Part XI

Grif revelled in the feel of Simmons' lips against his. They were unbelievably soft; they lacked what he would've called 'man texture'. But instead of dwelling on it, Grif only kissed him harder—dragging his tongue along Simmons' lower lip, tasting the man bellow him who responded by opening his mouth. They kissed leisurely for a moment, Grif's hand sliding down Simmons' chest and rubbing up his sides while similar hands that were wrapped around his shoulders rubbed down his spine. He was in the arms of a man he had lusted after, dreamed about... loved...

Simmons moaned into Grif's mouth, pushing the other soldier onto his back. He looked down at the ruffled man, smirking lightly. They stared at each other for a moment, a silent question hanging between them.

"Simmons... I want you to... um..." Simmons smiled; a soft, endearing smile. Grif blushed, turning his gaze away.

"Want me too..." Simmons pressed, leaning down to let his breath ghost over Grif's neck. "What do you want me to do?"

It was strange, to Grif, to have Simmons be this forward. He shifted, accidently rubbing his crotch up into the other man, eliciting a drawn out groan from the both of them. Grif panted, flesh fingers digging into Simmons' hip, his cyborg arm limp against his side—afraid to use it, afraid it would hurt the man above him. He chewed his lip, a nervous habit.

"I want you to... ma—make love... to me..." His voice became a whisper, a blush rising on his cheeks again in embarrassment. Simmons chuckled, ignoring Grif's nervous tittering, and pressed his lips to the trembling neck bellow him.

Grif was loathe to pull himself from the tangle of limbs. He was warm, he was comfortable, but he knew he couldn't stand down on the ground while his stomach was roaring the way it was. He blushed as he tugged the blanket off himself, exposing Simmons pale shoulder. A shoulder with a very visible bite mark... Grif shook his head, managing to stand.

It was strange to think that two days ago—or maybe it was three—he was stumbling around with barely a clue how to use this new limbs, yet now, here he was, only occasionally tripping. It was also strange to think that, over the last few days, he'd been thinking less and less about--- well, certain things.

Grif smiled; cheerful, happy, content. They were the best emotions he'd felt in a long while. But then reality hit him; he had to get back home. He sighed, pulling open a draw in the kitchen and taking out a notepad and pen. Now, to brainstorm.

He tapped the pen on the table, chewing his lip in thought. Hm, well, having sex didn't send him back... he dotted it down and then put a cross next to it. Maybe he had to knock himself over the head... that joined the last note. He spent the next half hour like this, taking notes, adding annotations, crossing out, adding in, ticking, putting a question mark next to. He still wasn't sure, but in the end Grif had a good list of what he should try. Just as he was leaning back in his chair with the intention of stretching, Simmons walked in.

"Hey." Grif smiled awkwardly, his heart skipping a beat. Simmons smiled back, walking up behind Grif and peering over his shoulder.

"What's this?"

"Um... a list of possible ways to get back?" Simmons stiffened, picking up the note pad and skimming over the words. He dropped it onto the table, walking stiff-backed over to the fridge. Grif watched him, unsure, nervous; his eyes wide.

"You had sex with me." Grif nodded, even thought Simmons couldn't see. The man stared into the fridge, shoulders straight and rigid. "Just so you could get back home." Simmons turned, eyes flashing with a dangerous light. He stalked over to Grif, leaning down close to his face, one hand on the table, the other on the back of the chair. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Grif flinched, looking away. "Don't! Don't you look away from me, Grif!" Simmons took a deep shuddering breath.

"I'm not... your Grif! I want to go home, even if I can't have you back there. Here... here I feel like an outsider! Like you're just accepting me so you can feel like you've got your fuck buddy back! Sure, I had sex with you. So what? Is it so wrong of me to want to try something I'd probably never get the change to fucking have again?" Grif took a gulp of air, trying to calm his fraying nerves and furiously beating heart. He took another gulp, fighting back angry tears, only to find he could not take another breath. He panicked, eyes going wide, hand flush against his chest. He tried again, gasping, but nothing would reach his lungs. Simmons, shocked, left the room to find Sarge at break-neck speed. Grif tried and tried, alternating between using his nose and mouth, but still could not breath. He stood up, tripping as he went to reach for the tap, and landed painfully on the ground.

Black dots formed before his eyes and, before he knew it, he was unconscious.