Semantics II
Title: Semantics II
Simmons rested his hand on Grif's arm that lay flopped across his stomach. Something had changed. Grif's touch had turned from filling him with a warm comfort to causing his breath to quicken and his heart to race. But what would Grif think? If he knew, what would he do? Would he hate him? Would he leave? Tell him that's what Donut is for? But not saying anything was driving Simmons's crazy.
He at last took a deep breath. "Grif?"
Nothing. He must be asleep already. But that wasn't helping the matter at hand. He couldn't sleep for the thoughts in his head and the feeling in his stomach, and the bulge in his shorts. Simmons rolled to one side and then the other, fussing and fidgeting, unable to sleep. Unable to ignore his increasingly painful erection.
Finally he slipped his hand down and began to gently rub himself, just something to ease the ache. It was too much to ignore entirely. He closed his eyes, not even realizing he had softly moaned out Grif's name until it was already off his lips.
"Yes?" came the purr against his neck.
Simmons froze. "Grif?" he squeaked.
"Is there anyone else here?"
"I sure hope not," Simmons mumbled. He felt Grif's hand slide down his stomach, felt it slip down to press against his cock. "W-w-w-what are you doing?"
"What were you doing?" Grif countered, his smile evident in his voice.
"I was... uh... that is... I mean..."
Then Grif made Simmons's brain completely short circuit. He stroked his hand up the bulge in Simmons's boxers in one smooth motion.
"I... I... I..." He stammered, unable to form any sort of coherent sentence. After all, he had just been masturbating to the thought of Grif. And now Grif was doing it for him!
He stroked him again.
"Guhh.."
Then again. And again. It was amazing. Grif was coaxing uncertain moans from Simmons's throat with each firm stroke he gave him. Was Grif really doing this? Was he really getting this much out of being touched by another man? When it stopped, Simmons whimpered as the delightful feelings were taken away. Then he almost swallowed his tongue as Grif slid over and straddled him.
"G-Grif? What are you doing?"
"I dunno," he breathed as he settled down over him, their cocks rubbing together through two very thin layers of cotton boxer shorts. "Figured we'd just wing it, if that's alright."
"Uh huh," he agreed, dumbly.
It wasn't sex if they weren't naked, right? And he wasn't gay if it wasn't sex. Right? Further thoughts were almost instantly forced out of his head by the waves of pleasure that Grif was causing him to feel. He opened his eyes and looked up at the shaggy-headed, brown-skinned soldier that was at once both the bane and blessing of his existence in this place.
Grif was looking back at him, his face almost serious. No, not serious... Simmons couldn't quite place the look, he had never seen anything quite like it from Grif before. He wasn't smiling, but it wasn't a frown. He wasn't rolling his eyes, or grumbling, or irritated, or making jokes, or anything else that he was able to identify from years of being around the man.
In fact Grif was looking at him with a tenderness that surprised even himself. The red-head that was laying beneath him was, as he had so many times concluded, the only thing in the canyon he gave a shit about. He had become the only thing that could comfort him, calm him, center him when everything else was being blown all to hell. It was almost too natural to want to make love to the man he loved.
Then he stopped for a moment, hovering just over Simmons's face as he stared down into his eyes. "Simmons?" he murmured.
"W-what?" he replied breathlessly, wondering if something had happened to make Grif stop. Was something wrong?
Grif looked as if he was trying to say something, opening his mouth, closing it again, then finally he just gave up. Words just were not gonna cut it. He leaned in and took Simmons's mouth firmly in his and kissed him.
Simmons's eyes went wide at first, then slowly fell closed as the kiss lingered on. It was the first time he had ever been kissed by a man. Never mind it was his first kiss ever, that wasn't the point. The point was... it wasn't bad. It was the most beautifully perfect kiss he could ever have imagined.
Grif started to move again. He knew Simmons would never take control, so he had to. He hadn't really put too much thought into it, either. Mostly he was doing just as he said, winging it. And that seemed to be working out just great as the two men gave soft moans, panted breaths, little spasms of delight as they rubbed against one another.
Neither spoke. Their eyes were locked, grounding them somewhat in the reality of what they were actually doing. And yet, it still seemed almost more of a comfort action than one of lust. After all, it wasn't sex, right?
Grif went from little breaths to open mouth pants before long, then bent over and rested his head against Simmons's shoulder as he curled his fists into the sheets and bit back a cry.
Simmons felt the warmth and moisture quickly soak through the fabric to kiss his skin. With a little moan, he wrapped his arms around Grif and pulled him down tight against his chest as he quickened his pace, wanting to finish now as well. It wasn't long before he was moaning out Grif's name with each thrust until he, too, was left breathless, his eyes rolled back in his head as they lay sweaty and fulfilled.
Grif was already half asleep on Simmons's chest, pressing feather-light kisses to his neck as he lay there in perfect bliss. Grif adjusted himself a little, ensuring that they both had plenty of room. Both men were wet and sticky with release, their boxers soaked thoroughly from the combination of both of them.
Simmons still had his arms around Grif, holding on tight as if afraid to let go. As if afraid it would disappear. "Good night, Grif," he breathed softly, not entirely sure he understood exactly what had just happened. But it had not been sex.
Right?
Simmons rested his hand on Grif's arm that lay flopped across his stomach. Something had changed. Grif's touch had turned from filling him with a warm comfort to causing his breath to quicken and his heart to race. But what would Grif think? If he knew, what would he do? Would he hate him? Would he leave? Tell him that's what Donut is for? But not saying anything was driving Simmons's crazy.
He at last took a deep breath. "Grif?"
Nothing. He must be asleep already. But that wasn't helping the matter at hand. He couldn't sleep for the thoughts in his head and the feeling in his stomach, and the bulge in his shorts. Simmons rolled to one side and then the other, fussing and fidgeting, unable to sleep. Unable to ignore his increasingly painful erection.
Finally he slipped his hand down and began to gently rub himself, just something to ease the ache. It was too much to ignore entirely. He closed his eyes, not even realizing he had softly moaned out Grif's name until it was already off his lips.
"Yes?" came the purr against his neck.
Simmons froze. "Grif?" he squeaked.
"Is there anyone else here?"
"I sure hope not," Simmons mumbled. He felt Grif's hand slide down his stomach, felt it slip down to press against his cock. "W-w-w-what are you doing?"
"What were you doing?" Grif countered, his smile evident in his voice.
"I was... uh... that is... I mean..."
Then Grif made Simmons's brain completely short circuit. He stroked his hand up the bulge in Simmons's boxers in one smooth motion.
"I... I... I..." He stammered, unable to form any sort of coherent sentence. After all, he had just been masturbating to the thought of Grif. And now Grif was doing it for him!
He stroked him again.
"Guhh.."
Then again. And again. It was amazing. Grif was coaxing uncertain moans from Simmons's throat with each firm stroke he gave him. Was Grif really doing this? Was he really getting this much out of being touched by another man? When it stopped, Simmons whimpered as the delightful feelings were taken away. Then he almost swallowed his tongue as Grif slid over and straddled him.
"G-Grif? What are you doing?"
"I dunno," he breathed as he settled down over him, their cocks rubbing together through two very thin layers of cotton boxer shorts. "Figured we'd just wing it, if that's alright."
"Uh huh," he agreed, dumbly.
It wasn't sex if they weren't naked, right? And he wasn't gay if it wasn't sex. Right? Further thoughts were almost instantly forced out of his head by the waves of pleasure that Grif was causing him to feel. He opened his eyes and looked up at the shaggy-headed, brown-skinned soldier that was at once both the bane and blessing of his existence in this place.
Grif was looking back at him, his face almost serious. No, not serious... Simmons couldn't quite place the look, he had never seen anything quite like it from Grif before. He wasn't smiling, but it wasn't a frown. He wasn't rolling his eyes, or grumbling, or irritated, or making jokes, or anything else that he was able to identify from years of being around the man.
In fact Grif was looking at him with a tenderness that surprised even himself. The red-head that was laying beneath him was, as he had so many times concluded, the only thing in the canyon he gave a shit about. He had become the only thing that could comfort him, calm him, center him when everything else was being blown all to hell. It was almost too natural to want to make love to the man he loved.
Then he stopped for a moment, hovering just over Simmons's face as he stared down into his eyes. "Simmons?" he murmured.
"W-what?" he replied breathlessly, wondering if something had happened to make Grif stop. Was something wrong?
Grif looked as if he was trying to say something, opening his mouth, closing it again, then finally he just gave up. Words just were not gonna cut it. He leaned in and took Simmons's mouth firmly in his and kissed him.
Simmons's eyes went wide at first, then slowly fell closed as the kiss lingered on. It was the first time he had ever been kissed by a man. Never mind it was his first kiss ever, that wasn't the point. The point was... it wasn't bad. It was the most beautifully perfect kiss he could ever have imagined.
Grif started to move again. He knew Simmons would never take control, so he had to. He hadn't really put too much thought into it, either. Mostly he was doing just as he said, winging it. And that seemed to be working out just great as the two men gave soft moans, panted breaths, little spasms of delight as they rubbed against one another.
Neither spoke. Their eyes were locked, grounding them somewhat in the reality of what they were actually doing. And yet, it still seemed almost more of a comfort action than one of lust. After all, it wasn't sex, right?
Grif went from little breaths to open mouth pants before long, then bent over and rested his head against Simmons's shoulder as he curled his fists into the sheets and bit back a cry.
Simmons felt the warmth and moisture quickly soak through the fabric to kiss his skin. With a little moan, he wrapped his arms around Grif and pulled him down tight against his chest as he quickened his pace, wanting to finish now as well. It wasn't long before he was moaning out Grif's name with each thrust until he, too, was left breathless, his eyes rolled back in his head as they lay sweaty and fulfilled.
Grif was already half asleep on Simmons's chest, pressing feather-light kisses to his neck as he lay there in perfect bliss. Grif adjusted himself a little, ensuring that they both had plenty of room. Both men were wet and sticky with release, their boxers soaked thoroughly from the combination of both of them.
Simmons still had his arms around Grif, holding on tight as if afraid to let go. As if afraid it would disappear. "Good night, Grif," he breathed softly, not entirely sure he understood exactly what had just happened. But it had not been sex.
Right?