Work Text:
A/N: AND A VERY HAPPY ONE THOUSAND FICS TO US ALL, STRATTLAND NATION!
I love and appreciate this little community so so much - y'all are amazing and kind and fun to yap to! And I hope we all stick to this tag for at least a while longer <3
Title from I Knew It, I Knew You by Taylor Swift. I'm on tumblr and twitter @ heavensbeehalls, so come connect! If you enjoy, leave kudos or a comment or a funny quote tweet, I treasure them all.
Let's go! Upcoming are definitely some longer AUs - visit me on my other social medias and tell me to lock in on those. Love you, strattlanders!
It wasn’t so long ago that the same people who stand in front of her now were the ones condemning her to jail.
The prison mark on her neck aches with the weight of their looks, and she pulls her hair quietly across it, lifting her head higher. Smoothing her sweater down into her waistband, thick enough to hide the weight she’s lost in the last thirty years. To look like she did the day she met Ryland Grace.
When the doors open and he steps through, smear of sunlight in his astronaut yellow, the noise lifts so loud she wants to clap her hands over her ears and stop it all. Questioning why she was asked to be here, why she agreed to it, if anyone would even notice if she turned and left.
She swallows around the taste of metal in her mouth, and keeps her eyes on Ryland. Being steered into the room by the President of the United States, all scalpel smile and nationalistic pride.
Ryland looks uncomfortable. She can tell from the stilt of his smile, the square of his shoulders, the flicker of his eyes.
He’s looking around the room, and his eyes light on her. She freezes where she stands.
Watches his eyes light up with starlight, and he nods to the suits surrounding him and moves towards her. Long, purposeful strides, in front of her in seconds, his shadow falling across her face.
He stares down at her, and she tries not to blink, watching the blue of his gaze rove across her. Noticing her silver hair, the lines by her eyes, staring right at the tattoo splashed black across her neck.
She should’ve made more effort to have it removed.
Ryland raises his hand, and she can’t help flinching. Waiting for the slap, whether it’s the sharp palm of his hand or sharper words.
His thumb lands softly in the centre of her chin. Lifting her face, searching for something, a slow smile pulling gently at the corners of his mouth.
She swallows, and quietly says, “Doctor Grace. Welcome home.”
“Eva.” He says her name so softly, hardly more than a breath, and he sounds just the same as he did on a grey morning in Baikonur, thirty years ago.
And he bends his head and kisses her. Taking from her in soft little juts of his chin, hand moving from her jaw to her back to press her closer. He tastes like something sweet, smells like chalk and rain, kisses her so sweetly and kindly there are tears in her eyes when he pulls away with a gasp.
His thumb smudges a tear away from her cheek, concern written all over his gorgeous, gentle, spacefaring face, and he rambles, “Oh my God I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just…Stratt I thought…I’m really…I misread this, I’m…forget it happened-”
“Kiss me again,” she breathes, and yanks him down to her. His arms go around her, biceps pressed into her sides, putting her pieces back together firmer than anyone else ever could.
She tangles her fingers in his hair, pulls, feels the rumble of his groan deep in his chest. His hands sliding down to the small of her back, pulling her closer, the soles of her sneakers squeaking against the floor as he brings her to her tiptoes, body bowed up into his.
He breaks the kiss again, his face brighter than the stars, a supernova. Grins at her, breathes, “You know I forgive you, right?”
“Even if I’m not sorry?”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he breathes, and kisses her again. She clings to him, the tension leaking out of her blood and replaced with something so much lighter, fizzing and happy.
His thumb traces her cheekbone and presses encouragingly for her to open her mouth, his tongue immediately tracing her teeth. Now she can taste the sugar of whatever he’s eaten stronger, and it’s going to her head, making her giddy and grabby, the world melting away in swirls of the gold of his hair and the blue of his eyes.
When Ryland breaks the kiss again, a broken little sound escapes her throat, and she feels the huff of his frustration across her face.
“Doctor Grace,” an aide says tentatively, not looking at Eva, “there are, um...other people who want to talk to you.”
Eva feels her whole face turn pink, the heat on the back of her neck and at the tips of her ears. But Ryland just turns back to her, smiling and sunlit, and wipes his designer-stubbled chin that’s left her jaw burning.
“She’s coming with me,” he says, and the aide nods quickly. He tangles his fingers through hers, all grin, and says, “Come on, baby. Let’s be the old dynamic duo one more time.”
“Ryland,” she breathes, and he turns to her, the full sunbeam of his attention on her, “I lied.”
“When?” he asks, and tucks a long curl of silver behind her ear. “Can’t really lie about how hard you shoved your tongue in my mouth, sweetheart.”
“Oh shush,” she snipes, easy return to that rhythm, dizzy with the way he’s beaming at her. “I lied about not being sorry. I am.”
“I know,” he says, squeezes her hand. “But I forgive you. You can forgive yourself.”
He says it so easily, but it takes the weight on her shoulder and peels it free for the first time in decades. She almost collapses without it. Feels the tears stinging her eyes, the loosening of the cage she’s kept around her heart, looking up at him.
“Come on, let’s go be a power couple,” he says, and sweeps her into the centre of it all. Keeps his arm around her while he talks to heads of state, defers to her to translate when he’s not sure, beaming at her every moment.
They could have been this years ago. If she’d let herself do it. Allowed herself to have something this good, this sweet. Something to keep her warm as the world froze.
It’s melting now. And so is she, feeling Ryland’s fingertips against her back, pulling her closer, pressing a kiss into her hair. “I like this,” he says softly, running his fingers through the waves.
“No you don’t-”
“It suits you,” he says. “Makes you look distinguished.”
“Ryland-”
“Like moonlight,” he says softly. “And your eyes are like the ocean. You’re a whole tidal cycle, sweetheart.”
“You became a poet in space,” she observes, and he grins.
“All of humanity’s knowledge in one place, only so many bad movies I could put up with,” he says, looping his arms around her, heedless of the people watching. “I even started learning German.”
“Really?” she asks, arched eyebrow, and his eyes shine.
“Ich liebe dich,” he says softly, and her breath catches, tears swelling hotly in her throat again. “Ich habe dich immer geliebt.”
“No you haven’t, you were terrified of me-”
“Think about the day we met, and ask if my reactions were terror, or instant attraction,” he teases, and pulls her into another kiss before she can reply.
She breaks the kiss this time, gasping, says, “Ryland, there are people-”
“Say it,” he whispers, all cocky grin in his astronaut suit, his name gold-winged across his chest. “Eva. Come on.”
“I love you,” she breathes, and his whole face lights up like the corona of the sun. “Liebling, I love you. In every language.”
“Say it,” he says, kisses her so sweetly. His lips are getting swollen, pink temptation, and she watches his teeth press into his lower lip, the filthy curl at the corner of his mouth. “Say it, baby.”
“Je t’aime,” she breathes, and he nods, staring at her mouth. “Ich liebe dich. 我爱你. Ik hou van jou. Я тебя люблю-”
“Wow,” he says, eyes shining, and pulls her back into a kiss, completely heedless of the footsteps around them, tongue in her mouth and hands drifting dangerously close to her ass.
There’s a press conference, and she positions herself at the back of the room, jaw still hot with stubble burn, watching him. And the very first reporter, hungry-eyed for a scoop, immediately asks, “Doctor Captain Grace, what’s the nature of your relationship with Eva Stratt?”
“I’m sure you all have photos that speak for themselves on that,” he says to a rumble of laughter, and grins right at Eva. She swallows the urge to giggle, to toy with her hair like a girl in the throes of a first crush, seeing him so confident and so him, the same man she knew around the Gansu.
Someone calls a halt to it all, and Ryland strides across the room and scoops her up, a laugh bubbling out of her, joy overflowing. “Where are you staying?” he asks, his eyes hungry.
“I got a hotel room-”
“Refundable?” he asks, linking his hands around her. “Because, not to brag, but I’m in a five star suite. Whole floor to myself.” The corner of his mouth turns up in a filthy smirk that goes right between her thighs, and he says, “Very soundproof.”
“Ryland-”
“Maybe you’re right,” he says. Hands sliding inside her coat, collected from the cloakroom, palms meeting the small of her back and down to grab a handful of her ass. “We should take it slow.”
“That’s not very slow,” she stutters into his chest, resisting the urge to press back into his exploring hands, to drag one between her thighs.
“I seem to remember you once asked me to do it faster,” he says sweetly, still tracing his fingers across her ass, squeezing so hard she squeaks.
“Ryland, there are people-”
“You’re wearing a coat,” he whispers, hand so big it’s covering one whole ass cheek. “They can’t see.”
“They know exactly what we’re doing-”
“Isn’t that the idea?” he asks, all lifted eyebrows and lilting smile.
She arches an eyebrow. “You discover exhibitionism in space too?”
“No, that’s something I knew before,” he says, and kisses her, pulling her closer and squeezing her ass even harder.
They barely make it to the car waiting for him. Years of having no one to touch or be touched by come flashing in all at once, a fire banked beneath her skin, the desperate need to touch more of him. Regretting the layers, hating them, wanting his hands on her skin, touching every inch of her.
He presses her back against the leather seats, her hand tangled around the seatbelt while he sloppily kisses her neck, his thigh pressed up against her. And he’s clumsy, eager, fingers slipping beneath her sweater and tracing helpless patterns into her hip.
“I missed you,” he breathes into her ear, his warm breath sending a shudder right through her. “Did I ever tell you how hot you are?”
“You did not-”
“You’re so fucking hot,” he groans, and kisses her, sloppy and tongue-filled, grabbing hands and rolling hips.
The car judders to a halt, the driver politely but pointedly silent, and Ryland leans back, flushed and shining. “Coming?” he asks, hand outstretched.
She follows him like he’s gravity, like he used to follow her around on the Gansu. Watches him spinning his shiny keycard, the sort that has an exclusive elevator just for him, the card inserted into the slot on the wall and a chirpy beep.
The elevator hums to the top floor, and she tries to steady her breathing, to feel less needy. Embarrassingly so, when she always used to have a grip on this, when she resisted him for four years.
He grins when the doors hiss open into his suite, toeing off his shoes and kicking them aside. “Let’s get this off,” he breathes, unbuttoning her coat, grabbing entirely too much as he slides it off.
“Hang it up at least, Ryland, don’t be an animal-”
“I’ll have you know my place on Erid was always impeccably tidy,” he says, and crumples the coat to the floor. “Besides, don’t you want me to be an animal?”
She’ll have to think about why that sends a hot shiver through her another time. But she’s pulling back a little power by yanking him close, grabbing the zipper of his jumpsuit and lowering it slowly, her eyes on his.
He lifts a hand to her cheek, thumb stroking softly back and forth, and she lets her eyes drop to take in his chest. Scatterings of dark gold hair, the firm muscles she remembers, revealed entirely as he pulls his arms out of the sleeves, biceps flexing.
“Still good?” he asks softly.
“You are so good,” she replies breathlessly, and he wraps her into those offensive arms and kisses her.
The jumpsuit does very little to hide the shape or the feel of his hard cock against her stomach when they stagger back against the wall, his hands in her hair. Gently pulling the gold pin from her hair, setting it neatly aside, his eyes blue as the sky of the returning sun when he presses his forehead to hers and says, “You’re the first person I wanted to touch when I came home.”
“I should’ve been there-”
“I understand why you weren’t,” he says. Drops his hands to the hem of her sweater, draws it over her head, smooths her hair back and breathes, “But I’m going to touch you as much as I want now. If that’s okay.”
“It’s okay,” she breathes. “As long as I can touch too.” Dips her head, confesses, “No one...no one has really touched me since you left.”
He kisses her forehead, takes her head and draws it to the centre of his stomach. Slides it down until she feels the pulse of his erection, and breathes, “Touch as much as you want, sweetheart.”
She wraps her hand around his cock, and his head falls onto her shoulder with a long moan, and she kisses his jaw and breathes, “Do whatever you want.”
His grin goes feral, eyes sparkling wickedly, and he sinks to his knees, fingers hooked into her waistband and pulling her trousers down. His soft mouth against her stomach, along her hips, mouthing at her over her underwear. Leaning back, breathing, “You’re so wet, sweetheart.”
“I-”
His finger slips beneath her underwear, sliding through slick folds, finding her clit and rubbing teasingly, so soft. “All this for me?” he asks, sin on his knees with his cock obviously hard, blue eyes and eyelashes flecked gold by the lamplight.
“It’s been a very long time-”
“I’m honoured,” he says, pulling her underwear down, lifting one of her legs over his shoulder. “Tell me if you’re going to fall.”
And then he buries his mouth between her legs, his stubble stinging the insides of her thighs, and she throws her head back so hard it hits the wall with a resounding thump, curling her fingers desperately into his hair.
His mouth is perfect, everywhere, filling her with liquid gold. She doesn’t care how much noise she’s making, not when his hands are eagerly running up and down her legs, squeezing her hips, cupping over her ass. Not when his tongue is inside her, and she’s grinding her clit against his nose, sobbing his name as she falls apart.
He stands up and kisses the overwhelmed tears from her cheeks, breathes, “We can stop, if it’s too much, we can stop-”
“Don’t you dare,” she rasps, and he grins into a kiss, groaning as she licks her own taste from his mouth, frantically pushing his jumpsuit over his hips and thighs, letting it puddle in the plush carpet.
They tumble back into the bed, the mattress soft and perfectly springy beneath them, her knees caught around his hips as his weight lowers on top of her. He’s everywhere, greedily squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, tongue in her mouth and cock bumping against her thigh.
“Eva-”
“Please,” she breathes, and there are tears in her throat, in her eyes, on her face. “Liebling, please, I want you, I want this-”
“It might not last very long-”
“I don’t care,” she snarls, grabs his ass and lines him up, staring at the bobbing head of his cock, shiny with pre-come. “Fuck me, Doctor Captain Grace.”
“Holy shit, why is that so hot?” he breathes, and she giggles around the tears salting the corners of her mouth. “Does it work the same for you, Director Stratt?”
“Not a director any more,” she says. “Just a Ms.”
“Ms. Stratt,” he breathes, and she shudders. “Do you want the Captain of the Hail Mary to fuck you stupid?”
“Forever,” she says, and loops her arms around him to pull him down into a kiss as he sinks in.
It’s been probably thirty-five years since she had anyone inside her. And he’s huge, it takes a second to adjust to the sharp pinch and burn, and she can see a vein in his forehead ticking, his biceps flexing as he tries to hold himself back.
She kisses his arm, hovering next to her mouth, and says, “Fuck me, Captain.”
“God,” he rasps, and moves into her, setting both of them alight. She’s never had sex like this, delicious and sweaty and grabby, her heels sliding against his back, spreading her legs until it hurts to let him deeper.
She presses her head back into the pillows, and blinks up at the ceiling. Never noticed the mirror above the bed, should’ve expected it from the sort of suite meant for long nights tangled around someone. Watches her own face, bright red and ecstatic, watches her own pale hands slide down Ryland’s golden back and squeeze his ass as it bobs between her thighs.
“Look,” she breathes, and Ryland does.
“Oh,” he gasps, and she can feel him twitch inside her.
“Flip us,” she says, and he grins filthily.
It takes a little manoeuvring, a whine when his glorious cock slips out of her, but she gets him sitting back against the pillow and welcoming her into his lap. Where both of them can look up at themselves fucking, the wait sweat shines on his chest and her breasts bounce as she rides him so hard she knows her muscles will ache in the morning.
She leans back against his muscled thighs, enough to let both of them watch the reflection of his cock driving in and out of her, and he groans and hooks his hands around her waist, pulling her close. “That’s so hot, baby, but I want you close,” he rasps, scattering kisses across her collarbones and her breasts, nipping a bruise just above her nipple.
He pulses inside her, and she moves harder, rocking into him, gripping him harder, wondering if she’s leaving bruises. “I don’t want to let you go again,” she breathes. “I never did.”
“You don’t have to,” he says, catches her chin between his thumb and forefinger and looks right into her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere. Never again.”
“Ryland-”
“I love you,” he whispers, and it goes straight through her blood to her cunt. “I want to be with you. I’ll take you to the chapel in the morning, if you want.”
“You’d marry me?”
“Make this not a sin,” he teases, gripping her waist, and she sinks down a little harder just to hear him gasp, “Holy-”
“Marry me,” she breathes, and he nods, eyes glazed. “Marry me, Ryland.”
“Yes,” he whispers. “Yes.”
He holds her tighter, kisses her like she’s precious, grabs her ass again and squeezes, bouncing her harder in his lap, and she squeaks, “Ryland, I’m coming-”
And does, with a shrill, long sound. Would call it a scream if it wasn’t embarrassing to call herself a screamer.
But the sound she makes when Ryland flips her back onto the bed and starts thrusting even faster is definitely a scream. So she must be a screamer, at least for him, the rhythm of his hips making her crest again before he slams inside her and she feels his cock twitch and spill inside her.
Both of them are panting, and he pulls her back into his arms, gathering her up while overstimulated tears slip down her cheeks. “God,” he breathes into her neck, kissing her shoulder, her cheek, her forehead, her nose. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she whispers, wipes her eyes. “I’m sorry, I keep crying.”
“Baby,” he breathes, and she focuses on him. On the tears in his eyes, streaking silver across the gold of his face, salting his smile. “Look at us. We’re both crying.”
She squeaks and hides her face in his shoulder, and he laughs, cradling her closer. “I love you,” he says. “From here to Tau Ceti. And then some.”
“I love you,” she says back, letting it light up in her hollows. “Ryland, I...there’s so much I need to say-”
“We have time,” he says, tucks her hair behind her ear. “And right now, I just want to shower and sleep next to you for sixteen hours.”
“That’s specific,” she says, and he laughs.
“Have you learned to sleep more than four hours at a time in the last thirty years?” he asks, and she shakes her head. “Will you try with me?”
“I’ll try everything with you,” she says.
“Marriage?” he asks, and kisses her knuckles. “Did you mean that?”
“Have you ever known me to say things I don’t mean?” she asks, and he grins.
“My phone is in the jumpsuit,” he says. “But I’m calling a jeweller in the morning.”
“Not the chapel?”
“So eager to be Mrs Grace?” he smiles, pulling her closer.
“Grace-Stratt,” she retorts.
“Whatever you want,” he says, and eases her gently onto the mattress. “Are you going to be okay using my shampoo?”
“As long as it’s not disgusting 3-in-1-”
“I was a bachelor before you, you can’t judge my habits,” he says, grinning. “Come on. Maybe I can get one more orgasm out of you before bed.”
“Greedy,” she teases, and his eyes go feral.
“All I thought about on the journey back was you,” he says, and swings on top of her again, kissing down her neck to her navel. Shoving his tongue into her belly button so she shrieks and shoves him away.
She cradles his head between her hands, his chin resting on her stomach, and says, “You’re really home.”
“Yeah,” he says, and lifts himself over her again. “I’m home.”
When he kisses her again, salty with both their tears, she wraps her arms around him and sinks into his sunlight.