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He knows better than to grade in his classroom, really he does. It's just that Simon had been dropping not so subtle hints all day that tonight was for relaxation only. No red pens, no homework, and especially no lesson plans. (All it had taken was one particularly fiddly unit on calculating gravity that coincided with parent teacher conference week last year for his lesson plan to go full on murder board paper and string and tape everywhere before Simon banned late night lesson planning. Which, fair, it was 3am, but "Come ooooonnnn moonlight, I only tripped on one red string, can't a man be allowed his vices?" The goose egg sized lump on his head disagreed, and so did his moonlight).
Anyway, several texts after the usual "good morning, sunlight, don't let the gremlins bite" implying that movie night was going to happen and it's sacred and he doesn't want to see one single sheet of paper come through their door tonight, Grace knew he needed to at least finish this stack before he headed home. It was fine, Simon was still streaming and wouldn't be done for another hour or so (maybe Grace had it on in the background, his husband's voice was soothing, so sue him...actually don't, that's a lot of money). But really, Grace knew better than to grade in his classroom. Or at the very least, to grade in one position for too long. He'd just finished the stack and reached up to stretch with a great big sigh before his lower spine made a sickening pop followed by what could only be described as the sound of an asthmatic whale mixed with the quack of a duck dying of smoker's lung.
"Ow, fuck, ow ow o-" was that the sound of his classroom door? Oh. Oh that was a student. Oh fudgesicles that was Anya, Ms. Ilyukhina's niece, standing in the doorway, (late) homework in hand, eyes the size of dinner plates with the twinkle of mischief only 13 year olds have perfected to let you know that yes they are plotting your doom and no there's nothing you can do to stop them. "Mister Grace, did you just say fu-", oh absolutely not, he'd never hear the end of it. With a frantic lunge for his backpack that had his spine twinging in ways that had to be against the laws of physics, "No! Nope. You must have heard wrong, why don't you go to the nurse, you're too young for hearing problems", and really, could you blame him for leaving the papers he'd spent the last hour grading at breakneck speed all over the floor so he could get out the door faster and home to his moonlight who he was going to have to have a serious conversation with about his swearing habits because seriously Simon, Olesya is never going to let me hear the end of it if (when) Anya tells her I said fuck.
In a desperate attempt to patch what would shape up to be the topic of discussion in the teachers lounge for a month if he didn't fix it, Grace rambled his way through almost sprinting out of his classroom (and very nearly eating tile because of a stray homework assignment on the floor as he doubled back for his phone that was sitting on his desk, blessedly quiet since Simon's stream was over), "Okay, glad we could clear that up, excuse me, have a good weekend, please leave your homework on my desk, take a packet of skittles on your way out, good job, gold star, and tell Ms. Ilyukhina I said- no don't tell her I said- I mean, just have a good weekend, I'm gonna-" and he was out the door with the faint sound of laughter following him down the hallway. He could only hope that the promise of skittles would at least somewhat curb Anya's desire to tattle on him, what teenager doesn't like candy?
Having narrowly avoided every adult in the building he could manage and a thankfully uneventful ride home, Grace slumped his way through the front door and oh there was his moonlight. Sitting on the couch, blankets carefully arranged for maximum coziness, snacks on the coffee table, and jammies already laid out for Grace to slip into. Why was Grace upset again? "-unlight, you okay?" Right. The fuck incident. Wait no, that's horrible phrasing, rephrase, nevermind, speaking of, "Moonlight, I'm going to get fired, and it's all your fault". Simon arched an eyebrow with an entirely too fond look on his face (well used to his dramatics by now), making his way over to Grace and wrapping his arms around his middle oh so gently. "Oh is it now? And what exactly am I in trouble for? I'm sure I can make it up to you, love". Grace's cheeks flushed bright red in the worst betrayal since 4:32 pm when his spine decided he needed more excitement in his life.
He couldn't help but wind his arms around Simon's shoulders, absent-mindedly toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. Simon's arms slid down to the dip in his spine, fingers gently massaging the exact spot that was troubling him (he's still not sure how Simon knows the exact spot every time). Even if he was still miffed, he couldn't resist his gorgeous husband (and his skilled fingers, really skilled, especially when- nope no Grace, focus). "You're a horrible influence, I accidently said fuck in front of Anya today. Anya. And she's going to tell Olesya, and then she's going to tell Carl who's going to tell-" the rest of the thought scatters as Simon catches Grace's bottom lip in a kiss so sickeningly sweet he can't help but melt into it. 30 seconds or an eternity later (don't ask him which one, Grace.exe is offline, death by unfairly attractive husband) Grace pulls back and brushes his fingers across Simon's cheekbones, "What was I saying?". And well, even if he hadn't quite forgotten, he had forgiven him. It's not like teenagers never swear and really he could withstand the merciless teasing that was bound to happen for at least a month if he came home every day to Simon looking at him like he was the last star in the entire universe, warm brown eyes fixed on his face and even warmer chuckle rumbling through his chest. "Mmm, dunno, but I think it's time for movie night, yeah? Just us?". And damn if that didn't sound more appealing than lovingly reaming his husband for ruining his squeaky clean reputation for never swearing in front of his kids. Grace would survive. He could survive anything so long as he had his moonlight.