Author's Note:
Warning for referenced sex while drunk and referenced non-consensual vampire turning in later chapters.
"I'm going to die one day and it'll be all your fault."
Grif paused in his eating, looking over his shoulder to where Simmons was standing in the doorway, shirt pulled up and covering his nose.
"Why do you say that?" Grif asked, pasta sauce around his mouth and staining his shirt.
Simmons made a frantic gesture around the room, an inarticulate noise escaping his throat as he pointed at Grif's meal to himself and back a few times.
Grif raised an eyebrow, staring at Simmons. "I have no idea why you expect me to know what any of that was."
"Grif! You're eating Italian!"
"So?"
"So!" Simmons screeched, hiking his shirt even higher over his nose as if it would make the smell go away faster. "Do you have any idea what that shit will do to me?"
"Who cares? It's just pas – Oh."
"Oh, that's all you can say when you almost murder me?"
Grif shrugs, taking another bite of his spaghetti. "Well, it's not like you're the one eating it."
"Proximity, Grif! What if you touched something and contaminated it! I could be one touch away from going into anaphylactic shock."
"Then I won't touch anything."
Simmons looked at Grif, his face an unimpressed scowl. "You just wiped your hands on the couch."
Grif stared at where his hand was unconsciously wiping against the fabric. "Uh, no I didn't."
"I just saw you do it!"
"Jeez, Simmons. I don't think the blackout curtains are doing so well, the sun must be in your eyes. You're seeing things."
"Yeah, seeing you be a jackass."
Grif grinned wickedly, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh no, Simmons, you've hurt my feelings. I think I need a hug to feel better."
Simmons stared at Grif, mouth agape behind his t-shirt. "You wouldn't."
Grif just smiled.
"Oh shit."
Simmons darted away, lighter on his feet than Grif and speeding down the hall and up the stairs with Grif lumbering after him, arms spread open for a hug.
"Come on, Simmons. One hug won't kill ya!"
"It might!"
Once Simmons was out of sight, Grif stopped, turning back towards the living room so he could finish his meal.
Living with a vampire meant having to deal with a garlic-free home. He had to figure out how to get his pasta somehow.
