Simmons was just getting more and more pissed off. This just wasn't fucking fair. He'd left the reds because at least that way he wouldn't have to deal with them not listening to orders. But even now- with Grif as his prisoner- he was still being ignored and disrespected. Fucking fantastic.
"This is so fun," Grif yelled, zooming through the teleporter and laughing as Simmons yelled even louder at him. God, Grif must really love pissing him off.
"You're my prisoner! When I say 'stop' you're supposed to stop Grif! That's how prisoners of war get killed! Just- Jesus will you quit it!?"
"No way, it's too fuuuuuun!" Grif yelled. And yeah, maybe jumping in and out of teleporter seemed a little enjoyable, but not as much fun as Grif seemed to be having. It made Simmons wonder if perhaps there was another motive at play here. Maybe Grif wanted to continue to undermine his authority, even from the opposite team. And that, that made Simmons even more volatile.
Simmons let loose a snarl and tossed his gun aside so he didn`t try and shoot one of his only real friends. He whirled around and clenched and unclenched his fists, burning to punch him as hard as he could. "Why do you never listen to me? Why does anything I say mean so little to you, Grif!"
His fist flew into the wall and some of the plaster there fell away. He didn`t get the full effect of the crumbling sheets as he turned around and started pacing again, using the momentum of the thrown punch to push himself around full circle. He was at the boiling point, ready to spit red hot and painful at anyone who got too close.
Grif sprung out of the teleporter and stumbled into a wall, no longer laughing.
"Jesus Simmons, is that really what you think?"
Simmons tore off his helmet and whirled around, tossing it on the ground. Inside that thing it was stuffy and he could barely breathe when he was this mad anyway, he didn't need the added stress of struggling for a decent mouthful of air.
"Well what else am I supposed to think! You never listen to me-if I'm passing on orders or otherwise! You just say 'oh that's nice, Simmons' and then go back to whatever you were doing!" he grit his teeth and hated how he always teared up when he gets mad. Hated it so much he could scream. Louder than he was already, that is. "You treat me like I'm something to be tolerated, Grif!"
"I'm just trying to get you to relax a little! I want you to get your head out if Sarge's ass and be my -my friend!" Grif hollered back, as Simmons ran a hand through his hair.
"That's what you want? You want us to be friends? Jesus, Grif, I've been trying to do that for-" Simmons took a harsh breath and was fucking glad Grif had finally stopped jumping now. "I don't understand you. At all. You make no sense and it`s frustrating as hell! Why do you say you want to be my friend but then ignore me completely? Why are you so concerned about how I kiss up to Sarge? Why do you get so frustrated when I'm just trying to do my job the best I can?"
That`s the moment Simmons watched Grif snap in. He`d never seen it happen before, not with the blues, not with Donut, and not with him, not even with Sarge. But it happened before his eyes. He yanked off his orange helmet and stormed close, so many emotions boiling on his face Simmons could hardly catalogue them all. Anger, confusion, sadness, desperation. And then Grif did the unthinkable and bridged the small distance between them and the infinite distance between their mouths.
Lips pressed together, hot and chapped ones on cool and smooth- as the other always imagined they would be. Grif broke them apart to gasp, "Because instead kissing up, you could have been kissing me."
Something wells deep in his chest and pushes Simmons deeper in Grifs arms.
"That was the worst fucking line I've ever heard. I can't believe you said that with a straight face." He slid one hand up and cupped the back of Grifs neck with a grin and he pulled him down, just enough to press their lips together again, body zinging through with electricity. He yanked away reluctantly as he heard yelling out in front of his base.
"Oh shit," Grif whispered, "Sarge couldn't possibly have come to save me, could he?"
"I really, honestly doubt it." Simmons laughed a little and went to see what was going on out front, careful to grab his helmet and put it on again. But not without turning back and grabbing Grif again, kissing him deep and quick and dirty, and tugging through Grifs hair for a change, instead of his own, "If he tries I'll give him the fight he's always wanted with the blues."