Red vs Blue: Right or Wrong
Title: Right or Wrong
Series: Red vs Blue
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Warnings: Slash
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,000 (exactly)
Thanks to Xeiharioukou for the beta.
Simmons tensed and forced himself to breathe evenly as Grif snaked an arm around his waist and muttered something incomprehensible without ever waking up.
"This is wrong," the maroon soldier muttered to himself. Grif, as oblivious asleep as he was awake, merely snorted in reply and tried to steal the blankets.
He couldn't even begin to count the ways in which the situation was wrong. First, Simmons hated sharing a bed with Grif. When the other man pressed him for a reason, the maroon soldier merely pointed out that there were no locks on the bedroom doors and how easy it would be for Sarge to walk in to find the two men....together. Grif had snorted in laughter, advanced on Simmons until his lover was cornered, then murmured, "Let him. It might be an educational experience. Think of what I could teach him about handling a man under him."
Simmons had blushed furiously, tried to lecture his teammate on the chain-of-command and proper military discipline, and had instead wound up making soft, pleading sounds as Grif did things to his body that even Donut couldn't have imagined.
And that was the problem, he reflected as he tried to reclaim his share of the blankets. As long as he had known Grif, he had considered himself superior to the other man. Superior in rank. Superior in intellect. Superior in discipline. That superiority had comforted him. But once they had both realized that their mutual hatred was changing into something infinitely more complicated, but no less mutual, Grif was suddenly in control.
Though Simmons wasn't a virgin--thanks to a brothel, several bottles of hard liquor, and Sarge's determination to "make a man" out of his second-in-command--he was utterly inexperienced with relationships. Moreover, he still wasn't sure if he was entirely comfortable having feelings for another man...especially the man currently sleeping beside him.
Grif, on the other hand, had taken the change in their relationship completely in stride. Had it been left up to Simmons, they would still be working out a code of appropriate and inappropriate behavior around Sarge, Donut, the Blues, and anyone else who could possibly come to Blood Gulch and observe the interaction between the two them.
Instead, Grif had listened to Simmons's suggestions for nearly ten minutes (and that show of patience had underscored the change in their relationship more than anything else) before leaning in and kissing him until they were both out of breath. And then the discussion was over, never to be visited again.
Grif had used similar techniques to overcome all of the other man's boundaries. After the hurried kisses came long conversations on the top of the base. After the long conversations came leisurely kisses in Grif's bedroom. The kisses had gradually became more and more insistent until, one lazy afternoon, with no real discussion or fanfare, they were suddenly lovers.
It was only after that incident that Grif encountered any resistance. While Simmons had been content to allow the other man to take control, he certainly wasn't under any sort of spell. He had carefully evaluated each step they took in their relationship, giving the mental okay before succumbing to Grif's strategy.
After several nights of Simmons furtively sneaking back to his own bedroom after their nocturnal activities, Grif had finally rolled his eyes. "Stay," he had ordered.
Simmons ignored the order for a week. Then it had become a request and, finally, three weeks later, something that, in a more tender relationship, might have been a plea. He had recognized the desire in Grif's voice and was shocked that his presence beside another person could matter so much.
So he had submitted and, on the first night, he realized how wrong it was.
Grif's bed was too soft, thanks to his practice of appropriating the supplies intended for new soldiers. When Simmons had questioned him, the orange soldier had merely replied that the most recent recruit was Donut, four years ago. Grif was right, but it still rankled Simmons, who had appropriated from the storeroom no more and no less than what the Red Army regulations allowed. The softer bed might be more comfortable, but it seemed like another betrayal his values.
Second, Grif was annoying whether asleep or awake. At regular intervals, he would steal the blankets, sprawl possessively over Simmons, mutter in his sleep, or do one of any dozen annoying habits. As a result, the quality of Simmons's sleep was suffering, though it was nothing his cyborg parts couldn't overcome.
The real problem was trust. The trust required for the physical aspect of their relationship was nothing compared to the anxiety Simmons felt when he imagined himself asleep and vulnerable next to Grif. Intellectually, he realized that he could trust Grif after everything they had done, but the idea of allowing himself so vulnerable around a man he had hated until a few months ago was almost impossible.
Simmons hadn't been kind to Grif and the other man could make him pay in so many ways, most notably by allowing Sarge to find his second-in-command curled up in his least favorite soldier's bed. While Grif never mentioned the rockier parts of their history, listening to Sarge's derisive remarks must have caused an almost unbearable desire to shock and hurt his CO by revealing his relationship with a man that the red officer seemed to regard almost as a son.
And that was what Simmon's nights consisted of lately: tossing and turning in a too soft bed, afraid to drop his guard enough to sleep. There was no question in his mind that this situation was wrong in too many ways to count and that he should take steps to solve the problem.
Then he would finally doze off, only to wake later with Grif nuzzling his ear. "Sleep well?" he'd ask, looking slightly disheveled and very attractive in the weak sunlight that made it into the base.
And for the briefest moment, everything would be right.
Series: Red vs Blue
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Warnings: Slash
Spoilers: None
Word Count: 1,000 (exactly)
Thanks to Xeiharioukou for the beta.
Simmons tensed and forced himself to breathe evenly as Grif snaked an arm around his waist and muttered something incomprehensible without ever waking up.
"This is wrong," the maroon soldier muttered to himself. Grif, as oblivious asleep as he was awake, merely snorted in reply and tried to steal the blankets.
He couldn't even begin to count the ways in which the situation was wrong. First, Simmons hated sharing a bed with Grif. When the other man pressed him for a reason, the maroon soldier merely pointed out that there were no locks on the bedroom doors and how easy it would be for Sarge to walk in to find the two men....together. Grif had snorted in laughter, advanced on Simmons until his lover was cornered, then murmured, "Let him. It might be an educational experience. Think of what I could teach him about handling a man under him."
Simmons had blushed furiously, tried to lecture his teammate on the chain-of-command and proper military discipline, and had instead wound up making soft, pleading sounds as Grif did things to his body that even Donut couldn't have imagined.
And that was the problem, he reflected as he tried to reclaim his share of the blankets. As long as he had known Grif, he had considered himself superior to the other man. Superior in rank. Superior in intellect. Superior in discipline. That superiority had comforted him. But once they had both realized that their mutual hatred was changing into something infinitely more complicated, but no less mutual, Grif was suddenly in control.
Though Simmons wasn't a virgin--thanks to a brothel, several bottles of hard liquor, and Sarge's determination to "make a man" out of his second-in-command--he was utterly inexperienced with relationships. Moreover, he still wasn't sure if he was entirely comfortable having feelings for another man...especially the man currently sleeping beside him.
Grif, on the other hand, had taken the change in their relationship completely in stride. Had it been left up to Simmons, they would still be working out a code of appropriate and inappropriate behavior around Sarge, Donut, the Blues, and anyone else who could possibly come to Blood Gulch and observe the interaction between the two them.
Instead, Grif had listened to Simmons's suggestions for nearly ten minutes (and that show of patience had underscored the change in their relationship more than anything else) before leaning in and kissing him until they were both out of breath. And then the discussion was over, never to be visited again.
Grif had used similar techniques to overcome all of the other man's boundaries. After the hurried kisses came long conversations on the top of the base. After the long conversations came leisurely kisses in Grif's bedroom. The kisses had gradually became more and more insistent until, one lazy afternoon, with no real discussion or fanfare, they were suddenly lovers.
It was only after that incident that Grif encountered any resistance. While Simmons had been content to allow the other man to take control, he certainly wasn't under any sort of spell. He had carefully evaluated each step they took in their relationship, giving the mental okay before succumbing to Grif's strategy.
After several nights of Simmons furtively sneaking back to his own bedroom after their nocturnal activities, Grif had finally rolled his eyes. "Stay," he had ordered.
Simmons ignored the order for a week. Then it had become a request and, finally, three weeks later, something that, in a more tender relationship, might have been a plea. He had recognized the desire in Grif's voice and was shocked that his presence beside another person could matter so much.
So he had submitted and, on the first night, he realized how wrong it was.
Grif's bed was too soft, thanks to his practice of appropriating the supplies intended for new soldiers. When Simmons had questioned him, the orange soldier had merely replied that the most recent recruit was Donut, four years ago. Grif was right, but it still rankled Simmons, who had appropriated from the storeroom no more and no less than what the Red Army regulations allowed. The softer bed might be more comfortable, but it seemed like another betrayal his values.
Second, Grif was annoying whether asleep or awake. At regular intervals, he would steal the blankets, sprawl possessively over Simmons, mutter in his sleep, or do one of any dozen annoying habits. As a result, the quality of Simmons's sleep was suffering, though it was nothing his cyborg parts couldn't overcome.
The real problem was trust. The trust required for the physical aspect of their relationship was nothing compared to the anxiety Simmons felt when he imagined himself asleep and vulnerable next to Grif. Intellectually, he realized that he could trust Grif after everything they had done, but the idea of allowing himself so vulnerable around a man he had hated until a few months ago was almost impossible.
Simmons hadn't been kind to Grif and the other man could make him pay in so many ways, most notably by allowing Sarge to find his second-in-command curled up in his least favorite soldier's bed. While Grif never mentioned the rockier parts of their history, listening to Sarge's derisive remarks must have caused an almost unbearable desire to shock and hurt his CO by revealing his relationship with a man that the red officer seemed to regard almost as a son.
And that was what Simmon's nights consisted of lately: tossing and turning in a too soft bed, afraid to drop his guard enough to sleep. There was no question in his mind that this situation was wrong in too many ways to count and that he should take steps to solve the problem.
Then he would finally doze off, only to wake later with Grif nuzzling his ear. "Sleep well?" he'd ask, looking slightly disheveled and very attractive in the weak sunlight that made it into the base.
And for the briefest moment, everything would be right.