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An angel was to be worshipped.
Father used to say in his deep, soothing voice, back in Eden, by the shade of the Tree.
An angel was meant to be knelt at, to be adored and loved just as they loved the Tree.
And Simon might have left those Eden days behind, gone away in a wisp of stale air and red, red waves that plunged in his lungs, but the lessons still ring on his ears at idle times.
Simon had learnt to let them pass over him in the same the way the gentle waves of the lake in the dome laps over his feet, and then recedes back. He had the sand under his feet, golden sand warmed by the complex Eridian machinery, and the touch of an angel to save him before he spiralled.
But the prayers rang at his ears again, and this time Simon did not find himself as discomforted as usual.
Like the Sun, blazing golden, nurturing all with a warm light, nourishing all in paradise...
Grace was the angel, Simon’s very own sun, his eyes as blue as the sky that Simon had once only ever imagined from the chants of Eden, half closed with pleasure.
He is a vision of divinity, a sight as wondrous as the stars glowing gloriously in this universe, and Simon, the wretched, the unworthy, the abandoned, is the one to touch him, worship him, and bring him joy.
Grace’s hair, longer now and braided with crystals in weaves that Simon had done himself, in shards of blues and greens that they both wore as partners. Mates, as the Rocky and Adrian and all the other Eridians called them. Perhaps husbands if they were in Eden, though Eden never allowed to men to marry. A companionship perhaps, known to all but unacknowledged before the Tree, but marriage? That was sacred in its permanence, something Simon never dared to dream of himself.
And yet here he is, with an angel on the bed they shared, smiling up at him in hazy lust.
Simon leans down, kissing the sharp tip of Grace’s nose. His cock brushed against Grace’s at the same time, making Grace arch off the bed a little.
“You’re so beautiful,” Simon whispers against his lips. “Like the Sun, the loveliest being I’ve ever seen.”
Gorgeous, Simon thinks, As lovely as he imagined the Sun to be, trying to stay sane while trapped inside prison for years, if not lovelier still.
“I- haah- I’m,” Grace’s words break into a moan. “I’m not. You...”
Except he is. The golden sun of Simon’s life, pulling him out of an ocean of darkness and hate. The liquid sheen of the strands glitter in the artificial sunlight that spills in from the large windows, and golden hair spread over the pillows.
Simon can’t helps but reach to touch the it, to let the strands silk over his fingers, remind himself again that he was here with Grace, that it was real, that they had a long, long time ahead.
“You’re my Sun,” He presses a kiss to the long strands, his open legs straddling around Grace’s and bracing himself on the mattress as he thrusts into Grace’s warm, slick body again and again.
They’re both sweating from the exertion, and from the heaters being kept slightly too high. They both like the warmth, it feels reassuring, like an embrace full of life all over their skin.
Beads of sweat shine on Grace’s forehead, on his chest, and drops of it slide down his neck and temples. His skin has the glow of the wheat fields that Simon remembers, flushed red with excitement in splotches. He’s so real, so human in the way his chest moves up and down with ragged breaths matching Simon’s, the way he twitches and trembles each time Simon pulls out and plows in, so utterly debauched by sinful touches that in Eden meant punishment. And yet Grace is so very angelic, the perfect sight of life and vibrancy and abundance in his supple skin, in the softness around his middle; the physicality that was worshipped and coveted in the world that Simon was used to call his own, that were non-existent in the subsistence life of Eden.
Simon feels almost sacrilegious when he thrusts himself in with a squelch of lube, his teeth, too many and too sharp, latching on Grace’s neck. It will leave marks, maybe even blood, if he was the slightest bit careless.
The ocean had given him a terrible gift before letting him go, and now the side of his face was a gaping mouth, lined with rows of fangs like the eel’s, and one eye a dull, grey haze.
And yet Grace doesn’t mind. In fact, he requests for it often.
This time too, a gasp escapes his lips as Simon’s jaws settle on his shoulders, his teeth nipping on soft, pliable skin, testing it’s give without breaking it. Grace’s life thrums underneath, it’s rhythm clear against Simon’s fangs, concealed only by a flimsy layer of muscled and skin.
A touch too much force, and Simon could bite in and rip out his arteries, killing Grace before he could even utter but a chocked gurgle of pain. And yet Grace trusts him so and lets him have full reign to all him body.
If he wasn’t an angel, then what else could he be? A human? But yes, Grace was both, a human and an angel, and the saviour of the stars, no matter what was said in Eden about that.
Suddenly, Simon shifts them around. He falls on the bed, his back to his mattress, and pulls Grace to straddle on top of him; perhaps he should thanks the eel too, despite his losses, Simon did gain far better strength and healing from it, and a one arm pull like this is nothing at all.
Grace whines, almost pouting as Simon’s cock slips out of him.
“Si...” His voice wet with unshed tears as he bites his lips, grinding back on Simon’s cock, his own waving in front.
“Yes?” Simon asks running a hand on Grace’s waist. He’s got time now, so much time to learn, and waste, and fuck Grace well and true.
“You’re- sooo mean,” Grace’s voice is all breathy from the stimulation that Simon had been lavishing on his body.
“Didn’t you say I was wholly good person last day?” Simon bites back, quite happy to enjoy the show for a bit. “Do angels lie, my sun?”
“I am no angel,” Grace manages to say a full sentence this time. His hands fall on Simon’s chest, over the plush of muscles from working in the orchards all around the dome. He lets his fingers roam over, digging just deep enough to leave red lines over the faded scars all over Simon’s body. “But if I was one, won’t you have listen to me?”
Grace doesn’t let him answer. He bends down and presses his lips on Simon’s scarred, mutilated ones. Simon had felt terrible about it the first time he looked into a mirror in Erid, disgust crawling under his own skin at the sight, reminding him of the creatures in AT-5; but over the years, with Grace’s ever present touch and his kisses, he had learnt to make his peace with it.
Grace peppers quick kisses on the jagged skin of his cheeks, and lets his tongue trace over the protruding teeth on the side of Simon’s face.
Below, his fingers, long, slightly callused, grip Simon’s cock and push it inside himself. It goes in easily, Grace already stretched and ready for just this.
Grace sets a fast pace, balancing himself on Simon’s body which can easily take his weight despite Grace being the taller of the two. Upwards, his tongue laps against Simon’s own, longer one, yet another part of Simon’s being where the Ocean had dug it’s claws in and left it’s imprints.
Simon would have only hated himself to his very bones, but with an angel touching him, moaning for him, he’s saved; fished out of purgatory and brought to a heaven of golden light. He wanted to kneel down, to repent for his sins, for his murders, for worshiping those unworthy of such devotion, but the angel had held his hand, and pulled him into paradise.
Grace works himself closer and closer to the edge, his mouth curving around Simon’s jaw, on the black stubble that Simon was yet to shave, up the hook of Simon’s nose from the time he broke it back in Eden, and finally over his greyed eyes sockets, yet another haunted souvenir of the ocean.
Grace laps at it, immersing every part of Simon with adoration, till the man beneath him is writhing with need, all the while taking his time, letting Simon have a taste of what he himself had started.
“Grace, sunshine, please,” Simon groans, bucking his hips up into the warmth enveloping his cock. He could easily turn them around again, pin Grace down and fuck him rough and deep till they were both a mess on the bed, but he resists, he lets the angel take what he needs from Simon’s body.
Grace opens his lips wide, tongue out and eyes full of want, it’s an invitation that Simon knows well. He lets his tongue slither out, a monstrous appendage, but he feels Grace clench around his cock at the sight of it. So he lets it move, laving at Grace’s cheeks, down the line of his jaw, tracing the curve of his lips, before penetrating in.
Grace looks like a holy vision, his hair a golden halo, bouncing with every movement of his hips. When Simon moves his own tongue against Grace’s, its small, flexible spines scraping the smoother muscle, Grace shakes so hard that Simon has to support him, hold him before he falls in a heap on top of Simon.
He stops moving completely with Simon’s cock still deep inside, keeping his stretched and full while Simon’s tongue crawls in deeper. Grace’s azure eyes are foggy with lust, splotches of red on his cheeks and down his neck, half from his own lust and half from Simon’s ministrations, and saliva dripping down his open mouth, forming clear lines down his chin to fall on Simon. The way his breathing speeds up when Simon goes deeper, sketching each of Grace’s teeth one by one; Simon knows he’s close from the years the have together, the way the flush deepens on Grace’s tan skin, the way he drips precum on Simon’s stomach.
When Simon finally pushes his tongue into Grace’s throat, he feels the man shake in his hold, a full body shake that makes the blood in his veins race, singing a crescendo that Simon could hear perfectly with his enhanced hearing. The pleasure wrecking through Grace's body spills out, sending spurts of white on Simon’s stomach and chest.
As Grace come down from the high, eyes wet with a tear or two from the stimulation, Simon slowly moves his tongue out, careful to not overstimulate his angel.
They lie together in a daze, Simon holding him tight over his own body, every single bit of skin touching each other, till Grace comes back to his senses again.
“I always love when you do that,” Simon feels him pant, his breath hot against the sweat cooling on Simon’s skin. “Give me a moment, I’ll get back to you.”
“What?” Simon asks, half addled still from the sensations that wrecked him a minute ago, of his tongue so deep inside Grace, and the way Grace kept clenching around him all the while. No matter how many times they do this, Simon is always left with the same sense of wonder, that’s it’s not just one of his hallucinations, that he gets to worship an angel and then lie with him in an embrace.
“You didn’t cum.”
“Oh.” Yes, Simon feels it, he’s still hard inside Grace. He’d almost forgotten about it, till Grace reminded him. It doesn’t feel like a big deal, despite not orgasming, he’s already felt so, so very good with what he and Grace just did.
He could always wait it out or take care of it himself, like he did in Eden, and sometimes, rarely, in COI. Just a physical urge that doesn’t need to be satisfied every time, especially after all pleasure he’s already savoured.
“’S fine. Just, give a while, I’ll go take care of it-” He says, pulling himself out of Grace with a grimace. Before he could get up however, Grace pushes him down.
“Let me help you.” Grace says, looking up at Simon from above, the gold of his hair matted with sweat, forming an angel’s halo.
“You don’t have to.”
“What if I want to.” Grace replies, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “You can’t be the only one with a talented mouth.”
Before Simon realizes what’s happening, Grace gets up and stumbles around the bed, before settling between Simon’s legs.
“What are you-” Grace shushes him and pushes his thighs open, scooting his shoulders between so Simon can’t but keep his legs apart.
“Been a long, long time since I did this,” He says, his mouth so close to Simon’s cock that his breath fans on the still hard, wet with lube skin. “Might be a little rusty, so let me know if it’s uncomfortable, yes?”
Before Simon can answer him, or realize what was happening at all, Grace parts his lips and takes Simon’s cock inside his mouth.
Warmth.
That’s what Simon feels first. So much warmth, a tight heat that wraps around not just on his cock, but travels inside his body, through his bones and his sinews, inside his ribcage and around his heart.
Like a small sun blazing its way inside your chest.
"Ryland..." The name slips past his throat, from somewhere deep within him where the tree has set it's claws, somewhere from where it calls Simon to turn this around, to tackle Grace down and bite into his throat, and then drain them, and feed the tree, the hunger deep in him.
But Simon doesn't do that.
"My angel," he utters again, like a prayer, like a straw that one clings to when drowning, like the sunshine breaking through the clouds after a heavy rain. "Ryland, angel...please.."
Grace doesn’t let him settle into it.
He closes his lips around the head of the cock and sucks, just a little, but it’s enough to have Simon moan aloud as he writhes, trying his best to hold himself back from bucking up.
He takes his mouth off, only to slurp up Simon’s cock, laving his tongue over the slit on top, licking the beads of precum that try to escape.
He glances at Simon as he does it, and a smile, smug, satisfied, lights up his face as he sees the way Simon’s mouth is parted as he gasps, his eyes half-lidded. The careful control Simon usually tries to keep in bedroom, to retain the less-human—as Simon himself puts it despite Grace's words—sides of himself under control so he won’t injure Grace, falling away.
Grace goes right back into it, moving his mouth up and down in a pace that has Simon gripping the bedsheets for a semblance of control over himself.
But that’s not what Grace wants right now.
He pries Simon’s fingers off the sheets and put them on the back of his head, a silent encouragement to grip his hair instead, to use him, his mouth, in whichever Simon wants to for a change.
Simon doesn’t dare do anything for a while, just keeping a loose hold on Grace’s hair. But his inhibitions soon falls away as the seconds slip by. Soon enough, he’s clutching Grace’s golden strands between his fingers and jerking up, pushing himself deeper in Grace’s mouth every time Grace sucks around him.
Grace gags at it only a little, but it eases soon enough; he’s used to it from all the times he’s asked Simon to put his tongue deep inside and fuck his throat.
Above, Simon moans and whimpers from the sight between his legs. Golden hair brushing his lower stomach, the stubble of Grace’s face wet with the saliva that drips out from his mouth, scratchy every time it brushes the sides of Simon’s thighs.
An angel, Simon thinks, between his legs. Loving him, spoiling him, worshiping him.
Fuck. Simon thinks in his mind. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He’d be forced to perform penance in Eden just for daring to think such a thing, yet now it’s happening in front of his eyes, on his own skin.
The thought sends a bolt of electricity up his spine, a shock of pleasure that has his toes curling as he back arches off the bed. A hymn, one that Eden would never allow, yet here was all its bliss being poured on him.
Simon pulls on the golden hair between his fingers and presses Grace face down on his cock, head lolling back on the pillows as he cums.
Perhaps this is what religion means, Simon thinks, perhaps this is the ecstasy that was promised, always.
Grace stays stills and takes it all, not moving away till Simon lets his hand drop to the side and flops on the bed, completely spent.
As soon as Simon lets his hair go though, however, Grace gets up and scrambles to the head to of the bed.
Mind still reeling, Simon can only muster a “Angel, wha-” as he sees Grace take a handful of tissues from their xenonite bedside table and spit out the mouthful of cum. His back curving into his ass as he rubs at his chin and lips and tongue, golden hair falls like a curtain on one said, and the same gold down his lower stomach where it meets—Simon knows intimately—into a wiry golden bush.
It shouldn’t be so hot, and Simon definitely shouldn’t be getting all bothered from the sight—it’s just some spit and saliva, and he had just cummed, yet... Simon feels a pull to his guts.
Perhaps it’s the Ocean leaving its remnants in him, perhaps it’s Simon own terrible greed, but he feels blood rushing again, feels his fangs prickle for a bite.
Fuck.
And so the ocean wishes to devour the sun once more.