Work Text:
You hate it when you go home. Everything feels wrong when you’re there. You know you’re eating, moving, speaking even, but that might as well be someone else. You don’t know who and you don’t think it matters. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other and you’ll be fine.
You get out of bed, brush your teeth, brush your hair, get dressed. You go down stairs. Your mom is sitting in the kitchen. She tells you you look tired. She offers you a cup of herbal tea. You don't want it, it won't help, but you accept nonetheless. It tastes like dirt. You finish it. You don’t want to be rude after all.
You think about what you should do for the day. You’re a quarter into winter break and you’ve already finished your assignments. You decide to get a jump on the reading list for next semester. You go onto your local library's website and see they have some of the books you’re looking for. You ask your mom to borrow the car. She says yes.
You check out every book you can find that’s from your various syllabi. After that you hole up in the back corner and start taking notes.
You’re not sure how interested you are in the material. Sure reading about the forebears of modern day technology is normally something you would be all over, but it didn’t sit right with you in the moment. It just didn’t grip you the way it normally would, like you know it should. Nevertheless you sit there for hours.
You have a missed call from your mom. You wonder how you didn’t notice. She was wondering if you’d be home soon. She’s making meatloaf. She knows how much you love her meatloaf, she says in her voicemail. You text her that you’re on your way. You gather your things and head out. You take the long way home.
When you pull up you see your dad's car sitting in the driveway. You take a deep breath and head inside.
They’re already eating. They want to know where you’ve been. You say the library. Your mom is worried that you study too hard. Your dad thinks you need to take up a sport. He doesn’t like how fragile you look.
You eat the meatloaf. You know it’s meatloaf and you know that it used to be one of your favorite things your mom would make it, but you could be eating literally anything else right now. It has no flavor to you.
You finish first. You clean your dishes, and try to excuse yourself. Your mom wants you to stick around. Your dad says to let you go. You know he’s already tired of looking at you.
You go to your room. You work on your excel spreadsheet ranking Star Trek: The Original Series episodes. Your criteria are things like did technology in the episode help inspire modern devices, i.e. communicators and cellphones, what common tropes stem from this episode, did the sci-fi jargon make sense, and how entertaining it actually was. That sort of thing. You think things make more sense when they’re in a spreadsheet. You’ve started this project earlier this week. You’re further along than you care to admit.
You go to bed late, and wake up early. You can’t sleep in. That’ll make your parents worry. You can’t create problems. You can barely sleep as is though so what does it matter.
You get out of bed, you brush your teeth, brush your hair, get dressed. You go down stairs. Your mom is sitting in the kitchen. She tells you you look tired. She offers you a cup of herbal tea. You accept. You hate how it tastes.
She asks if you thought about getting a haircut. You know this is just her repeating something your dad said after you went up stairs last night, just in a nicer way. Your hair is getting pretty shaggy, but you like it like that. It was always so short when you were a kid.
You deflect. She insists that you’d look happier with a fresh trim. You’re getting uncomfortable. You realize that this isn’t her just parroting your dad. You say you have school work to do. You ask for the car. She reluctantly gives you the keys.
You gather all the books you’ve borrowed and a three ring binder and head to the library. You go straight to the back corner again.
You study for hours and get lost in the material, but you lose your focus when your phone won’t stop going off. It’s the group chat. Tucker is going off about how his bad Tinder date tried messaging him today. You silence the group chat. You don’t need to hear about how their lives are going. You need to focus.
This time you notice when your mom calls. She wants to know when you’ll be home. You say you’re heading over now. You gather your things. You take the long way home again.
Your mom made a casserole. You can barely taste it. Your dad comments on your hair. He thinks it being this long makes you look confused. You know that means confused sexually. You tense at the notion. You say you’ll look for a barber. He calls your bluff. He says you can use his. He says you can go tomorrow before noon. It’s not too busy then. This is not a suggestion. Looks like you’re getting your hair cut. You feel tired.
You clean up and excuse yourself.
You continue with your Star Trek spreadsheet.
You go to bed late, and wake up early.
You get out of bed, brush your teeth, brush your hair, get dressed. You go down stairs. Your mom is sitting in the kitchen. She tells you you look tired, but that you’ll feel better after you cut your hair. She always feels better after a trim, she says. You ask for the keys.
You get in the car. You consider going literally anywhere else, but you know that your father will be furious if you don’t get your hair cut. You go.
You say you want to get cleaned up. When he’s done your hair is shorter than you’d like. You say it looks great. When you get into the car you try not to cry. You thought that being an adult meant having control over things like this. You must still be a kid. Only a kid would want to cry over something like this.
You go to the library.
You study.
Your mom calls you home.
You take the long way home.
Your mom says you look better already. Your dad says you look more respectable. You eat your food and leave.
You watch Star Trek.
You go to bed late. You wake up early.
You get out of bed, brush your teeth, brush your hair, get dressed. You go down stairs. Your mom is sitting in the kitchen. She tells you you look much better. You know that’s not true. You saw the circles under your eyes. You look like shit. How fitting.
You go to the library.
You study.
You go home.
You eat.
You watch Star Trek.
You sleep, and when you wake up you relive this cycle again and again again. Trying to avoid your family, but that’s somehow making the time you do spend together hurt all the more. You want it to stop, but what interrupts it is even worse. It’s Christmas.
You go to your grandparents for Christmas. The whole family is there. People keep telling you that your haircut makes you look sharp. You hate it.
Your aunt gets drunk. She’s always gets drunk at family functions. You even bet that she’s drunk more often than not. She hones in on you. She wants to know why you don’t have a girlfriend yet. You tense up. You say you need to focus on school work. She says that you’re too stuck up, that you need to relax. You hear your cousin murmur that it’s because you’re too much of a fag. You stiffen up. Everyone keeps talking around you. You don’t think anyone else heard him. You still want to die in a hole though.
You don’t remember the rest of the night. You're too anxious.
When you get home you pass out from exhaustion. You don’t sleep well.
In the morning you go back to your routine. You hate your routine, but you feel safe in it. It keeps you functioning.
It’s New Years before you know it. Your parents go to a party. It’s at your mom’s friend from book club’s house. Your dad complains while going out the door that he didn’t want to go. They still go. It’s rare that he doesn’t get his way. You’re left alone. You don’t go to your room. You stay down stairs. You microwave some popcorn, and get comfortable on the couch. You figure that if you disappear before they get home you’ll be fine. You get to breathe for now.
You watch a movie on Netflix. You’re not really paying attention, but you’re more relaxed than you’ve been all break. You feel your phone vibrate. You see you have a message…
it’s Grif.
Simmons stared at his phone confused. It wasn’t like his friends were ignoring him. He just thought that he silenced all of them.
Grif: hey man how’s it going?
This text didn’t mean much but it did warm something inside of him.
Simmons: Fine I guess. Parents are out so I have the house to myself.
Grif: and let me guess you’re just watching a movie
Simmons: Yeah? And what of it?
Grif: Nothing just happy you’re enjoying yourself
There’s that feeling again. Part of him hated it, but there’s still the part of him that reveled in the feeling.
Simmons: yup never better
There’s a pause this time. This filled Simmons with anxiety. Did he say something wrong? No, no, Grif was probably just distracted. He was easily distracted after all, but still, he wished those damn dots at the bottom would just disappear already!
Finally Grif texted back.
Grif: are you sure you're good?
What the fuck was that supposed to mean? Like of course he wasn’t, but why did he have to point it out?
Simmons: yes of course I am
Grif: Prove it
“If he wants me to prove it then I’ll fucking prove it,” Simmons grumbled as he hit call on Grif’s contact. Grif picked up almost instantly.
“Hello?” Grif answered.
“I said I’m okay?”
“Okay, fine, I believe you. Fuck me for being worried I guess.”
Simmons mentally kicked himself. The last thing he wanted was for Grif to be pissed at him. “Look, you know I don’t like being around my parents.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I fucking asked you how you were doing.”
Simmons laughed. There wasn’t anything funny, but he couldn’t help it. It felt like a release. “Okay, fine, I’m doing like shit. My dad is being an asshole, and my mom isn’t helping. They all but forced me to cut my hair.”
“That’s fucking bullshit. Your hair looked great.” an involuntary smile broke out onto Simmons’ face. “And my mom used to pull shit like that too when I was a kid. It fucking sucked. Parents fucking suck.”
“Fucking tell me about it.” Simmons paused the movie. “What are you up to now?”
“Not much. My mom’s out getting shit faced so like you I’ve got the house all to myself.”
“Wait, isn’t it like four where you are? That’s kind of early.” Simmons knew that Grif’s mom was a piece of shit, but he didn’t know she was this bad. He felt kind of stupid for his problems.
“Yeah, she likes to start things early. Needless to say, she never remembers New Year’s.”
“That’s kind of fucked up.” Simmons couldn’t understand how he was saying this so nonchalantly.
“Eh, it’s nothing at this point. It gives me time and space to myself anyway.”
There was an awkward pause. Simmons felt like he should say something, but he didn’t know what. Grif broke the silence. “What were you watching?”
“Eh, nothing good. I was barely paying attention to it anyway.” Which was true. He wasn’t so much interested in watching anything as he was in not thinking.
“You want to watch something new? You know something that is actually good this time?”
“Like with you?”
“No, with my fucking neighbor. Yes, me.”
“Sorry, I just wanted to be clear.”
“Okay then to be clear, we choose a movie on Netflix and hit play at the same time.”
“Yeah, sure.” Simmons kicked himself for not seeing the obvious answer. He blamed it on lack of sleep.
They spent about thirty minutes arguing about what movie they wanted to watch. Grif wanted to choose something they knew nothing about, but Simmons was now dedicated to picking something that was actually good. The only problem with that was that nothing seemed good enough. Simmons at one point recommended a korean film and Grif threatened to kill him through the phone for trying to make him read over break.
When they finally chose something it was because, well, he didn’t know why. Maybe they just got tired of arguing. It certainly wasn’t because this movie was actually good. It was some B action movie from the 90’s. The dialogue was weird and stilted and the explosions didn’t even look good. It was ten times worse than what Simmons was watching before, but he didn’t mind. Having Grif laughing on the other end as they made fun of the overly intense camera zooms made it enjoyable.
After a while he wasn’t even watching the movie anymore. He was just focusing on Grif. Every time something happened that made it clear that the writers didn’t edit this whatsoever, Grif’s voice would pitch up several octaves as he complained. His strained and extremely pissed off voice was strangely comforting. It just made it feel like that if this is the worst to be pissed about than things can’t be that bad.
“I’m just saying, this is fucking bullshit!” Grif said through what sounded like a full mouth.
“Dude, are you eating right now?”
“Yeah, and what about it? Can I not eat while I’m on the phone or something?” he said defensively.
“No, but can you not eat while you’re fucking talking.”
“What, are you a fucking cop. Lay off.”
“You’re the worst, you know that?”
“If that’s true than why am I your best friend, huh?”
Simmons rolled his eyes, “A lapse in judgment, clearly.”
“Face it, you like me.”
“Debatable.” His tone was serious, but he could feel his face heating up.
“Come on, you have to keep me around for some reason. Is it my dashing good looks,” he teased.
Simmons went stiff, “Definitely not.”
“Damn, calling me ugly to my face. I see how it is,” he said in mock offense.
“We're speaking on the phone. We’re not speaking face to face.”
“Damn, ugly and stupid.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Come over here and make me.”
“Oh, yeah let me just hop on the next flight to Hawaii. Mind texting me your address for when I get there?”
“Yeah, just let me… Happy New Years.”
Simmons blinked in confusion. “What?”
“It’s midnight where you are right? Happy New Years.”
Simmons looked down at his phone. Sure enough it was midnight. “Oh shit you’re right.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? I know how to tell time, you know.”
“Relax okay. I just didn’t realize how late it was already, alright.”
“Yeah okay,” a pause, “So do you have any New Year's resolutions?”
“I don’t really believe in those. If you want to set a goal you should be able to do that any time of the year. Why do you have one?”
“Oh who are we kidding. You know I can’t keep any sort of resolution. I’d give up in a week.”
“Or less. Hey, what if you set one that’s like winning more dumb arguments than last year?”
“I like the way you think, but how about seeing how many times I can convince people to buy me food?”
“Please don’t. I know that will disproportionately affect me.”
“Okay then, how about seeing if I can push Sarge into having a nervous breakdown?”
“No.”
“Are you going to shoot down all my ideas?”
“Not when you have a good one.”
“You just don't appreciate my genius.”
They debated back and forth about what would be a good resolution for Grif. Simmons tried to suggest options that seemed fine on the surface, but were really just straight up petty in actuality, like stop sleeping in his lecture and making that everyone else’s problem by actually participating. Simmons highly doubted that Grif would add anything useful to the dialogue. He certainly didn’t add much to normal conversations. Grif on the other hand just suggested things that bordered on self-destructive, like seeing how much food he can smuggle out of the dinning hall without anyone noticing, or seeing how many classes he could get away with sleeping in. Simmons really hoped that these were jokes, but a part of him knew that they weren’t.
They continued talking about, well, absolutely nothing, but it was still nice. Sure Grif was a lazy and stubborn idiot, and talking to him sometimes gave him a migraine, but he still loved it. He never felt like he had to be anyone but himself around him. He could be sarcastic and petty, a nerd info dumping, or an anxious wreck, and it didn’t matter. Grif accepted him as he was, so he did the same. That was more or less the basis of their friendship, he thought.
Simmons was enjoying this break from his home-life which was why it was all the more jarring when he noticed his parents pull into the driveway. Seeing the headlights flood in through the windows had him jumping straight up and getting rid of any evidence that he was hanging out in the family room all night. His dad was a dick to begin with, and he only got worse after a drink or two.
“I need to go. My parents just got here.” He didn’t wait for Grif to respond. He just hung up.
He quickly threw out the popcorn bag, turned off the TV, folded up the throw blanket, and booked it up stairs. Shortly after he made it into his room he heard the front door. He could hear his parents talking. He couldn’t make out the words, but he could still hear their voices. His dad sounded pissed, and it seemed like his mom was trying to calm him down. He made the right choice running up stairs.
He changed into his pajamas and curled up into bed. He figured that he should get some sleep for once anyway. Well, that’s what he thought but he still continued to scroll through social media on his phone. His mind just couldn’t relax. He spent almost three hours talking on the phone with Grif. He tried to justify it by saying that it was just because Grif was his best friend and it was a nice break from the current hell he found himself in, but he knew that wasn’t true, not fully at least.
He continued to scroll bouncing between socials. He just wanted to have a thought that wasn’t about tonight. He scrolled for so long that he fell asleep with his phone in his hand.
When he opened his eyes again he was in bed in the dorms. That didn’t seem strange to him. What was strange was that he wasn’t in his room. He looked around and saw the piles of clothes, and the suggestion of another bed under loads of assorted crap opposite him. Just as he put two and two together the door opened.
“Hey, look who’s awake,” said Grif, closing the door behind himself.
“How long have I been asleep?” Simmons asked, still not remembering why he was sleeping in Grif’s bed.
“I don’t know. Two hours?” he shrugged.
Simmons propped himself up on his elbows. “And why am I here again?”
Grif scrunched up his face in a way that implied that that was a stupid question. “Because you nearly gave yourself a nervous breakdown studying then started texting me begging me to help you relax.”
That’s right. He was stressed and he desperately needed to unwind.
“You took it upon yourself to crawl into my bed though. You really needed to sleep apparently.”
“I feel better now, thanks”
Grif came over and sat on the edge on the bed. His thigh was pressed against Simmons’ and he cradled Simmons' jaw in his hand. His touch was so warm and inviting he had to fight the urge to lean into it.
“What are you doing?” Simmons asked, a little breathless.
“I wanted to see if all of you felt better too. You were cold to the touch when I found you.” He started rubbing small circles on his cheek with his thumb. “You feel a lot warmer now.”
“Yeah, I am,” Simmons said lamely.
A thought flashed in Grif’s eyes. “It almost makes me want to see how warm I can make you.” His thumb stopped moving. “Wanna find out?”
Simmons knew what was being implied right now, he just couldn’t believe it. He had to be wrong, right? He certainly didn’t want to… No, no, no. That felt like a stretch. They were just really good friends. No way would he be proposing that. And yet…
He nodded.
A grin spread across Grif’s face and without further hesitation he leaned over and started kissing him. Simmons was in shock for a moment or two, but then it was like a switch got flipped in his brain. This felt right, and felt oh so good. It made him think why have they never done this before. He shook off his initial shock and he started kissing Grif back.
Their kisses started off gentle and tender, but it just didn’t feel like enough. He wrapped arm around Grif’s neck and buried his hand in his hair, pulling him closer in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Grif did him one better. Simmons felt the weight on the bed shift and next thing he knew Grif was directly on top of him. Grif slipped his tongue between his parted lips, only pausing to bite Simmons’ lip.
Simmons was no longer thinking, he was just trying to ride this euphoric wave the best he could, and that meant he had to stop propping himself up. Supporting all his weight on his arm like that was starting to hurt and he didn’t have time for that. He laid back onto the bed and pulled Grif down with him. Grif shifted his weight and was now effectively pinning him. The thought sent a not unpleasant chill down his spine.
Grif kissed him a few more times before moving away, but before he could protest Grif started kissing and nipping at his neck. He started out soft and teasing, but he soon got a lot rougher. He bit him hard enough that something that was a mix of a moan and a gasp of pain escaped his mouth. Simmons was so lost in the feeling that he nearly forgot why this might be a problem.
He started tapping Grif on the back, “Grif, Grif, nowhere visible.”
Grif stopped and looked at him, “Nowhere visible, huh?”
Simmons felt Grif’s hand rubbing on his inner thigh. He gulped.
“Or I could just go for your collarbone. Which one do you want?”
His mind went blank at the choice. He knew which one he wanted, and he really wanted it, but he could not bring himself to say it. “You can choose.”
“No, I want you to make a choice. I want to hear what you want.”
His hand was still firmly on his thigh, and it was all Simmons could think about. “Not my collarbone,” he said sheepishly.
“You’re so cute when you’re flustered.”
Simmons could feel his face go red, but before he could feel too embarrassed Grif started kissing him again, except this time one of his hands was undoing Simmons’ jeans. He didn’t immediately try to take them off. Instead he unzipped them and started to play with the band of his boxers. He’d run his fingers along the edge, stop, and then run them back, ever so slightly pushing them underneath before starting the motion again. Simmons was fighting the urge to thrust his hips in an attempt to push his hand further under. Part of him didn’t want to seem too desperate, which was kinda rich considering he was already pinned under him and was pretty hard.
Grif had no such hesitations and was now moving his way down Simmons’ body. His hand made its way under his shirt and was gently moving over him, barely touching him. All this teasing was driving him absolutely insane, but as soon as he was going to complain Grif chose a new directive. He started trying to move his shirt out of the way. Simmons helped and sat up. They quickly removed his shirt, and the second it was gone Grif pushed him back down.
Grif kissed his way down Simmons body, stopping at his waistband. He then sat up and grabbed the waist of his pants. Simmons lifted his hips, and soon enough he was before Grif in nothing but his boxers. A sense of vulnerability started to creep its way down his spine. He laid back down. Looking at Grif was too overwhelming. Shortly after he felt Grif’s mouth on his inner thigh. Just like with his neck he started off slow and gentle, but his nips soon turned into painful bites. The sensation left him gasping and moaning.
After thoroughly working his left thigh Grif turned his attention to the right. This time he didn’t start off gently, he went straight into the kind of bites that would leave marks, and after a moment he could feel Grif slowly working his way up his thigh. The higher he went the more painful it got, and the more Simmons' head was spinning.
“These are getting in my way,” said Grif.
Simmons lifted his head to see what he was talking about, and he saw Grif playing with the hem of his boxers. “Oh,” he said softly.
“Can I?” He gives a soft tug.
Simmons nods.
“Come on Simmons we’ve been over this. I want to hear you say it. Say it or I won’t do it.”
“Take them off,” again he felt quite flustered saying it, but that embarrassment faded as soon as Grif took off his boxers and started sucking the crease of his thigh. At that point he was just trying not to make any embarrassing noises, and that was becoming near impossible as Grif moved his mouth to the base of his-
BANG BANG BANG
Simmons woke with a start. He looked around and frantically searched his nightstand for his glasses.
“Dick, honey, it’s getting awfully late. Are you okay?” It was his mom.
“I’m fine,” his voice cracked. He winced. “I’m fine,” he said a lot smoother, “I’ll be down in like ten minutes.”
“Alright then.” She didn’t sound completely convinced, but she left nonetheless.
With his initial panic gone the despair started to set in. Not only did he quite vividly remember the dream he was just having but like in that dream he was still painfully erect. There was no denying what this meant, but he still wanted to try. After all he couldn’t be gay. Just thinking that word in relation to himself put a bowling ball sized pit in his stomach. He didn’t want to think about what this meant for him. He just needed to focus on trying to get downstairs as quickly as possible because the last thing he needed was his mom to come back up stairs.
He sat there trembling and hard, and hating his life. He tried to focus on his breathing. If he could just get himself under control he’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. It’ll all be fine. This doesn’t have to mean anything. Everything will be fine…
You walk into the kitchen. Your mom is emptying the dishwasher. She tells you you look rested. She says you probably were just overworked. Maybe you should study less. You make a noncommittal noise. You know that she means it this time. Internally you want to scream and sob.