A/N: Well, here I am with another drabble, and so soon! Be amazed. I think I'm going to try to write a drabble a day until the New Year…Which will suck just like this one. Well, maybe a little less.
Edit: Apparently isn't working right now, so I have to post up my drabbles later. Sorry to anyone who cares. All…one of you.
Genre: Humor/Romance
Pairings: Grif/Simmons
Rating: T for swearing?
Warnings: In this, Simmons is able to drink liquids. Live with it. (I honestly don't remember if he can or not after being turned into a cyborg.) Also, slightly fluffy at the end, I suppose.
Summary: Cold lemonade on a hot day in a box canyon. It's best not to question good luck, or to try a cyborg's patience when it involves their body parts you're currently using.
Disclaimer: They weren't mine five minutes ago, they aren't mine now. And in five minutes, they still won't be mine.

What's Yours is Mine, What's Mine is Yours

For some reason, command had sent them a huge crate of lemons. The crate had come, just out of the blue. Upon seeing the crate's contents, being the type of guy he was, Donut set straight away to making lemonade.

The sun was bearing down on the soldiers, as per usual, there were no ice cubes, the lemons had arrived steaming hot (Grif swore they were melting to which Sarge ordered Simmons so bash the orange Spartan's head in with a lemon), they hadn't had water for a long time, but somehow Donut had managed to hand them all freezing cups of lemonade. It wasn't bitter, either. No, it indeed was sweet, with the barest trace of sourness mixed in.

Grif took another gulp of his drink, relishing the feel of the cold liquid cascading down his throat that had been abused through years of drinking and smoking. Simmons mimicked his actions, though opting instead to sip rather than gulp his lemonade.

"You know, if you don't slow down, Grif, you'll start hiccupping. You could also get an upset stomach," Simmons lectured.

"Why do you care?" Grif replied, drinking his lemonade faster out of spite.

"Because, cockbite, those are my organs you're screwing up."

"Not anymore." Grif was glad their helmets were off; Simmons could see his smirk and he could see the disbelieving, and hateful, glare form Simmons.

Grif finished off what was in his glass before setting it down besides him. He grinned triumphantly at Simmons who did nothing but glare at him in return. Then, after a minute of silence, Simmons leaned over abruptly and claimed Grif's lips with his own. It was a brief kiss, but still furious. When Simmons broke away, it was his turn to smirk at Grif's unbelieving features. A beat later, when his heart had calmed down considerably, the orange Spartan was able to stammer a response to his teammate's actions.

"W-what the hell?!"

"Those are still my body parts. I was just claiming them," Simmons replied, his voice teasingly mocking.

"By kissing me?"

"Yes. Sarge told me that, among almost everything else, you got my upper lip." Simmons took a sip of his lemonade, Grif unable to move his gaze away from the maroon soldier. "Ah. Donut's lemonade is really refreshing, but it tastes better on my- our lips."