I Know - RvB
Title: I Know
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: Grif/Simmons, mentioned Grif/Tucker
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1493
Summary: Simmons finds out about Grif and Tucker's "meetings" in the caves.
Disclaimer: I am neither a Rooster nor a Tooth.
A/N: Sequel to Me or Him! Because a few people asked, again. xD
Beware, both Grif and Simmons are pretty out of character here. They both cry and carry on like some sniveling pubescent teenage girls.
---
Simmons knew something was up when Grif announced he was going on yet another walk. It had been the third one in only two days; did he seriously think that Simmons wasn't going to be suspicious?
And that wasn't the only thing. Grif was getting sloppy in his performance in bed, the one thing his laziness had never extended to. It worried Simmons. Grif used to make bed-eyes at him all day, sometimes dragging him off during patrol for a quick romp before sneaking back to their post and dozing while Simmons had to do all the work and force himself to stay awake. But now it was Simmons dragging Grif off to bed, sometimes having to pull all the stops just to get him remotely interested.
If he did hold enough of Grif's attention... Well, it was obvious that Grif didn't concentrate that much on him. He was distracted, didn't think much for Simmons' needs anymore, and would pull out and collapse beside him to sleep right after finishing instead of basking in the perfection of the moment like he used to.
The only thing Simmons could think of was that Grif had found a stash of some kind of harsher drug somewhere in the canyon, and now it was ruining his life even worse than the cigarettes had. Simmons tried to be discreet about it, checking the inside of Grif's elbows every night while he was sleeping, but he could find no evidence of it. Maybe he was taking it a different way, maybe it was something in pill form, maybe it was smoked.
Thinking it through this way only made Simmons worry more; he started watching Grif's actions like a hawk, watching him for any strange movements, slights of the hand to slip something toxic into his morning coffee. There was nothing; only slight fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and sipping his coffee slowly, still looking antsy, before drinking the rest of the cup in one go and announcing he was taking a walk.
Simmons couldn't stand it.
So that day, he decided he would follow.
It had never been that hard to trail Grif. Usually, the other man was lost in his own thoughts enough that he didn't notice the soft crunching of dirt underneath another person's boots. This didn't stop Simmons from wincing at every step he took, though; at any moment, Grif could turn and see him standing there, 20 yards away and in broad daylight. Sometimes, it really did suck that there was no cover in the canyon.
Simmons waited patiently, crouching slightly as he watched Grif look furtively around before darting into the caves. That must be where his stash is, Simmons thought, feeling a surge of fear and apprehension pass through him. He crept forward, concentrating hard on every sound around him so he wouldn't be caught off guard.
He could hear the tell-tale hiss and clink of armor being removed, and he held his breath. Didn't Grif know how dangerous it was to be unarmored out here, especially so far from base? What if a blue had found him out here, wearing nothing but his boxers and riding the technicolor dream scape? He forced himself to calm down. Rushing in there without a plan was definitely not a good idea.
And then he heard a voice. Soft, hungry, and tenor -- and definitely not Grif's. It was only one word: "Hurry."
Whose voice was that? He knew, he'd heard all the blues speak before, but he was too shocked to make sense of it. Not only was Grif a druggie... he was drugging with a blue?
Simmons' breath hitched and he strode forward, peeking into the cave. What he saw was so far from what he'd expected that he almost yelled.
Grif, laying on the ground, the blue above him, moving in him harshly, both gasping and clenching teeth and groping hands. Grif, flushed, excited, eyebrows knit together in concentration, mouth open in a silent scream -- mirror image of Simmons, whose tears were making the image in front of him waver and blur until it was just a mess of watery color. Simmons sobbed once softly, then turned and fled, Grif's heated expression burning in his eyes.
If he had stayed any longer, he would have heard the conclusion: the ending of their meetings, Grif reasserting his need for Simmons. But Simmons hadn't stayed longer, and he hadn't heard Grif's words, so when Grif found himself back at base, feeling weary and needing some positive attention, he was met with an icy wall.
Simmons, through years of heartbreak and despair, had learned that the only way to slow your tears was to let them freeze.
"Simmons," Grif asked, sounding suddenly desperate to please the other man. "What's wrong?"
"Don't pretend that you care," Simmons snapped back, hoping the force of his anger would blot out the tears he knew were close. "I know the truth."
"The truth...?"
"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, you bastard."
"But I really don't--"
"I saw you with him."
Dark and heavy silence followed. Grif's eyes were wide, mouth open in fear and the utter realization that he'd been found out. Simmons watched as his face slowly crumpled into a mask of pure pain, stepping away as Grif's hand clawed for him blindly before it was withdrawn to his face to hide his tears.
"Simmons," he choked desperately. "I swear I didn't mean it--"
"Like hell you didn't mean it," Simmons replied hollowly, feeling just as lost as the man weeping before him.
"I swear, I swear it was all a misunderstanding!" And suddenly, Grif was spewing as many words as he could fit into the huge space between them, frantically trying to make amends and explain himself. "I was on a cigarette break one day, I just came across him in there and he was jacking off and he asked me to help and it caught me off guard, and I did it, and--"
"You were fucking caught off guard and you gave him a hand job?!" Simmons roared. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Grif slumped, shoulders wracked with silent sobs. "I...I don't know..."
"You were bored of me, was that it? Huh?" Simmons felt himself breaking, and the flood of tears he'd been holding back streamed down his face. "Am I not good enough for you?"
"No, you're perfect!" Grif cried. "It's just... he was new, different, it was forbidden and exciting--"
"What happened to us? We were forbidden and exciting. What happened to worrying about Sarge finding out, about Donut?"
Grif threw his hands up in exasperation. "I don't know! The threat isn't there anymore, Sarge always wants to kill me and Donut already knows. But that's not the point, I'm a fucking failure at my life, I never do anything right, and you're going to leave me just like my dad left me and then my mom, and... And..." He choked up, unable to finish.
Simmons felt a painful tug of his heartstrings, but he held firm. "You're right. You did fuck up, and I'm not going to forgive you no matter what you say."
Grif looked up, eyes so achingly longing and hurt. "But Dick..." he murmured thickly. "I love you."
And just like that, Simmons' resolve crumpled, and he found himself crying in the other man's arms. They'd pussy-footed around those words for so long... why did it have to come to this for them to finally surface?
Grif held Simmons tightly, whispering over the lump in his throat. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you so much, I want you for the rest of my life, I want to be the one holding your hand through all the tough times, I want to share your excitement in the good times, I want to be the father of your children--"
Simmons finally pulled himself together enough to cut him off. "What the fuck, Dex, we can't have children."
Grif pulled him even closer, stroking his hair slightly as both of their tears dried. "I bet we can find a way."
There was a silence, then: "I still can't believe you would do this to me..."
Grif sighed heavily, his guilt suddenly weighing him down again. "I never stopped loving you," he murmured. "It was never about the feelings... I was...just..." He chewed on his lip anxiously.
Simmons pulled away slightly, noticing. "What? It was just what?"
"Uh..." Grif laughed lightly, embarrassedly. "I... I kinda wish you might fuck me every once in a while."
Incredulous, Simmons groaned. "That's what this was about? You wanted to be fucked? Why the hell didn't you just ask me?!"
Grif shrugged. "I guess I thought it would freak you out?"
A smile pulled Simmons' mouth as he returned to Grif's hug. "You're a retard."
He welcomed the hug, pulling Simmons even tighter. "I know."
Author: Kyrianne
Fandom: Red vs Blue
Pairing: Grif/Simmons, mentioned Grif/Tucker
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1493
Summary: Simmons finds out about Grif and Tucker's "meetings" in the caves.
Disclaimer: I am neither a Rooster nor a Tooth.
A/N: Sequel to Me or Him! Because a few people asked, again. xD
Beware, both Grif and Simmons are pretty out of character here. They both cry and carry on like some sniveling pubescent teenage girls.
---
Simmons knew something was up when Grif announced he was going on yet another walk. It had been the third one in only two days; did he seriously think that Simmons wasn't going to be suspicious?
And that wasn't the only thing. Grif was getting sloppy in his performance in bed, the one thing his laziness had never extended to. It worried Simmons. Grif used to make bed-eyes at him all day, sometimes dragging him off during patrol for a quick romp before sneaking back to their post and dozing while Simmons had to do all the work and force himself to stay awake. But now it was Simmons dragging Grif off to bed, sometimes having to pull all the stops just to get him remotely interested.
If he did hold enough of Grif's attention... Well, it was obvious that Grif didn't concentrate that much on him. He was distracted, didn't think much for Simmons' needs anymore, and would pull out and collapse beside him to sleep right after finishing instead of basking in the perfection of the moment like he used to.
The only thing Simmons could think of was that Grif had found a stash of some kind of harsher drug somewhere in the canyon, and now it was ruining his life even worse than the cigarettes had. Simmons tried to be discreet about it, checking the inside of Grif's elbows every night while he was sleeping, but he could find no evidence of it. Maybe he was taking it a different way, maybe it was something in pill form, maybe it was smoked.
Thinking it through this way only made Simmons worry more; he started watching Grif's actions like a hawk, watching him for any strange movements, slights of the hand to slip something toxic into his morning coffee. There was nothing; only slight fidgeting with the hem of his shirt and sipping his coffee slowly, still looking antsy, before drinking the rest of the cup in one go and announcing he was taking a walk.
Simmons couldn't stand it.
So that day, he decided he would follow.
It had never been that hard to trail Grif. Usually, the other man was lost in his own thoughts enough that he didn't notice the soft crunching of dirt underneath another person's boots. This didn't stop Simmons from wincing at every step he took, though; at any moment, Grif could turn and see him standing there, 20 yards away and in broad daylight. Sometimes, it really did suck that there was no cover in the canyon.
Simmons waited patiently, crouching slightly as he watched Grif look furtively around before darting into the caves. That must be where his stash is, Simmons thought, feeling a surge of fear and apprehension pass through him. He crept forward, concentrating hard on every sound around him so he wouldn't be caught off guard.
He could hear the tell-tale hiss and clink of armor being removed, and he held his breath. Didn't Grif know how dangerous it was to be unarmored out here, especially so far from base? What if a blue had found him out here, wearing nothing but his boxers and riding the technicolor dream scape? He forced himself to calm down. Rushing in there without a plan was definitely not a good idea.
And then he heard a voice. Soft, hungry, and tenor -- and definitely not Grif's. It was only one word: "Hurry."
Whose voice was that? He knew, he'd heard all the blues speak before, but he was too shocked to make sense of it. Not only was Grif a druggie... he was drugging with a blue?
Simmons' breath hitched and he strode forward, peeking into the cave. What he saw was so far from what he'd expected that he almost yelled.
Grif, laying on the ground, the blue above him, moving in him harshly, both gasping and clenching teeth and groping hands. Grif, flushed, excited, eyebrows knit together in concentration, mouth open in a silent scream -- mirror image of Simmons, whose tears were making the image in front of him waver and blur until it was just a mess of watery color. Simmons sobbed once softly, then turned and fled, Grif's heated expression burning in his eyes.
If he had stayed any longer, he would have heard the conclusion: the ending of their meetings, Grif reasserting his need for Simmons. But Simmons hadn't stayed longer, and he hadn't heard Grif's words, so when Grif found himself back at base, feeling weary and needing some positive attention, he was met with an icy wall.
Simmons, through years of heartbreak and despair, had learned that the only way to slow your tears was to let them freeze.
"Simmons," Grif asked, sounding suddenly desperate to please the other man. "What's wrong?"
"Don't pretend that you care," Simmons snapped back, hoping the force of his anger would blot out the tears he knew were close. "I know the truth."
"The truth...?"
"Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, you bastard."
"But I really don't--"
"I saw you with him."
Dark and heavy silence followed. Grif's eyes were wide, mouth open in fear and the utter realization that he'd been found out. Simmons watched as his face slowly crumpled into a mask of pure pain, stepping away as Grif's hand clawed for him blindly before it was withdrawn to his face to hide his tears.
"Simmons," he choked desperately. "I swear I didn't mean it--"
"Like hell you didn't mean it," Simmons replied hollowly, feeling just as lost as the man weeping before him.
"I swear, I swear it was all a misunderstanding!" And suddenly, Grif was spewing as many words as he could fit into the huge space between them, frantically trying to make amends and explain himself. "I was on a cigarette break one day, I just came across him in there and he was jacking off and he asked me to help and it caught me off guard, and I did it, and--"
"You were fucking caught off guard and you gave him a hand job?!" Simmons roared. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Grif slumped, shoulders wracked with silent sobs. "I...I don't know..."
"You were bored of me, was that it? Huh?" Simmons felt himself breaking, and the flood of tears he'd been holding back streamed down his face. "Am I not good enough for you?"
"No, you're perfect!" Grif cried. "It's just... he was new, different, it was forbidden and exciting--"
"What happened to us? We were forbidden and exciting. What happened to worrying about Sarge finding out, about Donut?"
Grif threw his hands up in exasperation. "I don't know! The threat isn't there anymore, Sarge always wants to kill me and Donut already knows. But that's not the point, I'm a fucking failure at my life, I never do anything right, and you're going to leave me just like my dad left me and then my mom, and... And..." He choked up, unable to finish.
Simmons felt a painful tug of his heartstrings, but he held firm. "You're right. You did fuck up, and I'm not going to forgive you no matter what you say."
Grif looked up, eyes so achingly longing and hurt. "But Dick..." he murmured thickly. "I love you."
And just like that, Simmons' resolve crumpled, and he found himself crying in the other man's arms. They'd pussy-footed around those words for so long... why did it have to come to this for them to finally surface?
Grif held Simmons tightly, whispering over the lump in his throat. "I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you so much, I want you for the rest of my life, I want to be the one holding your hand through all the tough times, I want to share your excitement in the good times, I want to be the father of your children--"
Simmons finally pulled himself together enough to cut him off. "What the fuck, Dex, we can't have children."
Grif pulled him even closer, stroking his hair slightly as both of their tears dried. "I bet we can find a way."
There was a silence, then: "I still can't believe you would do this to me..."
Grif sighed heavily, his guilt suddenly weighing him down again. "I never stopped loving you," he murmured. "It was never about the feelings... I was...just..." He chewed on his lip anxiously.
Simmons pulled away slightly, noticing. "What? It was just what?"
"Uh..." Grif laughed lightly, embarrassedly. "I... I kinda wish you might fuck me every once in a while."
Incredulous, Simmons groaned. "That's what this was about? You wanted to be fucked? Why the hell didn't you just ask me?!"
Grif shrugged. "I guess I thought it would freak you out?"
A smile pulled Simmons' mouth as he returned to Grif's hug. "You're a retard."
He welcomed the hug, pulling Simmons even tighter. "I know."