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Grif and Simmons never wanted to become a package deal. They didn’t want to be ‘Grif and Simmons’ but that’s just how the team saw them. Sure, they were closer with each other than the rest of the team, but mainly due to the hours of boredom back at Blood Gulch and Rat’s Nest. Neither of them particularly liked the other, talking to one another was just the logical thing to do to pass the time. Because, really, if you thought about it: bickering wasn’t friendliness. It was the result of them clashing too much, honestly, as they were two entirely different people.
He himself actually often saw them as a two in one special, Grif lamented as he and Simmons sat too close to each other on Iris’ beach. It was peaceful, rather beautiful. ‘Evenings’ on Iris lasted from about three while nine, where the atmosphere was auburn and the haze yellow. Simmons was working away on his tablet, it looked more like he was drawing, but Grif knew better than to ask. So instead, he just watched the tide roll in slowly as the orange simmer cast light upon the steady seas.
Grif turned to look at Simmons, the dedication on his face, the sunset reflected in his eyes. The human eye was startlingly brown, but Grif always saw the splashes of green. When Grif got one of Simmons’ eyes, he could only see green. Alight, earthy tones that really were just Simmons. Yet, Grif knew just how much Simmons hated the colour. Called it swampy once, actually. Grif didn’t want to argue with him about liking the colour of his eyes, because that was kinda gay, and they didn’t do kindness.
However, over the years, one might say that they did. It was out of kindness that Simmons saved, or tried to save, Grif. Grif saw that moment a lot, when he couldn’t sleep, the emptiness in his chest as he fell. The air escaping his lungs, the slipping from Simmons’ fingers. Everything had played in slow motion, but in his mind he saw it faster than anything he’d ever seen. But he didn’t die, he’d gotten back up, and Simmons was more of a wreck than he usually was. Broke down, either at the thought of losing Grif, or the guilt of not being able to save him. Either way, Grif did not mind the tight hug he got.
He shook the thought from his head, and tried to shuffle closer. This was trying because he didn’t want to upset the blanket they’d lain precariously atop the sand, and their arms were already brushing so he didn’t want to actually bump into Simmons. Simmons directed his attention away from his tablet with a subtle smile, and worked to close the gap as well. Then he returned to whatever the hell he was doing. Grif did not know how to feel about the situation, he didn’t know what their boundaries were.
It was kind of funny how small Simmons looked now compared to usual. He was too tall for his own good a lot of the time. Now, with his knees tucked up all sweet and him leaning slightly into Grif; he felt tiny. He just smiled and looked on at the seas.
“If we were married and shared the same name, would our friends still call us ‘Grif and Simmons’?” Grif asked, to which Simmons looked at Grif with a strange look on his face. Uh oh, he didn’t like that question.
“Probably?” Simmons said as he put his tablet down, “that’s how they know us. I’m sure if we asked they’d probably do it, but I don’t think we’d be bothered anyway.”
“I dunno, if you were to change your last name, I’d take pride in that.”
“No, because Dick Grif sounds stupid.”
“It does. Fuck. And I’m not changing my name to Simmons, either.”
“Nah, I don’t think you’d want to be involved in the Simmons family drama.”
They sat on it a while, and Grif didn’t mind the silence with him. Simmons didn’t seem to mind it either, as his head had found Grif’s shoulder, and oh. Were those the boundaries? Could Simmons do that? Grif certainly was okay with it, maybe a little too okay with it. Well, it couldn’t really do, because Grif refused to let Simmons pull all the moves today.
So, shifting the arm Simmons was leaning on, he tentatively wrapped it around Simmons. He waited to be pushed away. After a few seconds of no reaction, Grif relaxed his arm and pulled Simmons towards him more. There was no space between them. No room, nothing. Just touching, and Grif wanted to know if this was entirely platonic. They’d never explicitly stated that they were anything else, so maybe this was just... super close friendship?
Assumptions were not fun things to have, and were no excuse either. He was better off not making any, lest he fuck it all up. No, he just took in everything that was happening as it washed over him.
“If I asked, do you think Sarge would walk me down the aisle?” Simmons said, with his hand now on Grif’s knee. Grif took it in his own, and he didn’t complain.
“What, Sarge give you off to me? No way in hell dude, you’d be approaching treacherous waters.”
“Like the time I joined the Blues?”
“He’d mention it in his speech,” Grif said before clearing his throat and putting on a southern accent, “‘the one time I was more disappointed in Simmons was when he joined the Blue team! Marrying Grif is only slightly less terrible! Who would subject their life to such unusual torture!’”
“That’s a horrible Sarge impression.”
“Better than yours.”
“Oh please, mine is absolutely perfect.” Simmons snorted, then hesitated. “You’d really think he’d give a speech?”
“Do you really think he’d give up an opportunity to spout all sorts of crap to a crowd of people who were forced to listen?”
Simmons didn’t say anything, but they didn’t really need him to. Grif played with Simmons’ fingers, weaving his around them. Simmons started a thumb war, which he always lost, but did just on the off chance that he didn’t. He lost. Grif laughed softly to himself, as Simmons didn’t retract his hand, just stared at their intertwined fingers for a while. Grif squeezed Simmons’ hand, and Simmons squeezed back.
“Where’d we have it?” Simmons asked, moving his head to prop his chin on Grif’s shoulder.
“Hm?”
“The wedding venue. Where’d it be?”
“I don’t know, I don’t think we’d have something big.”
“No, I don’t want something big,” Simmons said with every breath tickling Grif’s neck, “what if we had it back at Blood Gulch?”
“I’d die. Don’t do that to me Simmons, I don’t want to widow you before we even got hitched.”
“I’d inherent your fortune of Burger King Coins.”
“One, we wouldn’t be married yet. Two, you’re not selling them, they are a memory of me.”
Simmons laughed, “okay, Grif, they stay.”
“You could marry my ghost, then you’d inherent nothing and be unable to.”
“Dude, you can’t marry a ghost.”
“Maryland made it legal last year.”
“How’d you know that?”
“I like to keep tabs on America.”
Grif turned his head so their foreheads touched, mainly so he could feel Simmons’ filtered breath on his lips. It was too close, too intimate, too tempting. All of this was doing bad things in the back of his head, urging him to grab Simmons and pull him in and not let go. Then again, the last time he had sex on a beach did not end well for either party involved.
But the hand that was holding Simmons’ found his face, and the hand that was holding Grif’s found his thigh. It would’ve been the perfect moment, to slowly press their lips together, but Grif was nothing if not a coward. Just like Simmons. They’d stay in this homoerotic stalemate until either gave up, because Grif knew that if Simmons was acting straight, they wouldn’t be this close.
“I don’t even have a ring,” Simmons whispered.
“Are we ring people, though?”
“What, would we do something symbolic of us? Trade dog tags or something?”
“Very romantic. ‘Hey Simmons, will you marry me? Here are my dog tags.’”
“Yeah.” Simmons pulled away and took off his dog tags. Grif did the same. They exchanged them, and then met each other’s eyes before realising.
They both leapt back, off the blanket, landing in the sand. Grif grabbed Simmons’ tags, not taking them off, holding onto the remnants of the moment. Holy shit...
Grif spaced out. Everything that’d happened in the past, what, twenty minutes, started to bubble up at once. They were almost kissing, and then they weren’t, because Simmons wanted...
And Grif said that they, not him, wouldn’t do rings. Because if Grif met someone nice, he‘d give them a ring, but Simmons wasn’t someone nice, he was Simmons and...
He was Simmons. Simmons! The man he’d been kind of in love with, in a passive “yeah I’d totally date you if you asked but wouldn’t be jealous if you went out with someone else” way!
He was Simmons! And he was Grif! They were friends, end of. And now...
“Did we just get engaged?” Grif asked, looking at Simmons.
“I thought you were proposing!” Simmons yelped, not looking at Grif.
“Why would I propose! We weren’t even a couple!”
“I mean you were going off about marriage, and I thought it was your way of-“
“Simmons! We weren’t together!”
“Not officially!”
“Seriously? You thought we were just unofficial?”
“Maybe.”
They were silent for a minute.
“You really thought that...”
“Oh just drop it Grif, give me the tags back if you don’t want them.”
“No, we’re engaged now, end of story.”
They were silent for another minute.
“You wanna be engaged?”
“Like you said, we were unofficial for a decade.”
“Grif.”
“I’m not being sarcastic. Honestly.”
They were silent for yet another minute.
“Honestly?”
“Honestly. Trust me, I’ve thought about you while jacking off tons of times.”
“You truly know a way to a man’s heart.”
“Cut me some slack, we’re gonna have to start wedding planning with Donut and that’s all my energy already drained. No time to be romantic, dude.”
“You’re going to tell the guys?”
“I mean, duh, if we’re getting married, it’s kind of a big deal.”
They were silent for about two minutes that time.
“It is a big deal.”
“Finally caught up on the situation, Simmons? You were the one getting all... like close in the first place.”
“Well I thought you were proposing!”
“Turns out I was!”
“Simmons was right yet again!”
“You’re such a loser, dude.”
“I mean, you’re marrying me, what does that make you?”
“I never said I wasn’t a loser. I own my title, you still think you’re kinda cool.”
“I don’t think you’re a loser.”
They didn’t say anything else. Simmons just crawled back to the blanket, and Grif followed suit. They sat where they started, staring out at the ocean, as the sun set even further. How long did it take to go down? They’d been waiting for it for goodness knows how long now, they were entitled to see it. Make the day even prettier.
Beside Grif, Simmons started giggling. Grif didn’t even want to know why, but couldn’t help himself as his smile spread across his mouth. He was snickering now, while Simmons tried to regain posture, but he was nearly full on laughing. Grif had his head in his hands, chuckling into them.
Simmons flopped onto Grif to support himself, and Grif looked up out of his hands with the stupidest smile. They looked at each other, and burst out laughing more, Simmons was redder in the face than usual. Grif’s laugh was loud and irritating, where as Simmons was pitched and annoying. They were ugly laughers, part in fact that they were ugly smilers, but Simmons...
Simmons was so beautiful when he laughed, especially when Grif was laughing too. The permeant scowl dissipating, and his dead tooth, wonky jaw... all so him. His human eye was squeezed shut, but the robot one was looking right at Grif, Grif just smiled wider, and tried to laugh louder.
“We’re so stupid,” Simmons said, cooling himself down, “we’re the dumbest people I know.”
“Yeah, yeah, c’mere.” Grif opened his arms, and Simmons didn’t hesitate to collapse into him.
Awkward, with joints and limbs everywhere, they were closer than they were before. Simmons wrapped his stupidly long arms around Grif’s waist, while Grif’s hands were in his hair. Smiling, still giggling, too close. Their noses touched, and Simmons thought it was the funniest thing in the world, and so did Grif.
He moved his hands from Simmons hair, found his waist, and pulled him up so that he was sitting on his lap. Grif didn’t even need much force, he repressed the thought as Simmons moved his hands up to around his neck and wrapped his even-more-stupidly-long-than-his-arms legs around him.
Simmons was looking down, and Grif was looking up. Their foreheads met again, and it was still quite funny. Simmons laughed, but didn’t reel his head back. He stayed, smiling. Grif didn’t even know if he still registered his grip.
“Can I kiss you?” Grif asked, after what felt like hours of just sitting there with Simmons straddling him.
“I... I’m not very good at it.”
“Eh, me neither, we’ll cancel out.”
“That’s not how maths works, Grif.”
“You need to think outside of maths for once in your life.”
Simmons pressed his lips against Grif’s. Simmons was right, he wasn’t good at it. He was desperate, and he was squeezing his legs around Grif too tightly. Grif hadn’t brushed his teeth recently, and Simmons has a packet of mints a minute. Their noses could barely keep out of the way, and at some point Simmons started giggling again. He refused to pull away. Grif himself was trying not to laugh as their teeth knocked together, clashing as awkwardly as they did.
Grif and Simmons were officially a package deal.