Tossing stuff one is ashamed of into the mouth of a volcano can become a surprisingly crowded ordeal.
Pairings Beyond Grimmons:
~Palomo x Jensen
Other Notes for This Story:
~This story was inspired by the awesome blankslate101, who came up with the neat idea for Simmons to inadvertently be there somehow when Grif hurled the volleyballs into the volcano. Admittedly, the prompt got a bit carried away from there.
~Written for the 15kinks comm on Dreamwidth. The prompt was "Libra: #9 Apology Sex."
~Spoilers abound for all of Season 15.
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
The Difference Between Magma and Lava
The rocky ground crunched softly underneath Dexter Grif's armored feet as he paused at the very edge of the volcano's mouth, a bag hefted over his shoulder. Even with his armor on and the cooling system in overdrive, the orange-wearing man felt a sheen of sweat form on his brow. Holy fuck, it was hot up here!
Grif glanced off to his left, where the Evil Volcano Lair was located. "Evil Volcano Lair" being Donut's name choice for the area, not his. Grif admitted that the title had a certain ring to it, as it was later picked up by Jax for the film version of the Reds and Blues' story.
As he stood there, watching the volcanic activity, the heavyset soldier couldn't help but wonder if someone had been told to pick up Gene yet. Eh, Simmons would probably do it eventually. Once the nerd was done talking to Dylan about whatever it was he had taken the reporter aside to stutter about.
Right now, Grif was up here for a very specific, non-Gene-related reason and, once he was through with it, he was going to calmly walk down this fiery death trap and maybe even see how Caboose and Kai's efforts to retrieve Lopez's sunken head were going as the ship got prepped for its return flight to Chorus.
The weight of the bag called to him, so Grif held the sack of offending spherical objects as far away from his person as his arm would allow.
"Well," Grif stated rather conversationally to the bag's contents, "It's been something, I guess." He glanced back the way he had come momentarily before turning his attention back to the object in his hand, giving its contents a little shake for added measure, "But now that I've got the real assholes back, I don't really need to be lugging around you symbolic representations of my guilt and loneliness. Or whatever."
He could almost hear the cacophony of angry, volatile protests that sounded a lot like his admittedly awesome impressions of his friends through the sack in reply. Save for Church's impersonated voice, because that particular asshole had gone silent ever since Grif had forgotten to put air in him.
Yeah. It was probably time to chuck the bag before the volleyballs started mysteriously showing up on their own whenever he was in the middle of a shower.
Again.
With as mighty a heave as he could muster, Grif tossed the sack high into the air before him.
It soared, opening about halfway through its descending arc because (whoops!) he forgot to tie the damn thing up. Colorfully painted volleyballs began soaring freely though the sky before ultimately falling to their fiery fate down below.
Distantly, a faint "Ow!" could be heard from Gene as Volleyball!Sarge managed to travel far enough to strike him on the back of his helmet where he was still precariously hanging on to a ledge for dear life. But, eh, Grif could care less because Simmons had been totally right about that guy being annoying as fuck.
The tan-skinned man turned to leave, his mismatched eyes catching sight of a flash of something small and resembling a data drive soaring into the lava down below. He followed the path of trajectory back to its source, both his green eye and brown eye landing on an all-too familiar figure in maroon armor who was just now lowering his cybernetic arm from its obvious throwing position.
The cyborg had made good distance with whatever it was he had thrown using his robot overlord strength. It had melted quicker than the balls had too.
"Simmons?" Grif asked in surprise before he could stop himself, forgetting for a moment that he had come here by himself because the volleyballs were a bit challenging to explain. The look that Locus had given him through his steel-and-green helmet back when Grif had insisted on bringing the balls along for the rescue mission had said it all, especially since it had come from a guy who was probably well-acquainted with crazy.
"G—Grif?" Simmons started at finally having noticed that he had not been the only one to make this ridiculous trek, glancing at the gloomy, burning nothing all around them before nervously rubbing the back of his helmet, "You…uh, really had to throw away a bunch of volleyballs for some reason?"
"You know I don't kid about doing something as painfully needless as cleaning, Simmons." Grif told him exasperatedly.
"Right." A nod, and Simmons was giving him a look from beneath his visor. The same damn look Locus had given him, no doubt.
"What were you doing?" Grif asked curiously, hoping to change the subject.
"Oh! Um…I had some cleaning to do too!" Simmons said as he shifted awkwardly on his feet, looking as downright sheepish as a guy could get in head-to-toe body armor, which was about as sheepish as they had both been before that interrupting Jax had totally cock-bloc-…er, never mind.
"Really?" Grif asked, raising an eyebrow, "In a volcano?"
"Yeah. Y—yeah." Simmons repeated the word as if that would make things all the more clear, shifting again on the spot where he still nervously stood and looking pointedly not at Grif, "I wanted…to get rid of an old interview clip."
"A simple delete wouldn't have been enough to cover up the embarrassment, huh?" The orange-armored soldier teased.
Simmons seemed to shrink into himself, still not meeting Grif's visor, "N—not really. It was…" Simmons paused, sounding almost pained, "It was from after you quit." He turned to regard another patch of volcanic rock, "After we left."
Oh, oh! The light went off in Grif's brain then and he smiled self-deprecatingly, "That bad, huh?"
"Grif…" Simmons finally turned to look at him, tone hesitant and regretful, "I—"
"It's fine, Simmons." Grif cut him off, "I was upset. You were upset." He sighed as he glanced up at the cloudy sky above their heads and the billowing smoke rising from the volcano, "We both said shit we wish we hadn't, so let's just drop it. Okay?"
For a moment, Grif thought that Simmons might try to argue with his all too desperate-sounding plea, but then the redhead weakly nodded his head instead.
Grif's sigh of relief was clearly audible even with the various volcano noises going on around them. He took a step towards the other man, planning on taking Simmons by the elbow and getting the hell away from this spot, "Come on then, we should—"
"Grif?" Simmons speaking up again halted his tracks, the maroon-wearing Sim Trooper pointing to something on the ground behind the tan-skinned man, "What is that?"
Grif turned around cautiously, dread pooling in his gut at the realization that a volleyball with a maroon helmet painted on it had somehow survived the air trip. The offending object was now staring up at him from the ground with its usual accusing, mocking gaze.
"Well, shit." Grif muttered glumly, refusing to meet Simmons' questioning gaze, "This is all sorts of awkward."
Behind him, Simmons remained absolutely still and silent.
Neither of them said a word on their way down the volcano, though Richard "Dick" Simmons did finally remember to at least tell Andersmith about Gene so that someone could go get him once they rejoined the others. Although, seriously, fuck that guy.
Simmons was too lost in his thoughts to talk. He couldn't stop from remembering the way Grif had picked up the crudely painted volleyball version of himself, how the heavyset man had stared at it almost fondly as he muttered "I'll probably miss you most of all, frie—buddy, right that's better. Even if you were a giant asshole too." before he hurled it back over the volcano edge. They watched the thing start to melt even before it had the chance to hit the lava.
Grif had started back to the ship silently then, Simmons trailing after him. The "Do you want to talk about it?" that nearly passed the cyborg's lips seemed too heavy and painful to voice out loud as he watched the way Grif's shoulders sagged. The maroon-armored soldier tried to not take his sudden refusal to meet Simmons' eyes too personally.
So, that was the mystery behind the volleyballs that Grif had been so desperate to try and hide. The only reason Simmons had ever found out about it was because he had been so desperate to get rid of that horrible interview with Dylan, back when he had been upset about Grif staying behind and trying to remain in denial as to just why he had been upset.
Grif had been so fucking lonely on that moon after they had left (abandoned) him there that he had tried to fill the void with poorly made replicas.
It was both creepy and touching in a way. But, ultimately? Ultimately it was more depressing than anything else, a further reminder of just how much of an ass Simmons had been for leaving and not saying anything. The truth was, he had been too shocked, too stunned for words at the time. He had been immensely hurt and angry too. With Grif.
But, still, more than anything else, he had missed the fucking asshole.
At least he had finally admitted that much. Now he was just glad that Grif was back, and he wanted Grif to know that at least one person actually wanted him around. And he had been glad to find out that Grif had wanted him around too.
Simmons had frozen up about the Hate Glue remark though, because he was absolutely dumb and useless when it came to dealing with the stuff that really mattered.
Of course, he knew that they both were like that more often than not. Neither of them could just say what they were truly feeling if they thought there was a chance that it could possibly delve into too heavy, too real, too emotional a territory. They'd rather try to cover it up by outright lying, making excuses, or simply denying whatever was going on in the first place.
Fuck, they had been an awkward mess of denial even before the Temple of Procreation incident. But maybe, and the still flesh and blood portion of Simmons' face turned absolutely red at the notion and he could feel the circuitry under his face plating starting to heat up because he could not actually believe he was even thinking this, maybe there was a way for Grif and Simmons to finally get past their emotional constipation?
Actions spoke louder than words. Sometimes. Maybe.
…If Simmons didn't panic and throw up first, that is.
The ship ride back to Chorus was probably going to be rather uneventful, save for getting through the usual security checkpoints and the shit with the planetary blockade. So, Grif took the opportunity to slip out of Kai's surprisingly ironclad grip. She had looked at him questioningly for a moment, but eased up when he assured her that he had no immediate plans to jump out of their ride into outer space. Then, she quickly went back to asking Jensen for the deal on her "totally hot volleyball friend."
Kai's conversation caused something of a lurching feeling in his stomach along with the usual exasperation at his sister's antics, but he tried quelling it down by steadfastly denying it all the same. His eyes wandered over to Tucker and Caboose.
They hovered around Carolina in one of the transport's side-rooms while Doc checked her vitals to the best of his lack of any real medical knowledge would allow. The youngest Blue was talking excitedly about how they would all have to bring Washington back ice cream when they visited him at the hospital. It wasn't shocking that apparently Caboose equated getting shot through the throat and nearly dying with having one's tonsils removed, not that having ice cream after either circumstance wouldn't be awesome in Grif's book. The orange-wearing man avoided that group for the moment, figuring they needed some space after all that had happened.
He spied Sarge attempting to somehow cobble together a new body for Lopez out of spare parts that had been lying around the ship and a shoestring that Caboose had found earlier, while Donut volunteered to keep the older man and the robot's head company. He could hear Lopez's electronic lament that he hadn't actually minded the ocean after all as he passed by his fellow Red Team trio.
The other lieutenants were busy flying the ship. Well, Bitters was at any rate, after he had conversed with Matthews that they were all fine earlier. Palomo was probably offering his commentary on everything they were passing by intermittently, gushing about his relationship with Jensen as Andersmith took up the actual co-piloting. The journalist lady and her cameraman had evidently tagged along so that she could inquire more about the ongoing situation on Chorus, although she was frustrated by Bitters' angry one-word responses.
As for Simmons, well he had no idea where the fuck the cyborg was now, actually. Grif hadn't seen him since they had boarded the ship. No doubt Simmons was staunchly trying his hardest to avoid him given how crazy he had revealed himself to have gotten after everyone had left him behind.
It really wasn't shocking and it only hurt…well, like a bitch, but he was sort-of used to that now. He kind of deserved it after all, right?
Grif wandered into an empty side-room to promptly shed his armor, figuring that maybe he could catch a few z's before Kai or someone else came looking for him.
He hadn't slept too well on the moon by himself, especially not after the volleyballs showed up to mock him for even attempting to do so. But, with all of them molten and everyone actually around him now, maybe…
"Grif?"
Grif paused at the soft knock on the side of the now open doorway, turning around to see Simmons standing there awkwardly. At some point, SImmons had put on the standard issue clothing the lieutenants had brought along with them for the Reds and Blues.
Grif's stomach was back to being nothing but a pit of nerves, anxiety, and regret at the sight as he swallowed dryly, "Oh, um, hey, buddy."
Yeah, he made a face then. Grif still hadn't figured out the right word to convey just how he felt for the dumbass nerd yet. Not that it probably mattered much now, since Simmons was likely to have come by just to end whatever it was that lay between them in light of the whole being crazy issue.
The thought hurt and had him wanting to panic and run out the door that the redhead was currently blocking, just to delay the inevitable. But, Simmons stepped inside the room with a thoughtful frown and locked the door behind him, nixing Grif's escape plan.
Okay, Simmons really wanted him to hear it, huh? Grif could almost feel tears starting to pinprick his mismatched eyes even though he never cried. It was stupid because he deserved this and…
His thoughts stopped when he glanced at a red-faced Simmons' mouth, set into a grim line of determination. Had the maroon-wearing man fucking practiced this because he was just that much of a perfectionist nerd? Simmons swiftly marched across the scant distance between them in his long-legged, awkward stride.
He looked Grif squarely in the eyes and opened his mouth to say the dreaded words and insults that were no doubt coming Grif's way. His flesh and blood hand went up too because apparently he wanted to punch Grif for good measure as well. At least he wasn't going to use the cyborg one. Simmons had every right to hit him and so what if Grif flinched because this hurt so fucking much already…
But then Simmons' slightly shaking fingers gently brushed against the side of his face, ghosting over the bruises and cuts that were there from when Grif had fallen in that asshole Temple's evil lair.
"Promise me you'll get those looked at back on Chorus." Simmons said softly, his hand's warmth still lingering on the side of Grif's face.
A stunned Grif felt the blood rushing to his cheeks, no doubt causing his paler one to almost match the red of Simmons' hair. "…Okay?" He managed to get out, unsure as to what was going on because this was the weirdest "get out of my life, asshole" conversation he had ever experienced.
A shy, sort-of smile of relief crossed over Simmons' face then before he suddenly leaned in, his lips on Grif's.
The kiss was as hesitant and unsure at first as one would expect a kiss initiated by Simmons to be, but as it lingered, Simmons became rather emboldened by the fact that Grif didn't push him away in disgust (as if he ever would) and it became much more earnest.
Grif responded in turn once his brain clicked in that this was actually happening and it wasn't just one of his way-too-good-to-be-true dreams. He kissed Simmons back just as desperate, just as passionate, just as yearning.
The whole thing reminded Grif of a certain incident in a storage closet awhile back, but there was so much more behind the exchange now than just a lust-filled urge to act on pent-up frustration and years of unresolved tension. The kiss was desperate, yes, but softer too. It spoke of something more underneath it all.
When they finally pulled apart for air, Grif's arms had snaked around Simmons' waist without his having realized it and the cyborg's arms could be felt around his neck. Simmons' face was as red as his own no doubt was, but there was a spark of something in his still human eye all the same.
There wasn't that awkward, uncomfortableness hanging over them like there had been moments after the Temple of Procreation incident, when they had started to realize just how much the status quo between the two of them had changed over the years. Back then, neither of them had been sure of how to process that knowledge just then because feelings were something they both sucked at.
Instead, their individual grips now tightened around the other even more, drawing the pair closer in a mutual embrace. For a moment, they remained in a comfortable, altogether soothing silence. Grif felt relaxed for the first time in…well, it had been fucking forever.
Simmons let out a soft breath, "I'm sorry."
"Hmm?" Grif replied dreamily, nearly not catching the very earnest but whispered comment.
Only Simmons' tone brought him back to reality from where he had been up on cloud nine.
Simmons bit his lip, looking like a lost puppy as he lowered his gaze, "For…for freezing up before. For leaving and getting angry. For that awful interview, and for not telling you just how…" he swallowed thickly, arms shaking but tightening a fraction more around Grif as if scared the other would pull away at any second, "Grif, I'm so sorry and I meant what I said before. I'm so glad you're back and—!"
Grif cut him off by pulling the lanky nerd impossibly closer still, smiling at the surprised squeak he managed to illicit from the other man through his action. "It wasn't my finest moment either, Simmons," he reminded him, "We were both assholes."
"B—but…"
Grif lifted his feet up slightly so that he could press his forehead against Simmons' lowered one, "I'm sorry too, Simmons." He told him emphatically, "And I, for one, am fucking glad to be back."
The orange-wearing soldier further emphasized his point, cutting off any further protest from Simmons by sealing his mouth firmly against his. The action stunned the other man into silence, and it was only a moment before he was returning the gesture with interest.
"Fuck," Grif commented once they finally pulled apart again, "If throwing shit into a volcano can kick things up this much, we should have done it a long time ago."
Simmons rolled his eyes, his hand resting on Grif's face again, "Moron." He muttered fondly. Unlike with that asshole volleyball version of him, Simmons' exasperated tone was warm. The word was underlined by all of the emotions they always had so much difficulty saying out loud.
"Oh, admit it, Simmons! That was a sick burn!" Grif joked back just as fondly, "Get it?"
Simmons laughed, the sound musical in all the best ways possible as he pulled Grif back towards him again, "I really am glad you're back, Grif."
Grif's lips found their way to Simmons' neck, his hold on the redhead's waist tightening even more, "Me too, Simmons. Me too."
The ride back to Chorus ended up being way more eventful than Grif had expected it to be. After a finally decent sleep, he woke up in a pile of hastily tossed aside clothing with his arms still holding a naked Simmons flush against his chest as close as was physically possible. For once, Grif definitely felt he had no reason at all to complain about having something to do.
Author's Notes: Title for this story is meant to represent Grif and Simmons' dynamic in a way, as the only real difference between lava and magma is that magma is the molten liquid rock that is trapped underneath a volcano while lava is the molten liquid rock that has broken through the crust and is visible on the surface. It could be symbolic for emotions and passions burning hot and I could say I was attempting to be super-deep with the title choice here, but really I was just having a hard time coming up with something else to call this work. XD
Holy moly though! Considering that I wasn't sure I would even be able to write anything at all this week because my schedule turned out to be way more hectic and busier than usual, I ended up writing THREE things! XD I'm so happy that I got to update Pillow Talk twice since I can be pretty sporadic with updating this story collection compared to my WIPs, and I'm totally blaming copious and extremely unhealthy amounts of caffeine for the surprising burst in writing activity! XD The crash will be a painful one to be sure once my lack of sleep catches up with me, but it was fun all the same while it lasted! :D
I hope you enjoyed both story updates here this week, even if my writing of those more intimate moments still leaves a lot to be desired. XD Thank you for reading! :D
