mortdeheros:
Grif gets sunburned on his Simmons spots of skin and doesn't know how to handle it so Simmons rubs aloe on him and it's gay.
rvbRed vs Bluegrimmonsdick simmonsdexter grif
AUTHORS NOTES: This ones for you mortdeheros! Drabble prompt. Grif gets a sunburn on his Simmons-donated fair ass skin and he has no idea wtf to do since he's Hawaiian. Simmons to the rescue.
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing except the bottle of aloe. I keep mine in the fridge.
PART ONE
The late afternoon sun shone down hot on the many moons of Chorus, making them appear to glow to the eyes of their planet's inhabitants. What they didn't see on one moon were the methshroom fields glittering like beautiful, unearthly sapphires. Miles to the west of the sparkling fields, a faint roar rang out. And Chorus definately didn't see the sweet ass, private water park or ITS inhabitants.
One Dexter Grif floated lazily on his back, eyes closed and fingers laced behind his head. His long, dark hair swept gracefully around his face in the water. He was in one of the many connected but separate pools in said water park. He was the only one there (as far as he was concerned). Off in the distance, of course, he heard Caboose and Donut screaming down a slide. He smiled in the warm sunshine. They should have built one of those lazy river set ups with the inner tubes. Yeah, they should add that on soon. Great idea, Grif.
He sighed contently as the wind gently caressed his face. It was ALMOST like home. If he kept his eyes closed.
"Hey, dumbass, are you wearing any sunscreen?"
And maybe if he kept his ears closed too. Maybe if Grif ignored Simmons, he'd go away.
"Hello? Any sunscreen at all?"
He fought down a groan of annoyance and opened his eyes. He squinted at Simmons, who was wearing his maroon swim shorts, a white tank top and his shower sandals. There was a smear of white across his nose and cheeks. Sunscreen. Nerd.
"No, Simmons, I am not," Grif responded, still on his back. He adopted a smug tone. "I don't know if you noticed this but I am, in fact, Hawaiian and I don't burn."
Simmons kicked off his sandals and sat at the pool's edge with a snort.
"Okay, idiot, but friendly reminder that half your skin is Dutch-Irish," now Simmons adopted the smugness. He tapped his metal hand against his metal knee with a soft, sharp clang to emphasize his point. "And it does, in fact, sunburn."
Grif stiffened a little in his relaxed position. He sank a few inches before relaxing again to float back up. Simmons noticed immediately. His face cracked into a grin.
Well, fuck him if Grif hadn't forgotten. He wondered why the sun was so much warmer on his one side, but the thought of sunburn hadn't even crossed his mind. Mental groan.
"Oh, my god," Simmons snorted. "You DID forget!"
The tone in the cyborg's voice put him on the defensive. Grif would never admit to Simmons that he'd forgotten. Not now. He didn't think he could stand the "I told you sos".
"Nope, just don't care," Grif shot back, annoyed. He closed his eyes again, determined to ignore Simmons.
"Oh my god, You are so fucked!" there was a touch of glee evident now. "How long have you been out here? Have you ever even had a sunburn before? It usually takes me less than an hour to get pink without sunscreen! You're gonna get space skin cancer or something."
Grif refused to acknowledge the running monologue as he paddled his way to the edge of the pool, opposite Simmons. He didn't even look back at the cackling cyborg as he got out of the water and started immediately towards base. He made sure to swagger nonchalantly.
PART TWO
Dexter Grif was not a weak man. Lazy? Without a doubt. Gluttonous? Sure. An asshole? It was possible. But weak? Never. He'd been shot, ran over, been through surgery, been in a pelican crash, fallen off a cliff, gotten his ass beat multiple times free lancer style, and various other unpleasant scenarios and against all odds, he'd still survived.
Dexter Grif would never have bet on a sunburn for his demise. He grit his teeth and sure was thankful he was alone in the locker room to die his miserable, stupid death.
The itching and smouldering coals under his pale patches of skin had finally broken him and Grif stood in the shower, cold water on full blast, cursing his general existence. His poor, poor skin. What had he done to deserve this level of torture? Is this how unsuspecting tourists felt when they visited his home?
He gazed down regretfully at his inflamed skin, pressing down on it, not for the first time, to see the white fingerprints he left sink back to red. There was sick sense of fascination that hadn't quite worn out yet when he'd discovered that little trick.
Grif stuck his stinging, itchy face back under the icy water, almost moaning at the relief it brought. Half of his body felt puffy and on fire. He would have cried if crying didn't scrunch his poor burned skin up.
How could he have forgotten something so important? How could that loving ball of warmth in the sky betray him so? How had humans evolved and lived so long like this? How the hell did Simmons survive into adulthood with this skin?
So lost in his piteous thoughts he was, that Grif didn't notice the locker room door crack open. He didn't hear his name being called softly over the running water.
Grif let out a long sighed and wondered if he would just live in the shower now. He could probably swing it.
He sat down gingerly under the stream of water, wincing when the waistband of swim trunks dug into his red skin. The cold tile wall was soothing on his poor back. He closed his eyes and let the water beat down on him, thinking of the furniture he would need to move in. His mini fridge, for sure. His bed, ye-- well, maybe a pillow. This was a pretty small ho--
Suddenly, several things happened at once.
First, Grif heard the teltale rattle of the shower curtain being flung open. Before he could open his eyes and react, there were hands on him. And before he could react to THAT, someone was yelling his name, almost hysterically. It was perfectly understandable that his reaction would be to snap his eyes open, grunt unintelligibly and to flail so badly, he solidly cracked his head against the wall. His skin may have actually burst into flame at that point, but Grif couldn't be sure.
"Oh, my god! Grif! Are you okay??"
Grif felt hands tugging on his unburnt arm. His ears were ringing. Someone shut off the water. Fuck, everything just needed to stop for a second.
"Fucking owwww…" he groaned slowly.
Simmons's face floated into his vision, his eye(s) wide. He shook Grif again.
"Grif! I thought you were passed out!"
"Fucking-- What? If only. Get the fuck off me, dude." Grif grumbled, trying even his breathing. He yanked his arm out of Simmons's grasp to scrub his hand along the back of his head where he'd hit it. "Ow. Shit, dude, what if I'd been naked?"
"N-nothing I'm sure I h-haven't seen before!" Simmons reply was forced and awkward and they both knew it, but he was too relived at his friend's snappy response to think much of it. He sat back on his feet and took a deep breath. "What the hell were you doing? You looked like you were out cold!"
Grif forced his eyes to focus on Simmons. He cocked an eyebrow at him, hand still on his head.
"Really? What was I doing? In the shower?" Grif demanded, and looked away long enough to check his hand for blood before focusing again. Simmons genuinely looked confused and Grif laid off a little. "I was fucking showering, dude."
"In the freezing ass water?"
"…yes."
"Right? And this has nothing to do with the lovely shade of pink you've cooked yourself to?" Smooth, Simmons.
And as if mentioning it triggered it, a prickly wave of heat seemed to pass through Grif's poor skin and he shivered. He leaned forward and pawed at the shower knob. Too high. Just out of reach. His shoulder seared at the joint and he thought he smelled something burning.
"Oh, my god, how do you live like this?" He whinged, sitting back heavily. "Turn that water back on."
"I fuckin told you so, dude. Before you even left the base 'hey Grif, don't forget sunscreen!' But nope," but Simmons obliged and he watched Grif sag with relief when the cold hit his skin.
"Ugh, thank you, and I was wondering when you were going to lay into me. Now. When i could be dying of sunburn."
He stuck his head in the running water and burbled out, "If anyone needs me, I live here now. Thanks for stopping by to visit."
There was an unreadable expression on the cyborg's face as he got back to his feet. He darted out of sight and was back with a towel in an instant. To Grif's confusion, Simmons held it out in the water until it was soaked through. He flung it over the curtain rod for the moment. There was a knowing look in his eye now as he worked that Grif didn't notice.
"Come on," Simmons ordered, holding a hand out to his fellow soldier. "Get up."
"Nope, no thanks, I'm good right here."
"Grif, come on. You can't actually live in the shower."
"Yes, I can, but you're making it difficult. Now get off my lawn."
"Oh, my god, stop being so dramatic. I'll get you fixed up. I have years of experience. Now, come on."
Grif let out a whine but finally grabbed Simmons's hand and let himself get pulled stiffly to his feet. He savored the last of the cold water on his skin before it was shut off again. He stepped out of his new home and looked back at it sadly.
"Here, I'm putting this on your shoulders," Simmons warned.
He grabbed the wet towel and gently placed it on Grif's skin. He shivered again under the cyborg's surprisingly soft touch.
"Thanks," Grif muttered.
"You're welcome. Let's go."
Grif allowed himself to be steered back to their bunk, where Simmons laid him on his side. He could feel the heat radiating off him as he rearranged the towel down his back. It had already gone from cold to cool on the short walk.
Simmons left him for a minute to root around in a cabinet across the room. Grif caught the occasional murmurings of "know it's here somewhere" and "where'd I put it? Aha!"
"Okay, Grif, this part is going to suck but you'll feel better after," Simmons said, a little uncertain. "Just trust me."
"Dude, I trust you, Jedi Master, do your thing," Grif groaned with another little shiver. There was a touch of desperation in his voice now.
Simmons peeled the warm towel off and Grif let out a strangled curse at his existence.
"All right, where's it hurt the worst?" He asked.
"I don't know. Everywhere. My everything hurts!" Grif whined, scrunching his face.
The cyborg fought down a laugh, but having been there, done that, he couldn't stop a chuckle. Grif shot him a glare, but there was no heart behind it.
"Let's just start with your shoulder, okay?" Simmons snorted.
Simmons sat on the edge of the bed and held up a label-less bottle of lime-green goo.
"What's that supposed to be?" Grif asked, staring.
"It's aloe. The good stuff. It's even got lidocaine in it," Simmons replied, twisting off the cap. He squeezed out a generous handful and set the bottle on the floor.
"I admire your enthusiasm. Fine. Load me up," Grif sighed, presenting his shoulder. "But be gentle with me!"
Simmons shook his head and was tempted to smack his sunburn already. Instead, he leaned over and got to work spreading a thin layer over the poor tortured skin.
Grif couldn't stop a hiss at the blessedly cool sensation. He dimly imagined an ice cube in a hot frying pan.
Simmons made his way across the once pale patches on his Grif's back. The moment he knew it was working was when Grif finally relaxed and let out a little... Mewl? What? Regardless, the sound made Simmons's stomach jump.
"What the hell was that? Did you just meow?" Simmons laughed.
"Shut up. Noise of appreciation. I'm vulnerable and possibly dying, don't make fun." Grif gave him such a pitiful look, Simmons synthetic heart skipped. "Besides, I don't meow, I… purr, I guess. Yeah, its been described as a purr."
"Jesus Christ," muttered Simmons, smirking. "I can't believe you've never had a sunburn before."
"Ugh, are you sure I can't just --ow-- live in the shower? I think I could be happy there."
The cyborg squeezed out another handful of aloe and leaned around Grif to get at his side. The man's mismatched eyes fluttered closed and he made another noise in his throat that made the cyborg's stomach tight. An unsteady breath escaped him and he squirmed ever so slightly.
"No, you'll prune," Simmons mumbled, working his way up Grif's smooth chest.
"Hnnn, don't care," Grif straight up *moaned* when the aloe touched his collar bone. When he spoke again, his voice was a throaty growl. "Oh, my god, Simmons you are a miracle worker with that shit."
"Jesus, it's j-just aloe," Simmons felt his face flush and hoped Grif didn't notice his stutter.
Thank goodness Grif's eyes were cl--…open? Of course. Mental flinch. What was that look? Why were his eyes so dark? Simmons definately didn't look at the way his wet chestnut hair was sticking to his cheek.
"You're blushing," he stated simply.
"Whu-? N-no, you're hallucinating," Simmons's voice comes out a little shriller than he'd planned. "Maybe you have sun stroke! Maybe I have a sunburn, too!"
"Why would I hallucinate you blushing?" Grif's voice seemed to get louder, more serious. He winced and pushed himself up to look Simmons in the eye.
The cyborg leaned away, holding his sticky green hands in the air.
"Omigod, FINE, be quiet or I'll slap your sunburn! It's only because you're making those… noises," Simmons's voice became so shrill and fast, dogs on Chorus probably cocked their heads. He could hear his pulse in his ears now and felt his neck flush darker than Grif's sunburn. "Someone's gonna hear you!"
"You wouldn't dare," this time Grif smirked, pushing himself closer to Simmons's face so they were almost touching. His eyes rested on the other soldier's lips, his hand came up to touch Simmons's cheek and he *purred, goddamn it, he actually purred, "Have I ever mentioned how adorable that look is on you?"
Simmons played it cool, Simmons style, obviously. By only *almost* melting off the bed. Grif thought fast and grabbed Simmons's arm to yank him back. He grunted when his skin flared again, but Simmons was too dazed to notice.
"Y-you may have mentioned it," he squeaked, dazed.
"I love that after all this time, I can still get you all flustered," Grif groaned, pulling him closer.
"I am *n-not* flustered," Simmons's reply was indignant, but his crimson face attested to his guilt. He was panting slightly and still had his hands in the air. There was a time and place for this in the privacy of their own roo-- ohhh. He forgot.
"Come here," Grif breathed, tugging at him.
"Grif, my hands are still all goopy," Simmons gasped, leaning over him.
"Relax, I'm still fried to a crisp. I'm sure we'll need it," Grif responded huskily. "You missed a spot."
He craned his head back, offering his pink neck. Simmons, a little uncertainly, put his hand on the spot. He squirmed again when Grif let out a soft sigh at the sensation.
"I told you I'd fix you up," Simmons whispered.
"You always fix me up, nerd," Grif's hand encircled the back of Simmons's neck gently, tugging him closer.
"If you… would listen to me.. Occasionally... Maybe.." Simmons's heart still pounded in his chest. He couldn't take his eyes off Grif's.
"Maybe what?" Grif gave a throaty chuckle, playing with the ginger hair.
Simmons closed his eyes and the distance between them. Lips met and it was like an electric shock ran through both of them. Grif groaned into the kiss and the sound made Simmons shiver. It was Simmons's turn to whine when another arm wrapped firmly around his waist. His slick hand slipped against Grif's sunburnt jaw.
Grif hissed at the unpleasant friction and drew back regretfully. Was he pouting? He was pouting.
"Ow, Simmons, my face huuuuurts!" He whinged pathetically.
The cyborg chuckled, and rubbed his goopy hand along Grif's jaw, his cheek (his eyes fluttered closed again) and forehead. He sighed softly again.
"Just lay back, I'll go get some Tylenol. Did we learn a lesson from all this?" Simmons asked, touching Grif's nose.
"When it comes to sunburns, gingers know best."
"Damn skippy," Simmons replied, standing up. He smiled.
Author's Notes
This was so much fun. I can't get them to just hook up but I can definitely say i, as a ginge, have often asked myself these questions. Particularly in the dead of summer.