Chapter Text
Colt wipes some sweat off his brow after successfully clipping the box in place. He briefly glances at his watch, doing a doubletake when the time fully registers—whoops, it’s a little past lunch.
Although Colt generally sticks to the daily meal plan they established on the Hail Mary, his little brother struggles to remember when to eat. It’s usually due to him getting all caught up with sciency stuff, so with this in mind, Colt exits the storage room and goes off in search of his brother.
He peeks into the dormitory first, hoping Ryland might have sprawled out for a nap under Rocky’s dutiful watch. Unfortunately, there’s no one there, and Ryland’s semi-sweet scent has gone stagnant. He takes a temporary pause to straighten out some of Ryland’s blankets before following the path to the ‘Don’t Go Crazy’ room. Doing so brings back memories of the last time he saw Ryland there, which he resolutely doesn’t think about any further.
No brother, no Rocky, which means…
Colt sighs, readying himself for an argument as he heads toward the lab.
As he approaches the room, Colt perks up at the sound of his brother’s voice. Hearing it always soothes the restless parts of him, which is why Colt never minds it when Ryland talks to himself (or Rocky) when they’re sharing the same space.
“Rocky, I can’t…”
“Grace can.”
“No, no… It’s too much…”
“Yes, Grace can. Grace listen to Rocky. Silly thing.”
Ryland makes a weird sound that concerns Colt enough to speed up. He reaches the door right when Ryland releases a shaky breath, and that’s when Colt sees his brother lying on the floor with his hands down his pants.
Colt freezes.
There’s a flush spread across his brother’s face. Hair sticks to his forehead, likely due to the glowing sheen of sweat on his skin, and his red lips part with a low moan that shakes Colt to his core.
His body seems to move without thought, taking a couple of steps closer before he finally regains enough clarity to stop himself. Colt still doesn’t move—he can’t—and he can’t stop his eyes from flicking over Ryland’s form. He immediately regrets the action because Colt can’t seem to tear his gaze away from the very wet spot between Ryland’s thighs, the fabric of his pants saturated by his—No.
“See? Grace can,” Rocky sings, tapping one of his claws against the inner wall of his xenonite ball. Ryland hiccups, back arching in time with another moan. “Grace good, good, good for Rocky. Good thing. Always listens. Favorite thing. Pretty thing! Rocky thinks thing can do another.”
“A-Another,” Ryland repeats in a breathy voice that warms Colt’s gut. “I just came, Rocky. I don’t think—”
“Grace no think,” Rocky says, and Ryland whimpers. Fuck. “Rocky think for Grace.” The Eridian rolls his ball closer to Ryland, and the way it bumps against Ryland’s inner knee makes Ryland visibly shudder. “Another finger. Now.”
Ryland gasps, and fucking hell, Colt thinks he can hear the squelch of his (definitely) slick hole when he pushes another finger into himself. Colt swallows hard, feeling a strange buzzing beneath his skin, and he makes his second mistake of the day when he breathes deeply.
His senses get flooded with Ryland.
That semi-sweet scent of his—which reminds him so much of happiness and home—hangs heavily in the room, heady enough for him to taste. His canines itch, and Colt sweeps his tongue over them, now gazing at Ryland’s exposed throat. Something builds in his chest, and Colt has to bury his nails in his palms to stop his rumble from slipping out.
“R-Rock,” Ryland pants from where he’s getting himself off on the goddamn floor. Colt can see that he’s trembling all over, still. “Can I—? What do you—?” His hips jerk, and a prolonged moan leaves him. The sound rattles around Colt’s brain, making him dizzy. It reminds him of how Ryland sounded in the media room.
This, too, will haunt Colt for the rest of his life.
“Messy, messy, messy,” Rocky says with one of his mocking notes. “What a messy thing mate Grace is. Messy, messy, messy.” He rolls even closer, blocking Colt’s view of Ryland’s thighs, and Ryland chokes out something incomprehensible. “Grace can go. Rocky says so.”
There are tears rolling down his brother’s face. Ryland curls a leg around Rocky’s ball when his hips jerk once, twice, and then he tosses his head back with a cry. His scent deepens, and Colt hazily realizes that he just witnessed his little brother orgasm for the second time in his life—and now, he knows exactly how Ryland smells when it happens.
“Grace thank Rocky,” Rocky says while Ryland twitches through it. His hand doesn’t stop moving. “Be good.”
“T-Thank you,” Ryland gasps, face red. “Will you touch me now?”
“No,” Rocky replies. Ryland sobs. His hand doesn’t stop fucking moving.
“Can I,” Ryland screws his eyes shut, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. Colt’s teeth itch again. “go again?”
“Say please. Say words.”
“Please, can I come again?” Ryland begs, voice all desperate and broken. “Please, please, please?”
“Yes,” Rocky says, somehow sounding smug even with the translator. Ryland kicks his other leg out with a wild gasp, hips bucking against his hand. “Pretty thing so good.”
Colt takes another step closer, drawn in by the soft keen coming from the omega on the floor. He snaps out of the heated fog in his mind when his thumb bumps a nearby table, and he quickly stumbles backward, holding his breath. Luckily, this goes unnoticed, so Colt takes the chance to rush away from the scene and down to the dormitory, trying to think of anything but his brother—harder than he’s ever been his entire life.
“Fuck,” he whispers, feeling restless. Colt finally takes a breath, and he soon finds himself standing by Ryland’s bed, rubbing one of his blankets between his forefinger and thumb. His eyes drift downward, and the sight of the very obvious tent in his pants makes him toss the fabric away from him. “Fucking hell.”
He heads to the ‘Don’t Go Crazy’ room instead because otherwise, he might actually lose his fucking mind if he lingers in a place with even a hint of Ryland’s scent.
❦ ❦
A part of Colt has always loved Ryland a little more than he should.
When Stratt told him about Ryland ‘volunteering’ to go on the Hail Mary (which, of course, he later learned wasn’t true), Colt couldn’t handle the thought of being so far apart from him, knowing that Ryland’s body would be lost to the stars while he stays rooted to Earth. He demanded that she send him out there too, that additional supplies wouldn’t matter when he was going to die with Ryland anyway.
“You have so much here,” she had said, long after Colt finished his rant. Stratt leaned forward with her hands clasped together, eyes piercing. “Why do you want to give it up?”
Because I’m nothing without him, Colt thought. Because thinking about him going too far from me makes it feel like my heart’s been punched out of my chest. Because I’ve spent too much of my life with him and I’m scared to face what it’ll be like without him. Because I’ll kill myself if I have to go through life knowing I’ll never see him again.
“Because he’s my brother,” he had said instead. And he’s my everything.
Colt expected her to deny him, as she had done to so many other people who tried to make demands of her, but instead, she agreed, perhaps seeing a need for him to be there during Ryland’s final moments.
And so, here he is in the deep void of space on the way to a distant planet to save some stars.
“You’re quiet,” Ryland says, the glasses sliding further down his face when he gives Colt a speculative look. It fills Colt with the need to bite him, and he distracts himself with a sip of his coma slurry—which he volunteered to eat so Ryland could have real food. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Colt answers, thinking of the noise Ryland made when he pushed another finger into himself under Rocky’s orders. He wonders how many he took at once, and he takes another fucking sip so the disgusting taste and texture can distract his body from getting hard. It works. “All good.”
❦ ❦
Colt wakes up to the sound of Ryland’s harsh whisper.
“Rocky!” he hisses. “Not here!”
Rocky replies with a musical note (they tend to mute the translator at bedtime), but Colt recognizes it and knows he’s saying, “Yes, here.”
Ryland makes a few clicking sounds, much softer than usual, and Rocky responds with some of his own clicks. It’s soothing enough to pull Colt back into a doze, the room darkening further with every slow blink. He’s almost asleep again when Ryland speaks again,
“Not while we’re in the same room as Colt…”
Suddenly, Colt is wide awake.
“Grace,” Rocky sings (that’s a sound Colt knows very well). “Listen. Colt sleep.”
The back of Colt’s neck tingles. He keeps himself very still, and he even holds his breath, hoping his racing heart doesn’t alert Rocky. Eventually, Colt hears Ryland’s soft sigh, followed by the sound of fabric shifting. Ryland’s bed creaks with his movement, and although Colt doesn’t know what he’s doing, he gets the idea when Ryland’s breath hitches in a familiar way.
“Good Grace,” Rocky chirps. “Is okay. Keep going.”
“Are you sure?” Ryland says, voice breathier. “He can’t hear me?”
“Yes. Colt sleep. Rocky no lie.”
Either he’s lying, or I’m getting better at pretending to sleep, Colt thinks, maybe a litte too hysterically. He curls his fingers into the sheet below when Ryland moans softly, and again, the bed creaks.
“Why couldn’t you do this to me?” Ryland asks after a while, and fuck Colt’s life because his scent grows stronger. There’s the sound of rustling fabric, a whimper, and a sigh. Colt’s trying so hard not to imagine what his little brother’s doing and he’s failing. “Why the pillow?”
Fuck, Colt thinks, feeling himself grow harder. He’s humping his fucking pillow.
“Want see Grace,” Rocky replies with a much softer tap against his xenonite enclosure. “Keep going. No stop.”
“Okay,” Ryland says in a small voice. It sets off some primal part of Colt’s brain, and he squeezes his eyes shut so he doesn’t do something crazy like get up from his bed to stand by his little brother and watch. “How many this time?”
“… One.”
“Just one?” Ryland whines. “I can do more, Rocky! You know I can! Why only one?”
“Grace,” Rocky says with a chiding note. And it must serve to chastise Ryland because he whispers a quick apology. Meanwhile, Colt continues to lie there and suffer, because now he’s wondering just how many orgasms Ryland’s body can take.
Colt doesn’t know how he does it, but he keeps himself very still while listening to Ryland get himself off on his pillow. He can feel himself throbbing in his pants, and fights the urge to reach down and push his palm against it. Doing so will likely lead to something more, and Colt doesn’t plan on ever letting Ryland know how much all this affects him.
“Rocky,” Ryland moans, his scent growing deeper, richer. Colt knows he’s getting closer and closer, and all he can do is stare at the far wall, wishing he could get there with him. The rest of him wants to fling himself out the airlock. “R-Rock, Rocky, are you sure? Is Colt—”
Maybe I should kill myself, Colt thinks with despair. There’s no way I’m going to forget the sound of Ry moaning my name.
Ryland’s scent gets sweeter after Rocky assures him that Colt’s still fast asleep. Again, it makes Colt feel dizzy, and again, his teeth itch. He ends up biting the collar of his shirt to distract himself from his stupid Alpha urges. Colt balls his hand into a fist under his pillow while he listens to Ryland coming because now the scent and sound of him getting off is seared into his brain.
“Good Grace,” Rocky says. “Sleep. I watch.”
“Okay,” Ryland mumbles. Colt hears the soft pop of his lips. “Goodnight, Rocky.”
“Kiss,” Rocky replies, tapping his claw against the xenonite.
Eventually, Colt hears Ryland’s breathing even out. Rocky hums to him—a song Colt doesn’t recognize—and maybe Colt should follow his brother to dreamland, but if he’s being honest, he doesn’t think he’ll ever sleep again.
❦ ❦
“Grace like?”
Ryland responds with a whine.
Colt stops before he enters the dormitory, turning to brace himself against the wall. He breathes deeply, but that means he also inhales Ryland’s scent. Now, he’s starting to get hard. God, it seems like he’s raring to go at the drop of a hat, and he can’t even blame his Ry—it’s one-hundred percent Colt’s fault for being so into his brother.
Should I peek? Colt despairingly thinks. His teeth ache yet again, and Colt turns his head to bite his bicep, wishing he could do the same to Ryland. I would have walked in on them anyway.
Logically, he shouldn’t, but Colt has never been the most logical person when it comes to his brother, so he ends up poking his head into the room.
Rocky is fucking Ryland.
There are straps around his xenonite ball, the material tied around the surface to keep it in place. Colt can see that it holds some sort of toy that moves into Ryland in time with Ryland’s wiggling hips. Ryland’s lying in bed naked, hands twisted in his blankets while he makes these little, “Ah, ah, ah…” sounds.
Colt immediately turns and leaves.
He stumbles his way through the Hail Mary, somehow manages to climb the ladder up and up until he reaches the control room. Colt practically throws himself into one of the seats, pressing his fists against his eyes in an attempt to forget what he just saw. But he can’t, he fucking can’t, because all he smells is Ryland Grace, the love of his godforsaken life.
A shaky breath leaves him, and he pushes down on his cock to give him some relief.
Colt leans back against the chair, pausing when he feels something soft brush against the back of his neck. He turns enough to get a glimpse, and stops when he sees Ryland’s cute fox sweater draped over the top of the chair. It’s saturated in Ryland’s scent, and Colt can’t help but lean in to take a deep sniff.
And that’s when it all falls apart.
He has a hand wrapped around himself in record time. Colt hisses at the initial dry stroke, and he pulls his hand back to spit into his palm, grabbing Ryland’s sweater with the other and shoving it against his face. A broken moan leaves him, but he doesn’t stop, knowing he won’t last. It’s been a long, long time since Colt has last touched himself, and with Ryland (and Rocky) steadily driving him insane, Colt feels extra pent up and wired.
His teeth itch.
Colt swipes a thumb across his leaking cockhead, pushing his hips up into his fist. His mouth drops open when he pants, and Colt gives in to the urge that has been plaguing him since he stood in the lab and watched Ryland get himself off.
He bites down on the sweater, glad that it muffles his whimper. Colt squeezes his eyes shut, thinking only of Ryland, and that’s really all he needs to lose it.
Fuck, Colt thinks as the mess starts cooling on his palm. He breathes in Ryland’s scent and slowly unlatches his jaw from the sweater, the guilt making his stomach churn. I’m going to hell.
❦ ❦
Later, when he’s still feeling shameful enough to busy himself with organizing the storage room, Colt bumps into Ryland on the way to the dormitory.
“Oh, there you are!” Ryland says, giving him one of those sweet smiles that Colt knows are only for him.
(It makes his heart race, makes him want to reach out and touch and kiss and hold his little brother, which only adds to the shame he’s already feeling. But he’s not going to look away, no—Colt is greedy enough to take what he can get.)
“Here I am,” he replies, holding the box in his arms up higher. Ryland makes a soft chirping sound, which Colt responds to with a chuff, and steps out of the way, but even as Colt walks over to their beds, he can feel Ryland’s close presence. He doesn’t think there will ever be a day when he’s not aware of his brother. “What’s up?”
“Nothing,” Ryland replies, gathering his pile of blankets and dumping them on the floor. He proceeds to give Colt an innocent look he perfected when they were kids, and Colt rolls his eyes before removing Ryland’s sheets to change them. “I just missed you.”
Fuck. That makes Colt blush.
Luckily, he’s better at keeping it off his face (it was necessary for his job), so he manages a gruff, “I missed you, too,” and places the new sheets on Ryland’s bed, tucking them in so they don’t slide off. Then, Colt leans over to pick up Ryland’s blankets one-by-one, so he can arrange them the way he likes. Colt has gotten good practice over the years. “Did you eat?”
“I did, yeah,” Ryland answers, voice growing softer. He grabs Colt’s arm—the touch is searing—and reaches out to pull his fox sweater out from the balled-up blanket Colt is holding, which Colt hastily tossed into the blanket pile on his way into the storage room. “Oh, hey! I’ve been looking for this!”
Colt stands there, completely frozen, and watches as Ryland pulls it on. The other man blinks a few times before turning his head to bury his nose in the collar, taking a deep sniff. Colt’s hands tighten around the blanket. He waits for Ryland to pick up on it, waits for Ryland to accuse him of his depraved behavior.
But nothing happens.
“Smells good,” Ryland mumbles. He gives Colt another one of those smiles, brushes his fingers over Colt’s wrist (scenting him, fuck) and wanders off, humming a happy tune.
Once he’s certain that Ryland is gone, Colt swaps their pillows and hates himself for it.