For Po. Enjoy, my love.

Word Count: 585

Warning: implied, non-graphic sexual situations


"See?" Grace offers him a knowing grin. "I knew you had a thing for her."

Trevor swallows dryly, his face warming with a blush. He scrubs his hand over the back of his neck and shakes his head. "My host is a seventeen year old boy," he says, but the excuse sounds flimsy even to his own ears. "It's the default setting."

He knows it isn't quite true. Maybe there's always been some part of him that has noticed her, that has longed for human connection, for the touch of a beautiful woman. It had made it so easy to accept her offer that day of the trial.

The amusement in her dark eyes tells him that she can see through him. Her lips quirk. "We can roleplay," she says. "I can be the hot teacher, and you can be my naughty student."

"You're a guidance counselor, Grace," he reminds her. "Not a teacher."

She rolls her eyes. "The concept of roleplay is lost on you, I suppose. We could—"

"If you don't mind," Trevor interrupts, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side, "I would actually like to get this over with."

Grace stares at him in silence for several seconds, her eyes moving appreciatively over his exposed chest. "You know, as old as you are, you would think you had better bedroom manners." She turns, pulling her hair out of the way. "Help me with the zipper?"

Trevor obliges. As he peels the dress away, letting it fall to the ground, he wonders how many students have thought about her like this. Had his host ever wondered, ever wanted?

He pushes those thoughts from his mind and pulls her closer, his fingertips brushing her silky skin.

"Well?" She offers him a grin that looks like a challenge. "You were so impatient just a minute ago. What happened?"

He presses his lips to hers, and he melts as he leads her to the bed.

She lays on her side, watching him with a satisfied grin. "Tell me," she says, reaching out and resting a hand on his chest. "Was it as good for you as it was for me?"

Trevor wonders if she notices the way his heart races at her touch, if she can detect the sudden flutter beneath his bones. A smile plays at his lips.

The experience had been good. His needs have been met, and now his body is relaxed.

But there's something more to it. He feels a connection that he's been unable to feel with his team. There's a touch, a reminder that he is more than just a consciousness dwelling inside a host; he is still human, still more than just a number.

Trevor reaches out, fingers curling gently around her slender wrist. He pulls her closer, relishing her warmth, enjoying the steady rise and fall of her chest—another constant reminder that they are still here, they are alive, and the future is still in their hands.

"Can you just lay with me?" he asks.

He waits for Grace's cutting remark, for her laughter. Instead, she wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his chest. "This is nice," she whispers.

Trevor isn't stupid. He's lived too long to see this as anything more than what it is.

This isn't love. He and Grace aren't going to have some happy future together. But it is warmth and touch and safety, and he will hold on to it as long as he can.