Chapter Text
The feeling of waking up from general anesthesia is similar to Grace’s time in his favorite sex club from grad school. At the time, he’d taken pills from strangers without asking too many questions. Now, the world washes yellow and blue, lit in bursts just like the flashing lights at the club. There’s a bass going just like on the dance floor, too. It sounds like someone’s talking through the beat. No one’s touching my penis, so that’s different, he thinks groggily. I wish they would.
But he’s not in the sex club. He’s on Erid. And-
“Grace awake, question?”
There’s Rocky. On Erid. In the medical facility after Grace’s corrective surgery.
Grace smacks his lips. They’re gummy and dry and he feels sorry for half a second when he remembers that the sound is probably beyond grating for Rocky. “Yeah, bud,” he mumbles, “All here.”
Rocky is tapping on the metal frame of the bed Grace’s is laid out on. There are other Eridians, likely doctors, in the room with them both. Everyone is sitting on the edges of the room, just in line with Grace’s periphery. He imagines them with five-armed lab coats and gives the room a big, dopey grin.
Grace shoots a weak thumbs up with his left hand, “Whoomp, here I am.” The room bursts into confused chitters.
“No, Grace is not having mental complications after his surgery, he is always stupid.”
A small army of rock-based lifeforms takes extensive notes on their tablets, and Grace finally understands the scenes in medical dramas when the residents do rounds together. He decides they can stay. They’re learning, after all. And how can McDreamy finally come to Eridian primetime TV if these guys don’t know human anatomy. Man, these drugs are the good stuff.
Grace’s thoughts sit above his head like clouds. He knows they did something inside of him somewhere, but there’s not a single feeling in his body besides ouch and the wooooooahhh of opiates. He is pain, completely. He’s also blasted into the stratosphere levels of high right now.
“Rockkkk, I would like a baja blast and a burrito. Please. I promise I will finish my thesis after I get baja’ed. I promise. Chapter four is being such a bitch.”
The Rocky in front of Grace, nearly sitting on his chest, hums knowingly. “Oh, Grace is unwell. He might be facing mental complications from surgery drugs.”
Grace catches hints of the Eridian language reverberating through the room. If he concentrates really hard he can see the musical notes floating around his head. Someone says something about blocked airways causing permanent brain damage and dosage appropriate for Earth animals relative to horses. Grace giggles to himself, and the resulting pain rips through his system.
“Fuckkkkk, ouch. Ouch. You guys can’t make me laugh,” he whines. He lifts a heavy hand to his face and exaggerates a frown, “Like this. No laughing. Hurts like a-”
“-Goodnight, friend Grace. Grace never swears, so now you are going to go to sleep before you say anything else you regret later.”
Rocky waves to a doctor just off the side of Grace’s vision and he sinks blissfully into the dark of sleep.
…
“Did the alien ask us to touch his genitalia?" One of the younger doctors asks. They’re only on the team as a courtesy to their mentor, the lead physician. Rocky didn’t even want anyone but the senior team in the room, but no, alien biology is delicate and the more doctors there are that know procedures, the safer Grace is. Rocky wills them all to silence in his mind. It doesn’t work.
The room hangs on the question, waiting.
“Yes,” Rocky replies. He settles down just above Grace’s stomach. He’s careful not to put any weight on Grace’s surgery site across the lower portion of his abdomen.The noises coming from the organs below him are ear-shatteringly gross, but Rocky has just gotten confirmation that his alien is alive. He’s not going anywhere, no matter how bad it sounds. “You should not, under any circumstances except explicitly medical, touch his genitalia. He does not like that.”
Scratching on the data pads ensues.
“Why did he ask, then? If he doesn’t like it?” The same doctor asks after a quiet moment.
“I don’t know. Consult the guides on the thinking machine. It might hold an answer.” The team connects for a final thrum before disbanding to tackle their various individual jobs. There are tests to run, vitals to monitor continuously, and preparations under way for Grace’s new habitat. Rocky stays put. He has a job to do, and apparently, an interested party to fend off. If he could combust the young doctor with his mind, he would.
It’s not like Grace ever really spoken about his sexual life outside of generic terms communicating the “human experience” to Rocky. It’s been a cultural exchange for years. Rocky explained Eridian mating, clinically, and Grace explained the human equivalent, clinically. That was good enough. Fighting for their lives really didn’t leave a lot of time to explore some of the deeper questions, and when they had the time on the return trip, Grace preferred subjects closer to science, philosophy, and religion much more than discussions on his past relationships. Rocky could wax poetic about Adrian day and night, and he did, but if Grace wasn’t going to offer any salacious details, then he sure wasn’t going to bring up his own sex life without provocation. Rocky was rarely courteous, but he had the feeling that Grace’s sexual habits lacked, as the humans said, game.
Rocky settles on the bed, deep in thought. He brings himself close to his friend, locking Grace’s arms in gently with two of his legs so that the alien does not stir in his sleep and rip out another IV line. It’s bad enough when the doctor’s flinch at the blood inside of Grace, the team doesn’t need any more of the fluid outside of his body.
Rocky huffs internally about Grace’s reaction to waking. Maybe it was time he asked Grace some pointed questions on his next waking? He owes me an explanation at least, propositioning the entire medical team like that, Rocky thinks. He chases the thought from his mind and hones in on the ba-thump of Grace’s heart.
…
The lights are back.
They spin and swivel and pulse with the beat of the music. It’s a much more techno sound than the usual mix that plays in the club. Grace has only been here a few times, and never on his own before. He usually sets ground rules and chases his nerves with tequila with his friends before coming to Play Nights. He needs to be sober enough to think, but a little help lowering his inhibitions never hurt. There is usually more substance available the later the evening went on, after he pairs off with someone and gets shown to a private space or a hotel room.
Grace’s time in graduate school was stressful. His PI was a terrible mentor. He was always behind on putting together research in a way that was readable to an audience besides himself, and he was sick of it. He only had a few years left, though. Then he could land a cushy post-doc or private research somewhere that would pay him, and he wouldn’t have to deal with assholes that were a waste of the compounds they were composed of.
So he liked a little release here and there, so what?
But Jess and Will aren’t here tonight. It’s just him. He's on the dance floor with a green bracelet sparkling under the lights, and he’s just a body in a sea of movement. No one is asking him about deadlines or percent yields on his experiments. No one even knows his name.
The room is hazy, smoke machines have to be installed to reach this level of fog. Grace feels the beat in his heart, in his hips, in his cock. The throng of bodies loves around him and while crowds normally aren’t his forte, this isn’t human anymore. He’s part of a machine, like the perfect workings of a cellular organism. He is simply part of the room and the body in front of him and behind him are pressed deliciously close. Grace’s ass is pushed against the woman behind him and the person in front of him turns to face him so they can grind against Grace and this is it. This is the ritual. The haze threatens Grace’s mind and the pretty pull of letting go beckons with each roll of the strangers’ hips and Grace is sandwiched between them.
Grace whines out loud when a hand gently pulls him from between the pleasure of two bodies. A bearded man, sharp in his movements, with dark skin and expensive clothes taps on his bracelet. “Are you free this evening?” The man has deep eyes, soft in his gaze. The contrast in his demeanor has Grace stupefied.
Grace nods.
“Can you say that out loud for me?”
“Yes. Please,” he adds quickly.
The man smiles like he knows Grace’s secret and leans in closer. “I like my puppies to be polite. Do you think you can be good for me?”
The heat in Grace’s stomach dials to eleven and he nearly drops to the floor. He’s never been a dog before. He’s had people in his mouth. He’s fucked into the wet heat of women who have dommed him with a ferocity he couldn’t imagine existed outside of porn. He once even let himself be rope practice for a demonstration, but he’s never been a dog.
“Yes, sir,” Grace answers.
“Come.”
Grace follows this man, out of the sea of people and into a cool dark room. They’re alone. The man takes a seat and pulls Grace forward.
“I’m Isaac.” The club was first names only.
“Ryland.”
“Can you kneel for me, Ryland?”
He does.
“Can you show me that you’re comfortable?”
Grace pulls a pillow from near the chair under his knees and meets Isaac’s gaze.
“Good boy.”
Oh, Grace could get used to this.
Isaac doesn’t do much more than have Grace hump his leg, but Grace has never been that wet in his life. Pre slicks what little underwear he wears until he’s gliding across the man’s expensive slacks like a greased pig. Grace learns a lot that evening, under Isaac’s gentle touches. Grace comes blindingly hard when he’s praised for the kitten licks he’s giving at the apex of Isaac’s clothed crotch. Isaac scratches behind his ears and calls him, “pretty boy,” and suddenly Grace is crashing face first into Isaac’s thigh, riding out the high of an orgasm that bursts through him like fireworks.
“Oh, poor puppy,” Isaac purrs. “Couldn’t even last twenty minutes.”
Shame roils through Grace and it only amplifies the wave of pleasure pulsing through his cock.
The room shifts as Isaac’s gentle laugh ebbs from Grace’s memory.
The room, not the club, is warm. The music is still there, but the meaning of the Eridian filters in as Grace wakes. They’re still talking about him. The words are fuzzy, though, and he’s happy to just drift in this liminal space between sleep and waking. His body is still one massive ache, but his cock is currently winning the competition for most ‘needy and annoying’ bodily function. Grace presses himself up and into the warmth surrounding him, chasing any friction on his cock.
There’s a chime above him, and Grace shudders as the sound vibrates down his spine and into his dick. He’s so close. Something about the warmth is comforting, just like Isaac’s hands on his face.
He’s a happy memory, Grace thinks. He doesn’t get many of those anymore. The ones that come rushing back with the adrenaline of almost dying take priority. Grace remembers very little of the things that make him feel alive, feel human. But here, this warmth feels right. It feels like the sun on the first day of spring after a long winter, and it radiates comfort like nothing he’s felt before.
If he’s honest with himself, he usually doesn’t even feel alive. Not unless he’s forgotten himself in the company of-
The chime sounds again. Grace shivers, a light groan escapes from his parted lips. He’s so close. He’s so close and he just wants to feel alive. He wants to feel anything besides the press of his face into the dirt, military officers at his back. He wants to feel more warmth than the cold vacuum of space that seeped comfort from his very bones on the Hail Mary. He wants the spark of wanting and he craves the heat right there, just out of reach.
Grace wants, and he’s grasping for the familiar pull of release, taut like a bowstring at the base of his groin.
“Please,” he begs. Grace shivers uncontrollably and the heat comes closer to him. He grinds into the desperate friction above him. A featherlight touch brushes the side of his face, and he comes, pulsing, softly whimpering, pressing himself closer and closer to the warmth of the sun that has his nerves lit like fire.
“Grace is safe. No more nightmares for my Grace.”
Awareness rips through Grace with unprecedented speed, and Rocky’s placement over him, protecting him, breaks something inside his heart. Grace retches before his eyes fully open. He is wretched. The roil of shame doesn’t even feel good this time, not even when Rocky cards his claws gently over Graces spine, holding him as he vomits up a new lifetime of shame.