A/N: Yes, I've jumped on the Grimmons bandwagon. Deal with it. This was partly inspired by all of Safety-Hazard-XDLOL's pretty pictures on deviantArt, which every Grimmons lover should go check out. Hop to it.
Second part should be out soon ;)
Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs Blue, that honor belongs solely to Rooster Teeth.
Simmons sat on the very end of the couch in Red base's rec room, staring stubbornly at the large flat screen television in front of him. "Stop it."
"Stop what?" Donut, perched as close to Simmons as he could possibly get without actually sitting on the other man's lap, shrugged one shoulder carelessly.
"Stop. It." Simmons repeated.
"I'm not doing anything."
"Yes you are. Stop it."
Donut sighed dramatically and leaned back a little. "Why won't you just say it?"
"Because there's nothing to say!" Simmons snapped, standing from the couch very suddenly and sending Donut tumbling back onto one elbow. He stalked away, toward the door, and turned back around half way instead. "It was nothing," he sighed. He ran one hand through his hair in a frustrated/tired gesture.
Donut righted himself and gave Simmons a long, hard look. "I don't believe that," he stated firmly. "And I don't think you do, either." He waited for a reply, and when the other Red soldier continued to stand where he was and stare at the wall, pressed on. "So…?"
"I…don't know," Simmons admitted. "I have no idea…what was he thinking?"
"I know what he was thinking," Donut flicked his blonde bangs from his eyes with a wicked little grin.
"Donut…" Simmons warned.
"Alright, alright," the lightish-red soldier relented at his teammate's strained look and patted the cushion beside him in invitation. "I'm sorry, I'll be serious."
Simmons shot him a dubious look before finally giving in and throwing himself into the small space between Donut and the arm of the couch. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, scrubbing furiously at his face with a low groan.
"You know, if you keep making those sounds even I might be tempted to-"
"Donut!"
"Okay! Fine!"
"What are you doing in here anyway?" Simmons demanded waspishly. "Shouldn't you be out on patrol or something?"
"It's raining, Simmons," Donut responded in his best 'duh' voice. "I don't want my armor to get rusty." He turned himself sideways on the couch and folded his thin legs underneath him. "Besides, you're avoiding the subject."
"There's no subject," Simmons argued.
"Grif just kissed you not twenty minutes ago," Donut said very bluntly. "I'd say that qualifies as a 'subject'."
"Yeah," Simmons agreed quietly, still leaning on his elbows and staring at the floor. "Yeah, he did. And I still can't believe I told you that, by the way."
Donut ignored the comment and leaned forward, eyes shining with interest. "And? What did you do?"
"…Nothing," Simmons shook his head. "I couldn't do anyth- OW! Why are you hitting me?"
"Idiot!" Donut all but shrieked, giving Simmons' shoulder another solid whack. "You've been moping after him for years, always trying to get his attention, always trying to get a reaction and you finally get one, and you do nothing? What. The. Hell. Is. Wrong. With. You?" The furious blonde punctuated each word with another slap to Simmons' person, forcing the much taller man into the corner of the couch and ignoring the fact that it was Simmons' cyborg arm he was currently beating. His hand was going to hurt like a bitch in the morning, but Donut found it difficult to care about that at the moment.
"Ow! Stop that- Donut!" Simmons reached around with his biological arm to shove Donut away from his metal left side, not wanting the younger soldier to hurt himself no matter how crazy he was being just then. "Okay, just sit down and- stop hitting me!" Simmons finally resorted to grabbing Donut by both shoulders and forcing him backward, losing his balance in the process and nearly crushing the petite blonde. He raised himself onto one arm and glared down at his attacker. "What the hell's gotten into you?"
Donut had fallen back onto the couch with an angry huff, making his bangs flutter around his flushed face, and glared right back at Simmons. "What's gotten into me?" he repeated. "What's gotten into me, Simmons, is that I am so sick of all the sexual tension in this base! Seriously, I could cut it with a spoon!"
Simmons felt his own face flush at Donut's forwardness. "That's not-"
"If you tell me 'that's not true', I will seriously beat you again!" Donut threatened as he tried to shove the tall redhead away from him. "I mean, it was bad enough in Blood Gulch, but now that we're here-"
"Well, what do you want me to do about it!" Simmons demanded, pushing Donut back down again to avoid another barrage of slaps. "You're right, okay? I've wanted it for so long, but now that I can finally do something about it, I have no idea what the fuck I'm doing!"
Donut dropped his hands from Simmons' shoulders with another, more irritated puff of air. "Fine," he relented, his anger cooling quickly. "But we will have to talk about it- Grif!"
Simmons pulled back and looked down at Donut in confusion. "I'm Simmons," he pointed out.
"No, dumbass!" Donut swatted at him until Simmons had moved far enough away to let him sit up on the couch. "Grif, wait!"
Simmons' blood turned to ice as he realized Donut was looking past him and swung around just in time to see the orange back of Grif's favorite t-shirt disappear around the doorframe and into the hall. "Oh, shit."
"'Oh shit' is right!" Donut hissed as he unceremoniously shoved Simmons off the couch. "Go after him!"
"What, right now?" Simmons sounded panicked.
"You'd better," Donut emphasized with another hard shove. "This looked pretty bad, Simmons. Hurry!"
"What looked…" Simmons trailed off as he realized what Grif must have seen just a few seconds before: he'd had Donut pinned to the couch, both flushed and breathless (from anger, although that was difficult to tell from a distance) and talking about sexual tension of all things. "Oh, fuck."
"Get going, you oblivious moron!" Donut kicked Simmons in the back of his legs to get him to move.
Simmons didn't need to be told again as he sprinted for the door.