|TickTock Goes the Cookie Clock
Author: Aseret Kitsune PM
Grif and Simmons are locked in a closet by Donut and Sarge, and all they really have to do iseach othertalk.Rated: Fiction M - English - Humor/Romance - Words: 1,662 - Reviews: 19 - Favs: 56 - Follows: 2 - Published: 12-16-07 - Status: Complete - id: 3950640
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
A/N: RememberCount Me Down? Well, this is a sort of prequel; the whole what
happened with Grif and Simmons deal.
Rating: M or R, whatever you want to call it.
Summary: Grif and Simmons are locked in a closet by Donut and Sarge, and all they really have to do is-(each other)-talk.
Warnings: Cursing, nudity, slash, conspirators, aphrodisiac-filled cookies, Massachusetts, God's gender, an odd title, and allusions to sex.
Tick-Tock Goes the Cookie Clock
In a manner much akin to pouting, Grif was leaning against the warm gray wall with his arms crossed over his chest.
"Fucking Sarge, forcing us into the closet," the orange soldier muttered under his breath.
"At least Donut gave us cookies," Simmons said, trying to keep on the bright side, though internally he was screaming and clawing aforementioned pink soldier's eyes out.
"Yeah, after telling us that chocolate was an aphrodisiac," the other soldier reminded. "What the hell did he mean by that?"
"I think he was insinuating something that makes me want to kill him."
"Well, we're going to anyway, once we get out of this stupid closet."
"Oh, I'm going to shoot a hole through his helmet," Simmons promised. He handed the plate to Grif, who took a bite out of a cookie.
"Hey, they're not that bad."
"Get those things out of my face; they're probably poisonous."
"Not with our luck."
"All I'm sayin' is that maybe we spend too much time with each other," Grif said, elaborating on some great comment.
"What do you mean by that?" Simmons questioned accusingly.
"Well, you know, we kinda know what the other's about to-"
"Say? No we don't."
"Hey, kiss-ass, you just proved my-"
"Point? No I di-"
"Yeah you did," Grif interjected before he could finish.
"How can you not know how to swim?" Grif asked incredulously. Next to him, Simmons shifted uncomfortably.
"No one ever bothered teaching me, okay? I don't do well in large bodies of water," he answered vaguely.
"Huh? What do you mean by that?"
"Just drop it, Grif," the maroon soldier ordered forcibly.
There was a moment of silence in the closet. Feeling cramped, the older man adjusted his legs, momentarily brushing their knees together.
"You know," Grif said after a minute, "I could teach you how to swim."
"…How? We're in the middle of a fuckin' canyon," Simmons reminded.
"Uh, I could always trick Donut into digging a hole and then fill it with water," he suggested.
"I don't know whether that's the stupidest thing you've ever come up with, or the nicest. I'm going to have to go with the latter, because, amazingly, you have said stupider things than that."
"Careful, dude; I could teach you how to drown instead."
"Wow, Grif. Just, wow. I think that makes you almost as big of a whore as Donut."
"Slut, because whores get paid," the other soldier corrected.
"Grif, we're not killing Sarge."
"Aww, come on. He shoved us in here in the first place," he pointed out.
"We can main, torture, and kill Donut, but not Sarge," Simmons compromised.
"Of course I could build a gun that big," Simmons scoffed indignantly.
"You're kind of like my sidekick."
"Bullshit, Grif. If anything, you're my sidekick."
"Nu-uh," he argued. "The real hero is always buff." He brandished an unarmored arm and flexed.
"That's fat," Simmons argued.
"Go fuck yourself, kiss-ass."
"No, I'm pretty sure that's illegal."
"Not in Massachusetts."
"I'm jus' sayin', how'd God come up with the idea of a woman if he's a guy? How'd he come up with reproduction at all?" Grif questioned.
"I'm, um, sure…I don't know. Why the hell would I know this?" Simmons asked back, flabbergasted. Grif shrugged.
"Dunno. Maybe 'cause you're catholic," he counted. Simmons sighed.
"Grif, please stop raping my beliefs."
It was quiet for a bit, both armorless men not looking at each other. Finally, Grif broke the silence.
"Maybe God's a hermaphrodite and that's how he came up with women. You know, half-an'-half."
"Oh, god!" Simmons exclaimed in horror. "When did I take off my armor?"
"Dude, a better question would be when did you take off your shirt?" Grif told him, eyeing the other man's chest curiously. "You're really hot."
"We're in a small, cramped closet in a box canyon-of course I'm hot, genius."
"I'm not a virgin, damn it!" Simmons denied. He glared at the older man's teasing smirk.
"That's what they all say."
"Oh, you fucking cockbite," he snapped.
"You're just jealous because I've got more knowledge about sex than you do," Grif taunted.
"What are we, teenagers?" Simmons scoffed. After a minute he added, "Besides, you're just a slut, remember?"
"And you're just a virgin."
"At least I'll still be able to wear white at my wedding."
"Isn't it the girls that wear the different colors?"
"Grif, why are you taking off your pants?" Simmons squeaked in alarm. The man in question looked at him pointedly, as if he had just asked why he had brown hair.
"It's. Fuckin'. Hot. In. Here."
"Really, Grif, playing card designs on your boxers?" He got a shrug in response.
"Simmons, just take your pants off," Grif said with a roll of hazel eyes.
"Er, um, I can't…" the other man mumbled, blushing a shade of red as dark as his armor.
"Why the hell not?"
"Be-because…" he whispered something that Grif couldn't quite hear.
"Huh?" Simmons took a very deep breath before continuing.
"Donut took all my underwear earlier today so I've been, um…"
"Going commando?" Grif supplied.
"…Yeah. Stop laughing, cockbite!"
"Seriously, you didn't have to hit me in the eye," Grif told the smaller man.
"Well, if it helps I was aiming for your mouth."
"Goddamn, you're aim sucks."
"Not as bad as some in this canyon, I'm sure."
"Man, those cookies are really making me feel sick," Grif, head slightly on Simmons' clothed leg, complained, clutching his stomach.
"Please don't vomit in the closet," the other man requested. The brunette shook his head.
"No, it's more like some kind of, I dunno, oddly good feelin' sickness. You know?"
"I've got no idea what you're talking about, but maybe the cookies really were poisonous," he mused.
"So," Grif drawled, head inclined back a ways so he could peer straight up at Simmons, who was looking down at him with a raised eyebrow, "come here often?"
"I think I know what you were talking about. With the cookies, I mean," Simmons told the older man. Grif looked up at him.
"Do you feel tingly all over?" he asked. Simmons paled.
"Er, um, certain places."
"Do you think you look really hot in this semi-light?' Grif continued.
"Huh? Oh, um, nothing. Nothing."
"What. Are. We.Doing?" Simmons questioned disbelievingly, each word punctured by a kiss to his lips.
"No idea," Grif answered honestly before swooping down again and making it so neither one of them could talk.
Simmons was panting hard, nails digging into Grif's back. The brunette nipped at his neck, causing the other man to let out a small moan he couldn't conceal. Now if only Grif could find a way to get him to mewl.
"Wh-what are you going to use as-" Simmons began to ask warily.
"Spit," came the simple reply.
They were lying down, practically on top of each other and intertwined.
"You know, Grif," Simmons panted, hair matted to his forehead. "For someone who's so lazy, you really know how to work up a sweat."
He laughed at the mumbled, "Go to hell."
"Guess you can't wear white at your wedding anymore," Grif snickered.
"Shut up, cock-whore."
"Hey, guys! You awake?" Donut chimed as he threw open the door. He peeked in, as did Sarge.
"Looks like a negative," the older man noted.
"Ooh, they're naked."
"No ideas, Donut."
"I was just stating a fact," the blonde defended. "And admiring. Besides, it looks like our plan worked."
"Seems ta be tha' way," Sarge agreed.
Underneath his breath Donut muttered, "If they ever want a threesome, I'm just right next door."
"Wha' was tha', boy?" Sarge questioned.
"Nothing! So, should we leave them here or what?"
"Eh, they'll prob'bly wake in an hour or so," he assumed. We can jus' leave th' door open."
"So, whadya put in those cookies of yers?" the older man asked.
"Oh, some aphrodisiac drugs," Donut replied off-handedly. Sarge looked at him.
"Ya drugged 'em?"
"What? It's not like that's illegal. In Massachusetts," he added as an after thought. Sarge sighed.
"As long as they stop pussyfootin' around with each other."
"Yup. Let's go tell Tex an' Caboose that it worked for these two," Donut suggested. "Maybe they can do something similar with Tucker an' Church. She said those guys need it just as badly."