, and he mewls in disappointment.
“Ryland, god, I need it,” he whimpers. “I need you!”
Ryland smiles. “You have me, starlight.”
His fingers find his folds, carefully pushing them apart.
“Ryland, oh god…”
Ryland hums. “Beautiful. You’re so wet, my love…” carefully, he slips a finger inside, his cock aching at the way Simon’s walls flutter around it. Simon moans and throws his head back, his hips twitching and bucking involuntarily.
“More, Ryland, fuck, please—”
Ryland pushes a second finger in, then curls his fingers until Simon practically wails. His lips twitch upwards as he begins pushing in and out, reveling in the way Simon shifts his hips desperately and whimpers. His hands fly up to Ryland’s hair, tangling his fingers in his blonde locks.
Ryland pulls his fingers out, watching the hypnotically rapid rise and fall of Simon’s scarred chest. Wide eyes glazed with pure desire, he looks at Ryland and whines softly.
Well, Ryland can’t say no to that. He raises his hips and wraps a hand around the base of his painfully hard cock, lining up the tip with Simon’s soaked cunt. Slowly, enough to drive Simon positively wild, he begins pushing inside, releasing a sweet moan at the way Simon squeezes around him.
“God, starlight, you feel amazing—” Ryland gasps, tilting his head back and closing his eyes to relish in the feeling. It’s electric, the way Simon makes him feel. He wouldn’t trade it for the entire world.
Simon shivers, his hands falling to Ryland’s hips and squeezing. “Fuck! Right there!”
Ryland thrusts his hips with far more reckless abandon than he normally does, a particularly animalistic side chasing the high only Simon can grant him. The bed creaks obnoxiously under them, and for a brief moment, Ryland hopes the walls are soundproofed.
Sweat trickles down his temples, sticking his hair to his forehead. Simon suddenly gasps, his face pinching the way it always does right before he hits his breaking point. “Ryland!”
Ryland pants heavily. “You gonna cum for me, baby?”
Simon whines. Ryland can’t get enough. “Oh god—”
“Yeah, that’s right,” he praises, “good boy.”
Ryland’s vision nearly whitens with pleasure as Simon’s pussy clenches around his cock, the final warning before he’s cumming on Ryland’s dick. Soaked in Simon’s juices, he pulls out quickly after, reaching his climax just in time to spray his cum over Simon’s chest.
For a long moment, they just rest there, Simon collapsing back into the mattress and Ryland still straddling his hips. Ryland sucks in greedy breaths through his mouth, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Fuck,” Simon breathes, reaching a hand up and rubbing at his sweaty forehead. “Oh, fuck, Ryland. Jesus Christ.”
Ryland smiles softly and pecks his lips. “Was that good, starlight?”
Simon scoffs weakly, his cheeks tomato red as he pushes himself into a sitting position. He glances down at his soiled chest, then leans over and plucks out a few tissues from the box on his nightstand, wiping at Ryland’s seed. “You made such a fucking mess.”
Ryland shrugs innocently. He rolls off of Simon and lays next to him on his side.
Simon cleans himself up and throws the tissues away in the waste bin next to the bed. He wipes at his forehead again, then falls back into the bed, pulling the blankets over them both.
Ryland sighs happily, reaching his hand out and playing with Simon’s curls idly.
“You really are the most beautiful person in the world,” Ryland hums.
Simon buries half of his face in his pillow. “Oh, stop…”
“I’m not gonna stop,” Ryland laughs. “I mean it.”
Simon smiles, reaching up and intertwining his and Ryland’s fingers. He pulls his hand down and gently kisses his knuckles.
Ryland grins. “Round two?”
Simon shakes his head slowly. “We shouldn’t. I have a busy day tomorrow. Need all the sleep I can get.”
“Yeah?” Ryland squeezes his hand, the other reaching for his glasses and pushing them back on. “What’s happening?”
“Astrophage testing,” he sighs. “With DuBois and Shapiro.”
“More testing?” Ryland’s eyes bulge incredulously. “You’ve been running tests all week.”
Simon shrugs. “Never hurts to test a little extra.” He looks at Ryland and smiles wryly. “You know. Redundancy.”
Ryland’s heart clenches. Simon was never meant to actually board the Hail Mary. He’s a back-up, as Stratt said, for redundancy. He knows that.
“Redundancy is good,” Ryland mumbles, pressing his face into Simon’s tattooed bicep. “I like redundancy.”
Simon releases a withered sigh. “Ryland…”
“Shut up,” he mutters. “You’re not going up there. Yao is fine.”
“A lot can happen in three days,” Simon reminds him gently.
Ryland’s stomach twists, and he lurches up into a sitting position. “You’re not going up there!” he insists, his voice raising an octave. “I don’t even understand why you’d want to!”
Simon follows him up and sighs. “Did you forget where Stratt pulled me out from? Soon as Mary’s up there, I’m probably gonna be thrown right back in that cell. At least this way, I’d actually do something useful for the world.”
Ryland shakes his head, reaching a hand out and pressing his palm to Simon’s cheek. “That won’t happen. Stratt wouldn’t let it. I wouldn’t let it.” Simon scoffs and tries to pull away, but Ryland doesn't allow it. “No, listen to me. You’re not going up there. You’re not going up there, and you’re not going back to prison, and we’re going to be fine. You and me.”
Simon’s jaw clenches, the kind of thing that happens when he’s about to start crying. Surely enough, seconds later, his eyes mist over. “You and me?”
Hearing the waver in his voice makes Ryland’s own eyes sting. Christ. He loves this man so much. “Yeah. We’re going to be fine. And I’ll go back to teaching, and you’ll be an aerospace engineer, like you always wanted. No matter what happens, it’s you and I, together.”
Simon’s face pinches. Tears splash on his cheeks, and Ryland smiles and gently wipes them away with his thumb.
“I really want to believe that,” he chokes.
“Believe it when it happens,” Ryland whispers. “And until then, I’ll believe it enough for both of us.”
Simon sobs brokenly, pressing their foreheads together. “Ryland…”
A few tears slip down Ryland’s cheeks. “Oh, my starlight.”
Simon cries harder, his hands finding Ryland’s face and holding it gently. Ryland basks in the warmth of him, soaks in the care and tenderness Simon affords to him and only him. Ryland vaguely remembers Stratt mentioning to him that Simon probably would’ve been above Yao for the top pick if he were more ‘trustworthy’ — i.e., if he hadn’t been serving a life sentence — and Ryland can’t help but thank the stars that she got it so utterly wrong. Simon is the softest, kindest, most trustworthy person Ryland’s ever met. But if believing he’s dangerous keeps him from getting on that ship — he’ll take it. Of course he’ll take it.
Eventually, Simon’s cries peter out, and he pulls away with a sniff, wiping at his eyes with his fists. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Ryland smiles warmly. “Anytime. Get some rest, Simon. I’ll see you tomorrow?”
Simon looks into his eyes, leaning in and pressing one more kiss to Ryland’s lips. “Tomorrow. And every day after,” he promises.
Ryland’s heart swells. Oh, god. How could he ever live without him?
He slides out of Simon’s bed, throwing his discarded clothes back on. He sighs and crosses the room to the door, gently pushing it open. “Night, Si.”
“Night, Ryland,” Simon whispers, pulling the covers up to his chin.
Ryland smiles, then steps out, shutting the door behind him. The cool breeze hits his skin immediately, and he sucks in a lungful of fresh air.
Yeah. Things are going to be fine.