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The fork makes one heck of a racket when Grace fumbles and drops it on the dirty plates he lined up in the dishwasher. Cringing, he sticks his hand through the rack to fish it out, but then his wrist gets stuck on the pull back and rattles the whole thing again, the dishes clattering against each other as he hisses through the pain of metal scraping against his skin.
The ensuing silence is almost worse than the noises he made. Behind him, the rustle of Rocky's quiet tinkering stops, and now there's nothing but the clock ticking on the wall and Grace trying to breathe like a normal human being despite the embarrassment setting his cheeks aflame. He knows that Rocky always has some sort of peripheral awareness of him, he’s just perceptive like that, but there’s no doubt that the heat burning at the back of Grace's neck is his boyfriend's full attention now. Dang it. How on Earth does he manage to make a fool of himself in front of Rocky every single day? It's ridiculous.
Unbidden, a memory flashes in front of his eyes - Rocky grumbling at him, slapping his forehead in exasperation as Grace tried to assemble IKEA furniture when they first moved in together, back when they were just friends and Rocky's English was nowhere near fluent yet.
“Grumpy, angry, stupid.” Rocky muttered, stomping one of his feet while Grace tried to argue with him. “How long since last sleep, hm?”
This time, Rocky doesn’t comment on his fumbling, but Grace can hear the disapproval in the quiet regardless. Clear as day. He should go to sleep, he knows. It's late, and he only had a few hours of rest last night. But he can’t. He’s too anxious, keyed up after a terrible day he just can’t put out of his mind. He’s not ready to face his colleagues at the university tomorrow. Sometimes, it feels like everyone hates him there.
Gingerly, he places the fork in the utensil holder, pushes the rack back inside, then grabs the rinse aid to refill the container. He could do their laundry after this. At least it would keep his hands busy. At least he wouldn’t be as utterly useless as he feels right now.
“Grace.” Rocky's calm voice interrupts his thoughts.
“Yeah, buddy?” He replies distractedly, then winces.
Even without seeing his face, he can tell that Rocky's rolling his eyes at the word ‘buddy’. It’s not Grace's fault that he slips up sometimes! They've been friends and roommates for a much longer time than they've been dating, so sometimes he still defaults to old habits. Yes, he has been in love with Rocky for at least a year at this point, but this whole… being actual lovers situation is quite new to him as a whole. He can still count the number of times they've had sex (thirty-two), although he lost count of the kisses pretty much within two days. His mind considers ‘buddy’ a term of endearment when it refers to Rocky, not a word with meaning. But okay, fair enough. Rocky's right, he should probably switch to something more romantic. Gosh, he’s terrible at this, isn’t he?
“What are you doing?” The model Rocky has been working on drops to the kitchen table with a metallic thump.
Grace freezes. “Um. The dishes?” He turns to look at Rocky over the rim of his glasses, then gives him an awkward smile and gestures at the dishwasher. “You said you fixed it.”
“Of course I did.” Rocky pauses, then a small, amused smile appears on his face. Fondness twinkles in his green eyes. His rolled-up sleeves show off the tattoos on his arms as he points in Grace's direction. “That’s the wrong bottle, baby.”
Grace glances at the item in his hand.
It's not dishwasher liquid. It’s normal dish soap.
“Oh, fu - fudge.” He drops the bottle back in its usual place by the sink, then closes his eyes and pushes his hands under his glasses to rub the bridge of his nose. Great. Good job, Ryland! If Rocky wasn’t here, he would've flooded their kitchen with suds. Perhaps he should go toss and turn in bed instead of trying to do chores all dumb from exhaustion.
“I'm not a baby.” He mumbles into the cup of his palms. It comes off so childish that it pretty much points to the opposite of what he means to convey, which is that, despite all evidence to the contrary, he’s a functional adult who doesn’t need his boyfriend to coddle him.
Well. Maybe his subconscious is onto something here. He could probably use some coddling right now.
The chair scrapes on the floor as Rocky pushes up from the table to stand behind him. He reaches around Grace to grab the correct bottle and finishes loading the dishwasher. Even without touching him, Grace can feel the heat of his body, the comforting bracket of his arms, and suddenly, he wants nothing else but to curl into Rocky's embrace and hide from his worries in the scent of home. He wouldn’t even protest the pet names Rocky's been trying out in the past few days.
As if reading his mind, Rocky puts his hands on Grace's forearms soothingly, then slides them along the length of his arms, over his shoulders to the juncture of his neck, where he pulls Grace's cardigan and collar aside to get at his skin. His warm fingers slip under the fabric, then dig hard into the bowstring tight muscles to massage away the tension. Grace groans, letting his head bow and dropping his hands to grip the counter as stress rolls off his back in waves. Every rough press of Rocky's kneading hands makes him feel like he’s putty, like there's nothing else holding him together but that touch. When Rocky starts humming softly, he can’t help but laugh, his worries easing away for a moment.
“I feel like I'm being hypnotized here.”
Rocky pushes his thumbs into a knot of muscle more firmly. “You’re sleep-deprived.”
“Maybe.” Grace sighs, momentarily forgetting how to think, lost in the pleasure-pain of it all. The pressure feels like constant, rolling satisfaction, something he didn't know he even craved, let alone with such deep, trembling ache. He could fall asleep just like this if Rocky continued long enough…
Just as the thought of sleep crosses his mind, one of Rocky's hands lifts from his shoulder and combs through his messy hair gently. “You should go to bed.”
Grace turns and gives Rocky what must be the most pitiful look in the universe. “Can I get a hug first?”
He's wrapped in Rocky's arms before he has even finished the sentence. A warm hand rubs circles on his back, while another cradles the back of his head just the way he likes. Grace melts into it, grateful that Rocky gets him so well, that he knows he needs to be comforted and gives it to him, no questions asked. Oh, the questions will be asked later, Grace knows that all too well, but he’s grateful he gets the comfort first. He presses his palms flat to the small of Rocky's back and holds him tight. His glasses are pushed awkwardly askew but he doesn’t care, he tucks his face into the crook of Rocky's neck and breathes him in until the weight of the day drains out of him. He feels so safe like this. No one can hurt him here. This is where he belongs. Where he's loved.
“Alright, you can call me baby if you want to.” He acquiesces. If it makes Rocky happy, he’ll grow to like it too.
“It’s okay.” Rocky pats his back. “I'll come up with something better.”
Smiling, Grace rubs his cheek against Rocky's neck. He knows that Rocky likes the texture of his stubble - and sure enough, it only takes a moment before Rocky starts laughing and shifting in his embrace. Suddenly giddy with affection, Grace presses a kiss to Rocky's pulse point, then licks a wide stripe up from his collarbone to his jawline until Rocky jerks away.
“Ew.” Rocky wipes at the wetness with a hand, but he still keeps the other on Grace's back. “Disgust.” He adds with a playful smile, a reference to the first time he witnessed Grace's unfortunate attempts at cooking.
He's so attractive, even through the smudges that now cloud Grace's glasses. The smirk on his face as he looks Grace up and down, the callouses on his work-rough palm brushing Grace's neck, the swooping grey streak in his hair... The steadiness of his hand when he removes Grace's glasses and puts them safely aside. His eyes, always so bright with intelligence, holding Grace's gaze like a challenge until Grace snaps and all but throws himself at him. With one hand on Rocky's waist and another in his luscious hair, Grace draws him into a kiss.
It still makes his heart soar that he gets to do this anytime he wants. That his person wants him back, that all his feelings are welcome and cherished. He’s not too much, never too much. His quirks and eccentricities are treasured, not just tolerated.
Feeling safe to love someone with all his heart like this fills him with a desire so blinding that he’s a little dumb from it. He has never felt this way before. Sex used to be a pleasant but entirely forgettable experience - he didn't mind doing it but never really craved it with any of his exes. The whole “honeymoon phase” thing seemed like a myth to him. But now, with Rocky, he finally gets it. It feels like he’ll die if he can’t have him. The need consumes him every single day. He’s burning up inside, and even the slightest barrier between them causes him physical pain. He wants to run his palms all over Rocky's naked body, feel the hard lines of his torso, the hair on his arms, his warmth, his weight, on top of him and inside him, pinning him down until all the restless want want want in him calms. He’s starving for it, but it's okay, because Rocky meets him right where he needs it most and feeds him with a hunger of his own.
Grace moans into the next kiss, and Rocky answers him with a happy rumble of a noise that makes Grace's lips tingle. Sleep is the furthest thing from Grace's mind now. As they keep making out, heat starts pooling low in his belly, and it doesn't take long before he’s rubbing his hardness against Rocky's and feels the lazy movements mirrored in kind. He licks into the warmth of Rocky's mouth and squeezes his waist until Rocky shudders and tilts his hips forward sharply, trapping Grace between his body and the counter. Grace's face heats up in excitement and delight. He feels like he’s Rocky's prey, cornered and finally caught. He can’t wait for Rocky to lay him down flat and take him apart until he forgets his name. He doesn’t want to have to think anymore.
“Can I go down on you?” He mumbles against Rocky's lips, diving in for another quick kiss before he lets him answer.
Rocky's exhale feels shaky against his face. He shifts from foot to foot between Grace's legs, hands framing Grace's sides. “Here?”
Grace grins, snaking a hand between them to palm at Rocky's bulge through his trousers. He traces the thick ridge of it eagerly. “Yeah.”
“I don't think it will be comfortable for you.”
“Don’t knock it till you try it.” He nips at Rocky's jaw, working his other hand between them to open Rocky's fly. He says this as if he knows what he’s doing, which - well, they both know that's bullshit. But Rocky doesn’t call him out on it. He lets Grace nudge his legs apart and sink to his knees between them to mouth at Rocky through his underwear. Through the damp cotton, he can feel Rocky's cock twitch against the press of his tongue.
Rocky used to be apprehensive about receiving blow jobs. It took Grace an entire week of practically non-stop sex before he managed to convince Rocky to let Grace give him head. That first time was a game changer though, and Rocky has been more and more open to indulging Grace's oral fixation since. But what Grace is about to ask for will be something entirely new to them both, and he can only hope that Rocky's willing to give it to him.
God, he really hopes he will. Grace needs it. Desperately. He wants his mind to go blank and quiet, he wants to feel drunk on it.
To ease Rocky into the idea, he starts with a familiar routine. He tugs Rocky's pants and boxer briefs down to his ankles, then takes his sweet time peppering kisses all over Rocky's thighs and stomach, stroking his chest under his shirt. Every touch is met with quiet little sounds, and Rocky's hips sway forward in an attempt to get more stimulation where he wants it. When Grace finally grips Rocky's aching cock and guides the tip to his lips, Rocky moans out loud. Unlike Grace, he has never been self-conscious about the sounds he makes.
“Ah, that's good.” He pants when Grace takes him into his mouth, down as far as he can, then back up to suck on the head. Up and down with an erratic, needy rhythm. The muscles in Rocky's thigh jump under Grace's free hand as Grace keeps going, drooling all over Rocky's length and the fist he uses to stroke what he can’t take.
After a few minutes, Rocky's fingers tangle in Grace's hair. They clench and release gently. “Good, good, good.”
With his lips stretched wide, Grace can't really smile, but the joy must still be visible on his face because he hears Rocky's breathless chuckle, then the careful press of his thumb to the corner of Grace's mouth. With a slow, deliberate slide, he pulls off and goes back to kissing Rocky's hipbones.
“You taste so good.” He mouths into the soft skin, feeling dazed and braver than he usually is. He lets his head drop back against the kitchen cabinet to look up at Rocky while he strokes his cock. “Hey, Rock?”
Rocky's lips are agape, and even without his glasses, Grace can tell that his eyes are dark with need. “Yes?”
“I want you to, uh… use me.”
“What?”
“To…” Grace clears his throat, embarrassed. Is it weird to want this? Maybe he shouldn't push it. But he wants it so bad he still asks for it, the only explicit way he knows how. “…f-fuck my face?”
<<Fuck.>> Rocky swears in his own language. He closes his eyes and nods, hips jerking into the idle strokes of Grace's fist. “Okay.”
Emboldened, Grace continues. “Just. Keep going until you come, okay? I can take it.”
They understand each other without words pretty well, but Rocky still makes a point of putting Grace's left hand on his thigh and tapping it twice. Smiling, Grace taps once to show that he understands, then leans forward to take Rocky's cock in his mouth again.
For a moment, neither of them moves. Grace's tongue flicks against the tip of Rocky's hardness to coax him into moving, and he tries to look up, tries to look sexy and enticing and ready, but the angle is too awkward. He feels much more comfortable when he lets his eyes close.
That's when Rocky's fingers tighten in his hair and his hips roll forward carefully. It’s not enough to make Grace gag but he feels pleasantly full with it anyway. He moans, and something about the vibration makes Rocky slam inside with full force, out of control, only to pull out just as quickly to give Grace space to cough.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” Rocky strokes Grace's hair in apology, trying to step back, but Grace holds his hips tight and looks up at him pleadingly through the sheen of tears gathering in his eyes.
“No, this is what I want, please, Rock -”
When Rocky pushes inside this time, there's less hesitation in his movements, and soon enough, he has a rhythm going, just slow enough that Grace can still taste him, can still focus enough to suck and use his tongue and breathe. Then, Rocky inches his feet forward and tips Grace's head back until it meets the cabinet. He pauses for a second, then slides his right hand behind the crown of Grace's head and feeds Grace his cock all the way until Grace's nose is pressed to his groin. It’s almost too much, but Grace relishes in the strain. He drops his hands to Rocky's knees and lets his thoughts fade away.
It's bliss.
There are no expectations, no performance - all he has to do is take it and let Rocky have his pleasure. Grace keeps his mouth slack and his throat as relaxed as he can, and floats on the high of being good, of being of use. There's nowhere to go. He’s held still between Rocky's body, his hand and the cabinet. Tears of joy pool around the curtain of his eyelashes. His chin is a mess of drool and precome, and he loves it, God, he really does. A warmth spreads through his entire body, and he can feel his own cock leaking in his underwear, desperate for some friction. He presses the heel of his palm to it and uses his other hand to stroke Rocky's abdomen, marvelling at the tense and release of his muscles as he thrusts into Grace's mouth.
It's so freaking good he might come just from this.
“Grace, Grace, Grace.” Rocky pants above him, and he sounds so wrecked from pleasure that Grace has to clench his hand into a fist around Rocky's shirt to keep himself together.
He moans and hums and tugs at Rocky's shirt in desperation until his head is slammed back into Rocky's hand once more, Rocky's cock thrusting in all the way for a second and then pulling halfway out to come in Grace's mouth. Grace tastes the first spurt of it on his tongue, and he swallows without even thinking about it, just takes it and takes it, sucks on the aching head until Rocky flinches from overstimulation.
When Rocky finally pulls out, Grace lets his mouth stay open and his eyes closed, catching his breath through a dazed smile.
Rocky unhooks Grace's hand from his shirt and holds it to his chest.
“Up, up.” He nudges Grace, one hand still cradling Grace's head and pushing a bit to make sure Grace doesn’t bump into the cabinet as he stands up. “Careful.”
It's only then that the realization hits Grace with full force - Rocky didn't just use his hand to keep Grace's mouth at a good angle, no - he put his hand there specifically to protect Grace's head from hitting the cabinet repeatedly.
That thought is enough to start the waterworks in earnest. Grace wipes his face with the hem of his shirt, then throws his arms around Rocky again, hugging him until Rocky starts kissing away the fresh tears on his cheeks.
“That was amazing.” Grace laughs, even though he’s still crying for some reason and his voice is absolutely wrecked. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He adds, barely even realizing that he’s copying Rocky's typical speech pattern.
Rocky chuckles and kisses him like he wants to lick his own taste out of Grace's mouth. When he pulls back, Grace giggles and presses their foreheads together.
“You’re so dumb right now.” Rocky comments. The fondness in his voice makes Grace grin all the wider. He straightens up to cup Rocky's face and see his own joy reflected in his eyes.
“I love you.” He says in a voice that sounds like he’s high. Maybe he is, in a way.
“I love you too.” Rocky gives him another kiss, pulls his trousers back up, then reaches for Grace's cardigan. “Now take this off. You'll complain if we get it dirty. You can leave the shirt, it’s a lost cause already.”
Grace looks down at the large wet stain on the fabric and throws his hands up in exasperation. “You’re so bossy.”
Rocky steps away to toss Grace's cardigan on a chair, then crowds back into Grace's space to open Grace's fly. “Hm, and you're very leaky. Look at you.”
It doesn't take long to get Grace off. He’s halfway there already just from that blow job alone, and the possessive way Rocky touches his cock and mouths at his neck is pretty much enough to get him to the peak. Rocky tries to edge him for a bit to make it last longer, but Grace is so worked up that Rocky gives in after a few minutes of it. Instead, he presses his lips to the shell of Grace's ear and whispers sultry ideas into it until Grace cries out and comes, shaking and gasping, all over Rocky's hand.
Rocky wipes it on Grace's shirt, of course. It's not like they're standing right at the kitchen sink.
Grace rolls his eyes but lets him anyway.
He's still flushed and pliant in the afterglow, pressing lazy kisses to Rocky's lips, when Rocky nudges his hand. “Will you tell me what's wrong?”
“Nothing.” It feels like less of a lie with the content buzz of his orgasm still coursing through him.
Another nudge of Rocky's fingers. “What happened today?”
“Nothing, really. Just a long day, that's all.”
Nudge nudge.
“Oh my God.” Grace groans, looking up at the ceiling before slumping in defeat. He hooks his fingers in Rocky's belt loops to fidget with something. “I'm fine. I'm just - I messed up, Rock.”
“Okay. Tell me. I'll fix it.”
That makes Grace's eyes water again. He huffs a wet laugh. “I got into an argument with a colleague. About. You know, the Goldilocks zone.” The ‘again’ goes unsaid, but he knows that Rocky understands.
“They shouldn't work in research if they can’t handle an original thought.”
Grace sighs and leans forward until his forehead is pressed to Rocky's once more. “They'll kick me out of the field if I can’t hold my tongue.”
Rocky doesn’t placate him by saying he'll change. He doesn’t lie and tell Grace it will never happen, or that he’s making too big of a deal out of something that isn’t. It’s nice to have someone in Grace's corner who doesn’t let him delude himself into thinking that his personality doesn’t clash with the stupid rules and hierarchies of academia. It’s nice to have someone in Grace's corner at all, really, but Grace is grateful, above all else, that Rocky remains sensible with his approach. He likes that much better than unfounded support.
“Then we'll figure something else out. There are infinite possibilities out there. We can find a field that makes you happy.” Rocky nods, and punctuates it with a kiss that brings the smile back to Grace's face.
“There's always a way, huh?”
“Yes.”
"You’re so confident."
"Confident in you, correct."
Gosh, Grace won’t have any tears left by the end of the day, will he? He chuckles, feeling a little bashful, and steals another kiss.
There's a pause, then Rocky nudges his fingers again. “How about Rylie?”
Grace cringes. “Nope. Don't even - This is the worst nickname I've ever heard -”
Laughing, Rocky grabs Grace's glasses from the counter and puts them back on his face. “I can’t keep calling you Grace.”
“Why not? I like it. It's fine. I don't care what anyone else thinks.”
Rocky gives him an amused look, then steps away. “Alright, sweetheart.”
Grace's heart skips a beat.
Oh.
Okay.
Yeah, he could. Maybe he could get on board with that one. If Rocky insisted.