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Blood had followed Simon all his life.
The blood of his birth, crying and screaming his way into the world. The puddle of his mother's blood as she lay dying. The blood, sweat, and tears that he had shed in the name of training for the Father. The way it stained his hands at Filament Station and the blood beaten out of him by the C.O.I.
The taste of it as he drowned in that fucking submarine, with the voice of a horror screeching in his mind.
Grace knew of his tarnished soul. His Angel had held him as he cried and admitted his culpability of Filament Station, of the wretched things The Father had asked of him, and of the blood that stained his hands and trailed behind him in the shadows of his past, and yet still his Angel, his Light had folded him into his arm, not caring for how the Butcher's transgressions might stain his skin and reassured him that they wouldn’t send him back.
Simon had known Grace was holy from the moment he had opened his eyes for the first time after he was sure he had died in the SM-13. The light of the medical ward had cast him in a halo, and his soft, tired blue eyes had held Simon captive. The color was something he had only heard of in stories his mother had told him before she was fed to the tree, and before his brain could process anything more, he had spat out a rushed-
"Are you an Angel?"
The man had gone a bright red, a color that Simon, until that moment, had never wanted to see again. Even the way his Angel stumbled over his words, rushing to introduce himself as Dr. Ryland Grace was divine in Simon's eyes. He had passed out then, hearing a strange cacophony of warbling music and the Angel's worried face fading into the blackness.
It took him time to adjust to his new environment, his legs weak and his center of gravity off with the loss of his arm. Grace had never once pushed him or gotten upset at his lack of progress, had gently held his hand and guided him through his panic attacks at meeting the Eridians, or when he had finally looked into the mirror and seen the ruin of his face that the blood ocean had left him with. The scientist had held him through his nightmares of drowning in blood and iron, and Simon had repaid the favor by holding his Angel through his own nightmares of being chased, held, and pinned as he cried into the earth of an undeserving world.
Slowly, he had adjusted to life on Erid; he had met Rocky and Adrian and all of the other rock-like creatures that inhabited the planet. Simon had burst into tears when he was shown the greenhouse, and Grace had told him that he trusted Simon, of all people, to take care of the plants.
The scientist had shown him videos of trees, hundreds of them on screens from his ship. He had sat patiently and explained things to Simon as he stared in wonder at the things he’d only heard stories of.
Grace had theories about where Simon had come from, theories about the multiverse and parallel universes, tossed back and forth between the scientist and Rocky late at night. Simon had asked to be kept out of it. As long as they didn’t send him away, he didn’t care where he had come from.
The most astonishing thing his Angel had given him was the very stars above.
He’d frozen in shock and awe at the sight of the stars that were projected onto the glass panes of the bio dome.
It was beneath those very stars that he’d kissed his Angel months later, unable to help himself as he’d turned to watch Grace talk about the stars and seen them reflected in the scientist’s glasses. He’d leaned in, his hand coming up to touch Grace’s face, turning the man’s face and kissing his garbled words from his Angel’s mouth.
His relationship with Grace had flowed more smoothly than he’d expected. He kept waiting for the Butcher to burst from his skin, to hurt the man who’d treated him more gently than anyone ever had before, and yet the moment never came. When he’d brought up his fears to Grace, the scientist had smiled at him softly and reassured him that he was never a violent person, that his past didn’t define him and that Grace had a hard time being scared of a man who talked to his plants, and learned how to whistle in Rocky’s language, who played with the pebbles Grace taught with the utmost care even though he had almost no chance of hurting them.
Simon had needed to sit with that for a while.
Even now, Grace still insists he isn’t an angel, but Simon had never met anyone as holy as the man below him. His Angel has given him things he could never repay. Water, food, and clothing being the least of it. He had used precious medical supplies on Simon as he lay dying. Had commissioned Rocky to build him a new arm to replace the one that had been torn away.
No one but an angel would invite a stranger into his home, sharing his food, his bed, his flesh.
He’d thought that the blood moon had corrupted him beyond saving, and yet as he bites into the skin of his Angel, feeling the skin break and the taste of iron coat his tongue, he relishes in the knowledge that blood represented something new to him now, something holy. He watched, mesmerized, as the blood slowly trailed down over delicate collar bones.
A strained whimper pulled him from his reverie, and he looked down at his savior, his Angel, his Grace. Never had he imagined that he would be granted divinity such as this. The rapacious hands of man below him, a hedonist's wet fantasy.
I beg of You, let this depraved sinner beg at Your feet for all the days of my life, for in Your luminescence is there life, and in Your light is there radiance.
Forgive me my wrath and despair when baptized in blood, for I have been made anew in the light of You who has drawn my soul from the brink of ruin and in Your love have I learned true faith.
Exonerate me for this sin of corrupting the flesh of an angel and -
“Simon”
His Angel looks at him with such tenderness that Simon falters in his prayers, run through at the love he finds shining back at him.
“Oh my love,” Grace says as he cups his face, “There is nothing to forgive.” He guides Simon down to press their foreheads together, both of them gasping at the feeling of Simon’s cock pushing into him.
Simon is unable to do more than sob into the touch, feeling run through at the absolution his Angel gives so freely. He feels like a heretic given benediction in the form of overwhelming pleasure. Grace whines into the bedding as Simon flips him onto his stomach and thrusts back into him, angling in a way that has Grace clawing at their bedding.
“Fuck, I’m—I can’t—” Grace had his fingers hooked into the sheets, his knees slipping out from under him as Simon bullies his cock into him over and over again.
Simon was glad he’d put his hair up before they’d started, some loose strands sticking to his forehead.
The choked off moans of the scientist below him were the kind of thing that Simon was sure inspired apostasy.
“So good for me, Angel. You can take it, just one more, give me one more orgasm, please. I need to see it.” Simon panted, desperate to pull one more orgasm from the man below him.
“W-was the first, hah- first two not enough, ahh not enough for you?” Ryland panted out, looking at him from the corner of his eye, "You haven't even come once."
Simon smoothed a hand down Ryland's back, reaching around with his flesh hand to take his Angel in hand, earning himself a strained gasp as he tightened his grip, matching the pace of his thrusts with the stroking of his hand until Grace was sobbing openly and spilling into the sheets below him.
Simon went to pull out; he didn't want to hurt Grace, but a warm hand on the back of his thigh stopped him. Grace had reached back, fingers tightening on his flesh, and whispered out a faint "Inside, please. I want you to finish inside." It punched a moan out of Simon's chest, and he was helpless to give his Angel what he wanted. He slowly pushed back in, giving slow, aborted thrusts before grinding deep. It prompted a high-pitched moan from Grace, and after a few more thrusts, Simon followed him over the edge.
Pulling out completely, he's mesmerized by watching the cum run out of Ryland's hole, the way it clenches around nothing. Before he even realized what he was doing, he was leaning down to lick into Grace again, moaning at the taste. He was only stopped by a hand in his hair pulling him up as Ryland whined at him that he was too sensitive for any more before pulling him into a kiss to share the mouthful of cum he'd cleaned up.
Simon slowly pulls away, standing up to find a rag, coming back to clean up as Grace stands on shaky legs to help move the soiled sheets off the bed. They wipe each other down in a reverent sort of silence, soft touches that at any other time could have led to more passing between them, before Grace smiles up at him with that soft look that he saves just for Simon, before leading him back over to the bed and cuddling up with him in a pile of blankets that they'd pushed off earlier in the night.
As Simon lies with his head resting on Grace's chest and his Angel's fingers softly combing through his hair, Simon is sure he's found Heaven.