Chapter Text
In the years that follow, the temperatures only drop lower, the skies grow darker, and the general atmosphere around the planet is bleaker than ever.
The powers that be have enforced all manner of madness to delay the impact of the sun's dimming. Though you aren't entirely convinced by their often questionable methods, morals are lower down the priority list when it comes to fighting a losing battle for survival; you've lived through far too much unprecedented change already, and there's little to do besides resign yourself to the fact that things will never go back to the way they were — just ask Antarctica and the Sahara, for normal is a nonexistent concept now.
Hope hangs somewhere in the balance, but even that dwindles with time. The further the Hail Mary travels from Earth, the less anyone feels inclined to talk about it; there's a clear divide between an odd few who still live in denial, while most people resolve to push through the cold and simply function through what little time they have left.
Not you, though. The silver linings are thinning out, few and far between as the dark clouds grow heavier with each passing season, until all that's left is an endless winter… And yet, some part of you continues to hold on to the possibility of light at the end of the tunnel.
As it continues to get colder, you delve deeper into the depths of your wardrobe and uncover an old cardigan Ryland had once left at your place; you'd intended to wash and return it, but by then he was already gone and it was long forgotten in favour of worse things to worry about — until you stumble upon the soft woollen sweater all these years later, and it takes you straight back to nights where you'd carefully taken it off of him, and mornings where you'd awoken wrapped up in it and not minded one bit.
His scent has almost faded from your memory over the years, but the faint trace of it that still clings to this sweater brings it all back back in bright, vivid detail: the clear blue sky, the glimmer in his eyes; the gentle warmth of the sun, the softness of his embrace; his hand in yours, the feeling of forever…
Forever wasn't a concept either of you had considered before, but for a moment, on a quiet Sunday night on the balcony of your apartment, that was exactly what this felt like.
A thick layer of fog lingered, its haze softening the lights of the city and cars passing below, affording you a little more privacy than usual as you stood on the balcony together; Ryland had his arms wrapped around you like he'd never let you go, sharing the warmth of his body pressed up to yours, folding you into the open front of his cosy cardigan, and if this was what your version of forever looked like, neither he nor you would complain one bit.
"Hey, stargazer," he whispered in your ear, his low voice alone enough to leave you weak at the knees, "How's the view?"
You turned to face him, leaning against the railing of the balcony and making it all too clear that you'd rather admire him than any view out there. "Gorgeous," you giggled, "I can't look away…"
Ryland looked at you with that now-familiar glint in his eyes and a sweet smile playing on his lips. "I could say the same," he said, brow quirked in amusement.
"Seriously, though," you teased, giving him a playful nudge, "What business does a dorky science teacher have, looking like this? You sure you're not photoshopped or something?" You trailed your gaze over him again, licking your lips at the picture-perfect sight, just lascivious enough to make him blush, despite the lost reference. (You'd explain it some other time.)
"My girlfriend's like, ridiculously beautiful, so…" he grinned, adorable as ever, earning a mock eyeroll from you. He could barely hold your gaze as he countered your question, "Gotta earn your attention somehow, don't I?"
"You think that's even a question?" you asked, punctuating the question with a teasing slap to his frankly unfairly firm ass, "Look at you."
"It kinda is," he murmured, lacing his fingers with yours, "I mean, you're so…" He gestured vaguely at you, and now it was your turn to blush at his attention, "You're perfect. Like, out of my league perfect."
"Oh, please. You're the smartest, silliest, sexiest guy I know… You're out of my league, if anything," you smiled, stepping up onto your toes to brush a soft kiss to his cheek, "But I adore everything about you, Ry."
Ryland was, ironically, the least graceful person you knew, especially when it came to taking compliments. With that sweet bashful smile still lighting up his face, he reached for you, drawing you closer, one arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand delicately cupped your cheek, and suddenly, it was as if nothing else existed on this godforsaken planet but the two of you — enveloped in the warmth of his proximity to you, the unseasonable chill ceased to bother you, his protective embrace ready to shield you from anything that dared threaten it. His scent surrounded you, not overwhelming but very present, reminiscent of a cosy winter night mixed with something distinctly him.
Yes, this was a version of forever you could easily get used to.
You smiled, leaning into him, running your fingers through his hair as Ryland tilted his head down to meet your lips in a kiss that threatened to melt you right there. It started tender and slow, but it wasn't long before his tongue swiped insistently between your parted lips, and the rest of the world fell away into the fog around you. His kisses were unlike anything else he did — more impulsive, more desperate, just… more, and the more you had, the more you wanted… He knew, of course, and before you could ask, he had already lifted you off the ground, easily supporting your weight as you threw your arms around his neck with a surprised yelp.
"Don't worry, I got you," he broke the kiss just enough to speak, his reassurance a whisper against your lips, his grip on you as firm as that promise. "It's getting cold out here, huh…"
With your legs locked around his waist, he carried you back to your bedroom; you let his hands roam over your body while you pushed his cardigan off his shoulders, releasing his hold on you just long enough to let the soft woollen sweater drop to the carpet. His adoring gaze stayed fixed on you as he sat on the edge of the bed, holding you in his lap as you grasped for the buttons on his shirt, blindly undoing whatever you could and he shrugged it off, letting it join his cardigan in a crumpled heap. With neither of you wanting to stop, you struggled with the clasp on his belt, slightly distracted by just how hard he was already, straining against his jeans; Ryland placed his own hands over yours and quickly unbuckled it for you — but when your fingers fumbled to undo his jeans, he trapped your hands in his, stopping you short.
"Not yet," he whispered, pressing an innocent peck to your cheek, the sweetness a glaring contrast to, well… everything else.
"But I wanna see you…" you giggled, trailing kisses down the column of his throat, whilst your nails and fingertips teasingly grazed his broad shoulders, tracing the veins running up and down his biceps, feeling him tense at your touch, "I want you…"
He watched you intently, all blown pupils and blushing cheeks as you turned your attention back to his firm pecs, briefly licking on his nipples until he shivered and pulled you up, grabbing your chin and crashing his lips to yours. Still, your teasing touch continued down his deliciously toned abs, fingers tracing his well-defined V down to the waistband of his boxers until he placed his hands over yours again.
"Baby, if you carry on like that…" he warned, his voice already breathless and uneven.
"Then what'll you do, hmm?"
Ryland bit his lip, considering for a moment before you found yourself laying on your back with him leaning over you in one swift movement, pinning your hands above your head. You smirked up at him, a silent challenge for more where that came from, and he obliged, dipping down to kiss you again… only to be interrupted by his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, and you couldn't help but laugh a little as he drew back with an apologetic pout.
He'd barely touched the frame of his glasses in a nervous force of habit before you placed your own hand over his, stopping him short; he gave you a questioning look, but all you could do was bite your lip and blush at the thought of the demand you were about to make.
"Keep them on?" you requested, coyly gazing up at him.
His confusion melted into a small smile. "Yeah, okay…" He laughed lightly, adjusting the frame instead, "You really like 'em that much?"
"Oh, yeah. You have no idea how fucking delicious you look right now, Dr. Grace…"
"One condition," he said, eyes glinting with mischief, "I'll keep my glasses on… if you let me take everything else off of you."
"All yours," you smirked, laying back on the bed with the most exaggerated come hither look you could muster, "Go for it."
For all his endearingly eager desperation, Ryland could be a terrible tease when he wanted to. He reached for you again, slipping one hand beneath the hem of your sweater, his palm searing hot against your bare skin as he slowly pulled up the offending item of clothing with his free hand and discarded it alongside his own. He leaned down to kiss you again, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, your lips chasing his as he drew back, kneeling over you as he tossed it aside. "So beautiful," he said breathlessly, gazing at you with pure reverence.
"Touch me…" you gasped, reaching for his hands and placing them on your breasts, to which he immediately obliged, kneading at the soft flesh of one while he dipped down to take the other into his mouth, soft lips closing around your nipple and distracting you just long enough to let his hands wander to your waist and slip your leggings down.
Once he'd gotten you out of your leggings, he hastily tugged down your soaked panties, staring as though there was nowhere else he'd rather look. "Can I taste you?" he asked, his voice barely above a needy rasp.
"Please," you sighed, relaxing enough to let him gently nudge your legs apart, entirely pliable to his touch.
Ryland placed himself closer to the foot of your bed, hooking your knees over his shoulders — and all you could do was watch, mesmerised by his heated gaze on you, almost surprised at how it seemed he wanted this just as much as you did. You let your eyes flutter closed, slowly running your fingers through the softness of his hair while he teased you with soft, open-mouthed kisses along your thighs.
"Eyes on me, remember?" he murmured, pressing a teasing peck to your inner thigh, causing you to shiver at the light scratch of his stubble against your sensitive skin, "You… stopped when I closed my eyes. If you want this as much as I do… I need you to do the same, honey."
"Damn, who are you and what've you done to my dorky boyfriend?" you tried to sound playful, but then he glanced up at you over his glasses, bedroom eyes wild with want, and it all just came out whining and wheedling instead. "Pleeeease, Ry?"
"Hypothetically, that's Dr. Grace to you…"
"Oh? You—"
But whatever you were about to say, your mind short-circuited and the words fell away to a gasp when Ryland finally put his mouth on you, and you immediately reached for his hair just for something to anchor yourself to. He let out an involuntary gasp at the pull, giving away a weakness that you'd suspected for a while now, only heightening the sensation of the hot, wet slide of his tongue parting your folds, tenderly kissing you.
"Oh, you're so sweet, baby…" he murmured, his voice a sweet vibration against you, his tongue flicking teasing kitten licks at your clit and making you gasp. You'd never have termed him the type to have any skill with this, but god, he was unbelievably good with his mouth…
You were all but writhing under him; one strong arm held you in place, whilst his other hand worked its way between your legs, one finger and then another applying a careful pressure that had you gasping as he continued working his magic, lapping and sucking at your clit as he involuntarily rutted into the mattress.
"Fuck, Ry…" you cried out, tugging at fistfuls of his hair, making him moan against you in turn, "I can't — I need to — please, Dr. Grace…"
He looked up at you; his glasses were a little fogged from the heat between you, his eyes glazed with lust behind the lenses, your wetness all over his mouth and chin, and despite it all, he gave you a sweet smile, pressing a delicate kiss to your clit. And as if that sight alone wasn't enough to send you over the edge, he curled his fingers inside you as he dropped his voice an octave, a low rumble against you as he commanded, "Come for me. You've been so good, baby… Now let go, just like that…"
As if you'd just been waiting for him, no sooner had the words left his lips, an intense wave of pleasure crashed through you and you could've sworn you blacked out for a second — you were barely aware of your own scream or of how tightly you had your thighs wrapped around his head; there was nothing beyond seeing stars and the way he continued lapping at you, almost overstimulating as he held you in place and drew out your orgasm for as long as he could, until you practically grabbed his hair to pull him back.
Ryland let out a shuddering breath against you as he laid his head on your lower abdomen, muffling quiet whimpers into your skin; still floating and blissfully unaware of anything other than him, you carded your fingers through the soft blonde mess of his hair with a tenderness that grounded you both in the moment, and in each other as you caught your breath.
"Perfect," he rasped, "More?"
"Fuck yes," you whispered, "Need you inside…"
Once he'd regained his composure enough, he rose to his feet and kicked his jeans off, leaving him in nothing but a pair of silly printed boxers, which would be spectacularly unsexy if not for his cock tenting them, already leaking enough to dampen the soft cotton a little. In fact, more than a little, and you had to know if— "Babe, did you just…"
"Maybe," he answered innocently, all coy and cute, a glaring contrast to what he'd just admitted.
"Oh my god," you blushed, "Seriously, Ry?"
"What?" he murmured, settling between your legs again, "I get off on getting you off. What's wrong with that?"
"Nothing, I just never…" you trailed off, reaching for him. Ryland immediately shifted up to meet you with a sweet kiss, a glaring contrast to the sinful things his mouth had been indulging you in mere minutes before as he let you taste yourself on his tongue. With you already melting in his arms, he shifted so that he lay propped up against the mountain of pillows, with your body draped over his as you recovered from whatever the hell he'd just done to you.
You let your eyes flutter open to land on him again. And god, he would never see himself the way you did, but truly, he looked like he'd stepped straight out of your wildest, dirtiest dreams. Wrecked in the most beautiful of ways, his glasses slightly askew, blonde hair dishevelled where you'd been running your hands through it, kiss-swollen lips glossed with your own arousal, an adorable light flush blooming on his cheeks that spread down his neck and faded into the thin sheen of sweat across his smooth, firm pecs… He gazed at you with pure desire darkening those deep blue eyes like a wild storm wreaking havoc upon the calmest ocean, and as you placed one hand on his bare chest, you felt his heart pounding as though desperate to leap out and pull you in, despite his best efforts to control it with slow, deep breaths. There was nothing more beautiful in the world than seeing him like this — and to know you were entirely responsible for his current state? The thought alone was enough to wreck you too, but the image would be burned into your mind long beyond the afterglow.
You smiled to yourself, trailing your fingertips down his torso, tracing his abs and along his waist, the very definition of sculpted by the gods if ever there was one, only vaguely wondering why on earth this man was so blissfully unaware of himself. You tugged down his boxers until he willingly shuffled them off — and this time he didn't stop you, simply responding with quiet moans and leaning into your touch as you wrapped your hand around his thick, throbbing cock, already slick with the remnants of his earlier release as you indulged him with lazy, languid strokes.
"God, that feels good…" he nearabouts purred, his eyes falling shut as your fingertip traced a particularly prominent vein that made his cock twitch in your palm, "Baby, please…"
"Mmm, use your words, Dr. Grace," you teased, a sultry whisper in his ear. He cursed under his breath, making you giggle and squeeze his balls again, earning another strained moan as he buried his face in your hair, his grip on your thighs tightening. Sensing how tense he suddenly was beneath you, you softened your tone, "What do you need, Ry?"
"Ride me," he commanded in a desperate whisper, eyes dark with desire as he slowly shifted to look at you again, "I'm yours, sweetheart. Please, I need you to ruin me, now…"
No amount of restraint stood a chance when he asked like that, begged so pretty… You wouldn't dare say no.
"Anything for you," you murmured a promise as you moved to straddle him again, your knees either side of his hips as he reached for you, his cock still hard and leaking precum between you, his heated gaze fixed on you all the while. "Ready?"
"Mhmm…" He responded with a pleased sigh, his hands landing on your hips, trying to guide you onto him. "God, you look incredible right now…"
"You don't look so bad yourself, babe," you teased, leaning down to kiss his blushing cheek. Your palms found leverage pressed to his chest as he shivered beneath you, watching intently as you finally put an end to his misery. You lowered yourself just enough that the tip of his cock teased your core, and to his credit, he tried to stay composed as you slowly sank down onto him, revelling for a moment in the obscene sound of his arousal meeting your wetness.
"Ffff—fuck," he groaned quietly, fighting to keep his eyes open despite his desperation. His large hands easily gripped your hips, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise you. You almost wished he would.
"Holy shit, Ry..." you cursed under your breath when you realised, trying and failing to relax enough to take more of him, "That's not even all of it—"
"You're perfect, you— you're taking me so well," he praised, his sweet, stuttered tone a stark contrast to his dirty talk, "Just a little - oh, shit - little more, I got you…"
"You're like, so deep already…"
"I know, I can feel you… won't last long if you keep on squeezing me like that, baby."
"It feels so fucking good, I can't help it…"
Ryland waited until you were fully seated on his length before speaking again, his voice barely above a moan as he tilted his head back over the pillows. "That's it, good girl… Can you move for me? Please, baby…" His hands on your hips began to guide your movements, setting a steady rhythm until you found your own pace, his thrusts meeting you in pure ecstatic pleasure as rambled dirty talk slipped from his lips, hushed and raspy like a secret that existed only for you, a million miles from the timid nerd you'd first assumed him to be.
It didn't take much. Between lingering kisses, sweet whispers, the way his piercing gaze fixed on you through his glasses, and the firm, solid warmth of him below you… Hell, he'd barely adjusted you at an angle that hit just right and you were already arching your back and screaming his name, soaking him in your own heat. He let you ride it out but still wouldn't let up, waves of pleasure cresting through you over and over, his hands soft yet firm on your hips, guiding your movements.
"Give me another one, sweetheart," Ryland whispered, leaning up to take your nipple between his teeth, making you gasp, "C'mon, one more, I know you can…"
"Don't you need to—" you grabbed a fistful of his hair, halfheartedly trying to pull him back, but he wouldn't stop biting and you didn't exactly want him to anyway—
"Yours first, please, I need it—"
Who would you be to deny him that?
He curled one arm around your waist, holding you in place, while his other hand settled on your lower abdomen, applying the perfect amount of pressure, and the combination of it all sent another shockwave of pleasure through you, until you were screaming his name, nails dug into his shoulders, pure heat coursing through your body and his until you fell limp in his arms, nose buried in the crook of his neck.
He held you through it, lazily rocking his hips into you as you regained enough sense for your surroundings to slowly come back into focus. "You okay, baby?" he murmured, his soft hands tracing comforting patterns up and down your back.
"I'm okay…" you sighed, nuzzling at his neck, until you raised your head to look up at him again, "Fuck me harder, Dr. Grace?"
Ryland blinked, bright blue eyes wide behind his glasses when it dawned upon him that your words had not, in fact, been a pleasure-dazed hallucination.
"Are you sure? I don't wanna hurt you if—"
"You won't. Besides…" you met his gaze with a coy smile as you clenched your walls around him, and he tilted his head back with a soft groan, still aching for his own release, "Doesn't this hurt more?"
He nodded, gently turning to lay you on the bed again. "So much…" he admitted in a broken whimper, barely holding his weight above you until you locked your legs around his hips again, letting him take control this time. His lips captured yours again as he began to thrust into you at an unrelenting pace, filling the room with the obscene sounds of skin against skin, his moans and your sighs and the headboard knocking against the wall, noise complaints be damned for it was worth it all.
"That's it, you're — so good, god… I'm so close," he whimpered, trembling in your arms, "Please, baby, stop me if I—"
"Fuck, no, Ry, I need you to fill me…" you encouraged, one hand tugging at his hair, the other dragging your nails down the smooth plane of his back, "Just like that, don't stop. Come for me, let me feel it…"
And who would he be to deny you that? Abandoning whatever shred of restraint he was still hanging on to, that was the green light Ryland needed to chase his own high, pinning you somewhere between his reckless urgency and his bruising grip on your thighs, hard enough to leave you seeing stars in a haze of pleasure. A string of bitten-off curses and breathless moans of your name escaped him, silencing himself only with his lips on your neck, nipping and sucking fervently enough to leave marks on your skin — and that was reason enough for you to keep going, to keep taking it and gasping out random praise for his benefit until he shattered all at once, spilling into you in hot repeated spurts with the most unabashed heart-wrenching cry as you followed him off the edge. Burying his face in your neck, he rasped your name, more loving and more needy than you'd ever heard it, and if you thought about it hard enough now… you could still hear the echo of it, captured somewhere in the depths of your own memory.
Both entirely spent from the intensity of your shared orgasms, he collapsed on top of you while you slowly tried to catch your breath; his weight on you didn't make it easy, but the skin contact served as a welcome comfort. He continued leaving sweet little kisses down your neck, his stubble tickling your skin as you gently ran your fingers through his hair, soft and tousled and a little damp with sweat, but you wouldn't have it any other way and clearly neither would he…
Once he could somewhat breathe again, Ryland turned to lay on his back, bringing you with him, your head on his chest again, your heart rate levelling out in time with his; he grabbed some item of clothing to clean you up from leaking onto the sheets, and there you stayed, entangled in each other's arms until you shivered a little. He wordlessly reached for his cardigan that you'd discarded to the foot of the bed earlier and tenderly wrapped you up in it, the cosy wool providing immediate comfort combined with his strong arms wrapped around you over it, and your legs tangled with his under the blankets. It was just him, all over you, all around you, his scent and his touch and his love…
He would've said it, then, but the words on his lips were replaced by the gentle caress of yours. You'd only intended to keep the kiss light, but when he tilted his head to meet you in the middle, his response was slow and deep and promising, as though trying to commit every detail of the moment to memory, strong enough to last a lifetime, enough that he didn't need to say it out loud.
You wondered if he still held on to that.
You wondered if it was wrong that you did.
Lightyears away in the dark expanse of space close to Tau Ceti, Ryland Grace wakes with a start, practically shaking.
Between traumatic flashbacks and hazy, disorientating fragments of memories, he's still slowly piecing together how he ended up on the Hail Mary at all, but you've been appearing in his dreams far too often ever since. You had started out as a blur, but as the images come back into focus and become increasingly vivid, it feels like both a blessing and a curse — for the more he wills his mind to recall the facts, the more he wishes he could forget the heartache that accompanied them.
Rocky immediately rolls across the lab with all the urgency of a concerned friend, clumsily manoeuvring his xenonite ball to where Grace hauls himself to sit upright, still draped in his patchwork blanket, dragging one hand through his unruly hair in visible distress.
"Grace have bad dream again, question?" Rocky asks, gently bumping against the scientist's shoulder as the translation device made sense of the words. The unlikely pair had quickly learned Eridians don't visualise dreams in the same way as humans, but after a particularly traumatic nightmare from which Grace had woken thrashing in a panic, he had been compelled to explain the concept well enough that Rocky now understood what that meant - and what to do when it inevitably happens again.
"Not bad, just… a lot," Grace sighs, resting his head on his hands, "I keep remembering things about her… Really inconsequential stuff, like her smile, and her silly little gifts, and the way she'd try to make me laugh every time she passed by my classroom... I shouldn't miss her, but I do, and it still hurts…"
"You still love her," Rocky deadpans. Trust the oddly romantic, overly perspicacious rock alien to hit the nail right on its head; denying it would be a lie.
"Bold statement, Rock."
"Is true."
"Maybe I do. Not that it matters, now," Grace slumps back against the wall, looking like the poster child for lovelorn dejection.
"Send message in video log. Maybe she remember," Rocky suggests with a curious tilt of his carapace, ever the supportive comrade.
"That'll just hurt more…"
"Hurt who, question?"
"Me?" Grace shrugs, "What if she doesn't care anymore? I mean, she's got Mark, I wouldn't be her first or her last. Heck, I don't even know if she's still…" He trails off, looking wistfully into the distance.
"Alive," his companion supplies, not entirely helpfully.
"That, too."
"But if we not know, then it still possible. Maybe romance not dead," Rocky insists with a hopeful trill, "Send message, then go home to her. Happily ever after!"
"Have you been watching too many movies, buddy?"
"Never too many. Grace remember The Notebook, question? He write three-hundred-sixty-five love letters, it beautiful! Leaky space blob could learn something."
The scientist responds with a broken chuckle, using the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe away a tear from his eye. Because of course the universe's idea of a cruel joke is to bring him the greatest wingman of all time (who has since developed an extreme fondness towards The Notebook for some inconceivable reason), but of course Rocky has no idea yet that Grace's one-way suicide mission meant he could never see you again regardless…
But his only confidante has a point. So be it that Grace had nearabouts come to terms with the cruel, inevitable fact that he'd die in space… but if there's still the slightest sliver of a chance you might still be out there in the home he once knew, holding onto these memories like a lifeline that he's only just rediscovering, then does this love really have to die with him?