Return 8/9 - RvB
Title: Return 8/9
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: A new twist on Grif/Simmons
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1577
Summary: He felt like his entire life was leading up to that very moment...
Disclaimer: I am neither a Rooster, nor a Tooth.
A/N: Second to last part~
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven
---
Sink fixed? Check. Squeaky doors greased? Check. Mopped down the showers? Check. Dismantled and cleaned every weapon in storage? Check. Jobs normally reserved for Donut (vacuuming, dishes, dusting)? Check. Tidied his already spotless room? Check.
Simmons had done all the work he could think of, short of alphabetizing all the food in the fridge. And yet, it was still only midday, 2 hours until dinner. He dragged himself to the rec room and collapsed on the couch next to Grif, who was flicking uninterested through the few channels they got via satellite. Oprah, Jeopardy, News, Animal Documentary, More News, Cooking Show, Oprah, Jeopardy, News, Documentary...
The channels continued in an endless loop, Grif not pausing on any of them for more than a few flashes of color and sound before changing to the next. The abrupt contrast between visuals and sounds was jarring, and Simmons frowned and closed his eyes at the inevitable headache.
"Will you just pick a channel?" he finally grunted irritably.
Grif shrugged and stopped channel surfing, landing on Jeopardy.
"Irony for 500, Alex," said a contestant, a rather scruffy looking man with glasses and brown hair.
The question popped up onscreen and both Simmons and Grif read it silently along with Alex Trebec the 12th.
"Hitler's successor, this man was far from sweet, as his name would suggest."
Donut moved in silently and plopped on the floor as someone buzzed in with an answer.
"Who is Doenitz?" they asked somewhat hesitantly.
"Correct," Alex said, moving on to the next question.
"Donuts?!" Donut exclaimed. He looked torn between wanting to be excited and scandalized.
He settled on scandalized. "I'm not a Nazi!"
"Chill out, Donut, it's some dude who died like five billion years ago, not you," Grif said, annoyed as he tried to hear the next question.
"More like five hundred," Simmons corrected.
"Whatever," Grif dismissed his response. "Now be quiet and let me watch the show, will you?"
About 3 more questions were filtered through before another disturbance manifested.
"This floor is really uncomfortable!" Donut complained, poking the thin carpeting covering the concrete floor.
"No duh, now shut up," Grif intoned, not even turning his eyes from the television.
"Can I sit up on the couch with you guys?"
"No, Donut!" both Grif and Simmons said at the same time. They were both on their respective sides of the couch, with about a foot and a half of room between them. There would be room for Donut, but only if they squeezed together.
"Aw, come on." He got up and started sitting on the arm next to Simmons.
"What are you doing?" Simmons asked suspiciously as Donut started sliding slowly closer.
"Nothing," Donut said innocently.
Simmons scooted away from Donut subconsciously. He's going to slide into my lap! he thought, disgusted. Donut didn't stop, though, and soon Simmons was scooted all the way up to Grif.
"Hey, watch where you're sitting," Grif growled as Simmons' leg pressed against his. Simmons looked at him helplessly.
"It's not my fault, Donut forced me over here!"
Grif made a face and turned his attention back to the tv. "Weirdo."
A nudge from Donut made Simmons look in his direction. The blonde was grinning conspiratorially and winked when he knew Simmons was looking. The maroon soldier broke eye contact immediately, feeling his face flush. Shifting slightly in his spot, he nearly moaned at the friction between Grif's and his legs. He tried to keep himself calm, but the warmth of Grif beside him was slowly filling his body like melted cherry goo and he needed to get out of there, fast.
"I can't do this," he muttered, standing and rushing from the room. It was all he could do not to run.
A slammed door, and then emotion-induced convulsions on his bed. He keened softly into his pillow as the tremors wracked his body with no remorse.
"Why me?" he groaned. "Why me? Why me why me why me why me..."
A soft knock on the door interrupted him. He perked up and jumped for the door, wiping tears from his eyes he hadn't even been aware of. He opened the door quickly. "Donut, I can't-- Oh. You're not Donut."
Grif stared at him. "Why did you think I was Donut?"
Simmons balked. "Um, no reason."
Still staring, Grif pushed past Simmons and entered the room without asking. He sat first on the armchair, then thought better of it and moved to the bed, reclining like it was his. Simmons bit his lip and sat in the armchair instead.
There were a few awkward moments of silence that felt like an eternity before Grif finally spoke. "I've noticed you're acting a little weird recently," he started. Then he smirked. "You wanna talk about it?" he said, using words he'd often heard from Simmons.
Simmons looked at his hands and fiddled with a cuticle. "N-no," he replied quickly.
Grif sat up. "You sure?"
Feeling foolish, Simmons nodded.
"Oh." Grif sounded a little disappointed, and Simmons felt his heart begin to break. "Well, if you decide you want to talk, I'll be in my room," he finally said, closing the door gently behind him.
"How can I even doubt his feelings?" Simmons whispered to himself after a long moment. "He has to love me back... otherwise he wouldn't do things like that, right?"
Suddenly, he was exhausted again. He wondered briefly why he could be so tired for the past few days, but shook it off as lack of sleep as he crawled toward his bed. He pulled the pillow to his face and breathed in deeply, imagining he could smell Grif's scent from the short time he had lain there. Smiling softly, thoughts finally on the positive, he drifted once again into slumber.
+++
He was laying in Grif's arms, reclined comfortably on his small bed. Grif was stroking soft circles into his bare shoulders, lips buried in Simmons' dark auburn hair.
"Dick," he murmured softly, using his first name -- a rare occurence.
"Mm?"
"We haven't really talked much about this yet, have we?" Grif's breath sent ripples through his hair, and it tickled.
"About what?" Simmons asked, stretching slightly and pressing himself closer to Grif's chest.
He could feel Grif's smile against his forehead. "Us. Sex. Everything."
Simmons grew silent, thinking. True, they hadn't brought it up, but he hadn't really thought they needed to -- he had all the proof he needed in the way Grif's fingers were trailing along his skin gently, the way he teased him and joked with him, the way Grif kissed him after fucking him into his sheets. "What's to talk about?"
Grif hummed, burying his smile deeper in the roots of his hair. "Nothing. Sweet, sweet nothing."
The door opened loudly, and Simmons woke, feeling suddenly out of place without Grif beside him. He floundered for a bit before realizing that Sarge was standing in the doorway.
"Oh, sorry there, Simmons, I just wanted ta tell ya what a good job ya did on workin' today."
"Mmnn," Simmons responded groggily.
"You don't look too good, son."
He groaned quietly. "I'm fine, sir. Just a little fatigued is all."
Sarge didn't look like he believed it, but he let it go anyway. "Alright, Simmons, but I better see ya at supper or yer not allowed to work for the next week, and Grif has to do it all!"
"I'm sure I'll be fine, sir." The door shut sturdily, and again he was alone.
What was it with him getting interrupted out of good dreams? This newest one made his heart ache even more than he thought was possible. If he thought he was in deep from those other dreams... well, now he realized what he had felt then was a mere fraction of what he truly felt.
He didn't just want Grif for his body... he wanted him for his mind, personality, spirit, for soft caresses in the morning and pillow talk before drifting to sleep at night. He felt like such a woman for it, but he knew that if he couldn't be with Grif, if he couldn't be with him for the rest of his life, his heart was likely to break into so many pieces that it would be impossible to heal. Fear seized him and caught his breath for a moment, but he forced himself to remember the flirty words and glances Grif had given him in the past few days. Teasing glances, interested glances.
"He wants me back. He has to," Simmons told himself. "Aw, fuck it, I can't wait any longer."
He stood and paced the floor, already starting to hyperventilate. "Choose your words before you go there, Dick..." he soothed, trying frantically to think. I don't want to tell him! I can't! But I have to, I really want to, I promised Donut!
He took a deep breath, and forced himself to open his door.
Forced himself to step into the hallway.
Forced himself to walk up to Grif's door, even as his legs trembled and his heart thundered in his ears.
Feeling altogether too much like a blundering schoolgirl, Simmons rose his shaking fist and knocked feebly on Grif's door.
It took at most a few seconds for Grif to answer, but to Simmons, it felt like years. He swallowed nervously and jumped when the door finally swung open.
"Simmons?" Grif looked surprised to see him.
"Grif," Simmons said, voice quivering gently. "I need to talk to you."
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: A new twist on Grif/Simmons
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1577
Summary: He felt like his entire life was leading up to that very moment...
Disclaimer: I am neither a Rooster, nor a Tooth.
A/N: Second to last part~
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven
---
Sink fixed? Check. Squeaky doors greased? Check. Mopped down the showers? Check. Dismantled and cleaned every weapon in storage? Check. Jobs normally reserved for Donut (vacuuming, dishes, dusting)? Check. Tidied his already spotless room? Check.
Simmons had done all the work he could think of, short of alphabetizing all the food in the fridge. And yet, it was still only midday, 2 hours until dinner. He dragged himself to the rec room and collapsed on the couch next to Grif, who was flicking uninterested through the few channels they got via satellite. Oprah, Jeopardy, News, Animal Documentary, More News, Cooking Show, Oprah, Jeopardy, News, Documentary...
The channels continued in an endless loop, Grif not pausing on any of them for more than a few flashes of color and sound before changing to the next. The abrupt contrast between visuals and sounds was jarring, and Simmons frowned and closed his eyes at the inevitable headache.
"Will you just pick a channel?" he finally grunted irritably.
Grif shrugged and stopped channel surfing, landing on Jeopardy.
"Irony for 500, Alex," said a contestant, a rather scruffy looking man with glasses and brown hair.
The question popped up onscreen and both Simmons and Grif read it silently along with Alex Trebec the 12th.
"Hitler's successor, this man was far from sweet, as his name would suggest."
Donut moved in silently and plopped on the floor as someone buzzed in with an answer.
"Who is Doenitz?" they asked somewhat hesitantly.
"Correct," Alex said, moving on to the next question.
"Donuts?!" Donut exclaimed. He looked torn between wanting to be excited and scandalized.
He settled on scandalized. "I'm not a Nazi!"
"Chill out, Donut, it's some dude who died like five billion years ago, not you," Grif said, annoyed as he tried to hear the next question.
"More like five hundred," Simmons corrected.
"Whatever," Grif dismissed his response. "Now be quiet and let me watch the show, will you?"
About 3 more questions were filtered through before another disturbance manifested.
"This floor is really uncomfortable!" Donut complained, poking the thin carpeting covering the concrete floor.
"No duh, now shut up," Grif intoned, not even turning his eyes from the television.
"Can I sit up on the couch with you guys?"
"No, Donut!" both Grif and Simmons said at the same time. They were both on their respective sides of the couch, with about a foot and a half of room between them. There would be room for Donut, but only if they squeezed together.
"Aw, come on." He got up and started sitting on the arm next to Simmons.
"What are you doing?" Simmons asked suspiciously as Donut started sliding slowly closer.
"Nothing," Donut said innocently.
Simmons scooted away from Donut subconsciously. He's going to slide into my lap! he thought, disgusted. Donut didn't stop, though, and soon Simmons was scooted all the way up to Grif.
"Hey, watch where you're sitting," Grif growled as Simmons' leg pressed against his. Simmons looked at him helplessly.
"It's not my fault, Donut forced me over here!"
Grif made a face and turned his attention back to the tv. "Weirdo."
A nudge from Donut made Simmons look in his direction. The blonde was grinning conspiratorially and winked when he knew Simmons was looking. The maroon soldier broke eye contact immediately, feeling his face flush. Shifting slightly in his spot, he nearly moaned at the friction between Grif's and his legs. He tried to keep himself calm, but the warmth of Grif beside him was slowly filling his body like melted cherry goo and he needed to get out of there, fast.
"I can't do this," he muttered, standing and rushing from the room. It was all he could do not to run.
A slammed door, and then emotion-induced convulsions on his bed. He keened softly into his pillow as the tremors wracked his body with no remorse.
"Why me?" he groaned. "Why me? Why me why me why me why me..."
A soft knock on the door interrupted him. He perked up and jumped for the door, wiping tears from his eyes he hadn't even been aware of. He opened the door quickly. "Donut, I can't-- Oh. You're not Donut."
Grif stared at him. "Why did you think I was Donut?"
Simmons balked. "Um, no reason."
Still staring, Grif pushed past Simmons and entered the room without asking. He sat first on the armchair, then thought better of it and moved to the bed, reclining like it was his. Simmons bit his lip and sat in the armchair instead.
There were a few awkward moments of silence that felt like an eternity before Grif finally spoke. "I've noticed you're acting a little weird recently," he started. Then he smirked. "You wanna talk about it?" he said, using words he'd often heard from Simmons.
Simmons looked at his hands and fiddled with a cuticle. "N-no," he replied quickly.
Grif sat up. "You sure?"
Feeling foolish, Simmons nodded.
"Oh." Grif sounded a little disappointed, and Simmons felt his heart begin to break. "Well, if you decide you want to talk, I'll be in my room," he finally said, closing the door gently behind him.
"How can I even doubt his feelings?" Simmons whispered to himself after a long moment. "He has to love me back... otherwise he wouldn't do things like that, right?"
Suddenly, he was exhausted again. He wondered briefly why he could be so tired for the past few days, but shook it off as lack of sleep as he crawled toward his bed. He pulled the pillow to his face and breathed in deeply, imagining he could smell Grif's scent from the short time he had lain there. Smiling softly, thoughts finally on the positive, he drifted once again into slumber.
+++
He was laying in Grif's arms, reclined comfortably on his small bed. Grif was stroking soft circles into his bare shoulders, lips buried in Simmons' dark auburn hair.
"Dick," he murmured softly, using his first name -- a rare occurence.
"Mm?"
"We haven't really talked much about this yet, have we?" Grif's breath sent ripples through his hair, and it tickled.
"About what?" Simmons asked, stretching slightly and pressing himself closer to Grif's chest.
He could feel Grif's smile against his forehead. "Us. Sex. Everything."
Simmons grew silent, thinking. True, they hadn't brought it up, but he hadn't really thought they needed to -- he had all the proof he needed in the way Grif's fingers were trailing along his skin gently, the way he teased him and joked with him, the way Grif kissed him after fucking him into his sheets. "What's to talk about?"
Grif hummed, burying his smile deeper in the roots of his hair. "Nothing. Sweet, sweet nothing."
The door opened loudly, and Simmons woke, feeling suddenly out of place without Grif beside him. He floundered for a bit before realizing that Sarge was standing in the doorway.
"Oh, sorry there, Simmons, I just wanted ta tell ya what a good job ya did on workin' today."
"Mmnn," Simmons responded groggily.
"You don't look too good, son."
He groaned quietly. "I'm fine, sir. Just a little fatigued is all."
Sarge didn't look like he believed it, but he let it go anyway. "Alright, Simmons, but I better see ya at supper or yer not allowed to work for the next week, and Grif has to do it all!"
"I'm sure I'll be fine, sir." The door shut sturdily, and again he was alone.
What was it with him getting interrupted out of good dreams? This newest one made his heart ache even more than he thought was possible. If he thought he was in deep from those other dreams... well, now he realized what he had felt then was a mere fraction of what he truly felt.
He didn't just want Grif for his body... he wanted him for his mind, personality, spirit, for soft caresses in the morning and pillow talk before drifting to sleep at night. He felt like such a woman for it, but he knew that if he couldn't be with Grif, if he couldn't be with him for the rest of his life, his heart was likely to break into so many pieces that it would be impossible to heal. Fear seized him and caught his breath for a moment, but he forced himself to remember the flirty words and glances Grif had given him in the past few days. Teasing glances, interested glances.
"He wants me back. He has to," Simmons told himself. "Aw, fuck it, I can't wait any longer."
He stood and paced the floor, already starting to hyperventilate. "Choose your words before you go there, Dick..." he soothed, trying frantically to think. I don't want to tell him! I can't! But I have to, I really want to, I promised Donut!
He took a deep breath, and forced himself to open his door.
Forced himself to step into the hallway.
Forced himself to walk up to Grif's door, even as his legs trembled and his heart thundered in his ears.
Feeling altogether too much like a blundering schoolgirl, Simmons rose his shaking fist and knocked feebly on Grif's door.
It took at most a few seconds for Grif to answer, but to Simmons, it felt like years. He swallowed nervously and jumped when the door finally swung open.
"Simmons?" Grif looked surprised to see him.
"Grif," Simmons said, voice quivering gently. "I need to talk to you."