Awkward situation with Simmons? Check! Grif doing something completely unexpected? Check!
Pairings Beyond Grimmons:
~Background Bitthews
Other Notes for This Story:
~Set some undefined time after the events of Season 17, so vague SPOILERS exist.
~Written for the 15kinks comm on Dreamwidth. The prompt was "Libra: #12 Your Choice." I went with "Possessiveness" for the theme! :D
Legal Disclaimer: I do not own Red vs. Blue or any of the show's characters. They are the rightful properties of Rooster Teeth.
Dibs and Fireworks
The thunderous booming sound overhead was deafening. Dexter Grif quickly closed his eyes in response, realizing too late that saving his pupils from the festive fireworks wasn't the same thing as protecting his eardrums. A myriad of colorful sparks still flitted on the back of his eyelids all the same as rockets went off a little too close for his comfort. Damn it. How was anyone supposed to nap through this shit in peace? Grif didn't open his dark-colored eyes again until the acrid smell of smoke dissipated, and the bright spots of firework remains once more dimmed to utter darkness.
"Oops." The orange-armored soldier heard an all too familiar, kiss-ass voice sheepishly intone off to the side, leaving Grif to wonder if there was an airduct or something big enough for him to dive into to avoid being spotted by his former squad members. Damn these places for not assuming heavier set individuals might need to make quick getaways too!
"Oops?" Another familiar voice gruffly repeated, sounding both impressively apathetic and incredulous all at once, "You nearly blew up two of Chorus' great heroes on our Independence Day and that's all you have to say, Matthews?"
"I…I tripped!" A panic-stricken Matthews responded, "You were supposed to be helping me, Bitters!"
"I got a text." Antoine Bitters shrugged indifferently as he spoke before trying to reassure his anxious teammate, "Besides, despite what I said before, no one actually did get blown up. You didn't fuck it all up."
"Only fucking barely." Grif muttered under his breath.
"Sirs!" Matthews at least seemed to remember that it was probably a good time to check up on his potential victims, "Are you okay? I'm so, so sorry!"
Grif sighed but didn't bother getting up from his admittedly comfortable position on the ground, "If I still had the power to do so, I'd demote both of you."
Matthews sobbed dramatically, and Grif saw Bitters consoling him with a quick hand to shoulder gesture he'd deny doing if anyone so much as brought attention to it, "But you don't anymore and you seem fine so," Bitters grabbed Matthews' shoulder once more as Grif watched the pair disinterestedly, pulling the auburn-haired young man steadily away, "Let's go and give them some privacy, Matthews."
"B—but…!" Matthews deflated in defeat, calling over his shoulder as his dark-skinned teammate hurried him along, "Sorry again, sirs!"
Admittedly, it probably hadn't been a great idea to nap close by the area where people would be testing fireworks in the park for tonight's Chorus' Independence Day festivities. In Grif's defense, there hadn't been testing going on when he'd first arrived at his napping spot of choice, and he'd been too lazy to move out of the way once it started. Besides, the chubby soldier was mildly protesting the Independence Day event for not including barbecue, a tragedy on par with interrupted naps.
It had probably been a good thing that Simmons had wandered from Washington's hospital room, no doubt finding the place as crowded as Grif had earlier with all of the other Reds and Blues loudly gathered around waiting for the former Freelancer to recover. Honestly, if the maroon-armored solider hadn't found Grif and consistently nagged at him to get up, he probably would have slept through the mishap entirely and…
The tan-skinned man paused, suddenly remembering that he'd tackled the lanky cyborg to the ground right as the fireworks unexpectedly went off, thinking for a moment that they were under attack. Now his brain was registering that Simmons had become eerily silent ever since, even with his flesh-and-blood arm trapped under Grif's head like a surprisingly comfortable, makeshift pillow.
Grif glanced towards Simmons for the first time since his heroically pointless endeavor, noticing that the two Reds were lying together so close on the ground that he could feel Simmons' warm breath on his cheek and vice-versa. Shit. Grif could count all the freckles on Simmons' pale face if he really wanted to, which he secretly did.
The orange-wearing man shifted his weight slightly so that his head wasn't crushing Simmons' arm before a "fat-ass" joke could be uttered. His other arm shifted slightly too, his hand cupping something oddly soft and pleasant feeling. He paid it little mind in light of Simmons' continued stiff, wide-eyed silence.
"Simmons?" Grif asked as the uneasy quiet continued because either Simmons was panicking about what had nearly happened when the fireworks had gone off or maybe he'd even gotten hit and Grif hadn't noticed, "You okay, buddy?"
Without thinking, Grif leaned in closer to get a better look at Simmons, and that was when the redhead let out a self-conscious "Eep!" and tried awkwardly fidgeting away. Grif's grip on Simmons' lower body tightened marginally to prevent that from happening as he still technically hadn't really looked his teammate over for injury, and a blushing Simmons suddenly stilled as his green eyes, one a natural hue and the other artificial, trailed down towards Grif's hand then. Grif followed the pale-skinned man's gaze, only to freeze at what he saw.
His hand well and truly resting right on Simmons' ass. Grif felt his own face heating up at the predicament. No wonder Bitters had been so quick to vacate the area with Matthews before, making that snide little "privacy" comment, and why Simmons remained looking positively stricken.
The logical thing would be to simply remove his hand and act as if the whole thing was no big deal. After all, when it came to having awkward feelings in regards to his maroon-wearing teammate, Grif was very good at denial. But he was just so fucking comfortable like this, and Simmons being so close by was admittedly nice. So Grif felt his fingers slightly tighten for a moment of their own accord, "Dibs." He muttered under his breath at the exact same moment.
Simmons' eyes widened at the overheard remark, "D—did you just…?"
Grif yawned and tried to play it off as cool as possible, "Don't make it weird, Simmons."
For a brief moment, there was nothing but silence. Grif was fairly certain that Simmons would storm up and run away in a self-conscious, embarrassed hurry. But he was surprised when he felt the familiar weight of Simmons' cybernetic hand resting on his shoulder. Grif opened his eyes to a red-faced Simmons smiling slightly as he too shakily called out "Dibs." softly.
They both stared at one another for a few seconds before bursting out laughing, briefly pulling the other into a mutual hug as they whispered "kiss-ass" and "fat-ass" and all their other odd terms of endearment that were so distinctly Grif and Simmons. When the fireworks properly started up a little while later, the pair watched from their spot close by. Grif couldn't help but think that they'd have to stop by next year for this particular holiday, especially if he could convince the people of Chorus in the interim that it needed barbecue too.
He'd totally call dibs on that as well.
Author's Notes: Another cavity-inducing piece of fluff to add to my collection! :) I hope that you enjoyed it. I apologize for not writing last week and for this being a shorter story at that. I haven't been feeling too well, but hopefully next week I'll be able to write a larger update for you all! :D
Happy Independence Day to those who celebrate it, and thank you for reading! :)