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The Keystone

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Simmons was already rock hard when Grif pushed him up against the utility closet sink.

"Grif-" Simmons wanted to protest, but it came out like a whimper.

Grif said "shh," and leaned over him, pressing their lips together.

Simmons' head swam with arousal that stomped down on his nerves. He didn't know how to kiss. The only experience he had was with girls in middle school who dared each other to do something gross, and he could hear their giggles and screeches after. Grif's kisses started tame and escalated, parting Simmons' lips with his tongue, opening his mouth wide and drinking him deep. Grif folded him backwards, and Simmons was forced to wrap his arms around Grif's shoulders to keep his balance. Grif nibbled on Simmons' lips, and coaxed a whimper out of him. Every nerve on his body felt like it was alight with desire. Everywhere Grif touched him was so good and so not enough.

"Grif--" Simmons sighed. Maybe the best part of kissing was just doing what felt good. Maybe he could just explore Grif, too? Simmons tilted his head and let himself taste what smoke smelled like. They ran their tongues together and Grif ran his hand up the back of Simmons' shirt. He shuddered.

"Simmons," Grif broke off from the kiss with a groan and tucked his face into Simmons' neck. "Tell me you want to stop."

"Kiss me," Simmons said, tugging at Grif's hair until he came back. Grif's arm settled at Simmons' back to keep him balanced while he took Grif's face between his hands and held their mouths together. His dick was throbbing for attention but kissing. Kissing was so good . He never wanted to not be kissing Grif. Stupid, stinky, fat, beautiful Grif.

Grif moved, shifting their bodies together where it mattered. The telling silhouette of Grif's erection rubbed up against Simmons', and the two of them groaned together. Grif muttered a quiet " holy shit " into Simmons' mouth before he did it again. He put his two hands on Simmons' hips, Simmons arms around his shoulders, and dragged their dicks together through their pants. It hurt, but not as much as it felt good, and the noise that came out of Simmons would embarrass him many moons in the future. It was nothing like rutting against a pillow in his room. Grif was warm, moving, kissing him and touching him wherever he could, but now mostly holding his hips still so they could rub dicks against each other and holy shit nothing else had ever felt so good to Simmons in his life.

"Hold on," Grif said, panting as he moved his hands. Simmons whined and continued kissing him, clinging to him, and he could feel Grif smile against his mouth. He shifted, unbuttoning their pants one after the other. He undid Simmons' belt and when Grif fished his dick out of his underwear he could swear he saw sparks light in front of his eyes.

"Ohhhh god ," Simmons groaned.

"What has he done for us lately?"

" Shut up! "

Grif dove in for an enthusiastic kiss as he took Simmons' dick in his hand along with his own, and Simmons made more sounds that he would deny under questioning. It was like his dick was all that existed of his body for all the pleasure that overcame him every time Grif moved. Except that everything else that he felt was on fire too - the place where Grif's body rested against his inner thighs - where his knee bent and Simmons' heel looped in. Grif's hand against the small of his back to keep him steady. Simmons' arms wrapped around his neck, where he breathed, hot to the touch, soft, and familiar. Overwhelmed by everything else they broke their kissing and tucked their heads against each other's necks, and Simmons could smell nothing else, and feel his breath against his shoulder, and feel his hair between his fingers.

"Grif," Simmons groaned. Simmons didn't think he knew love before, but Grif's kisses and his gentle touching fulfilled him so much his heart hurt. His body felt incredible, but his heart felt it twice as much. "Grif," he said, his voice cracking, his eyes burning.

"Simmons," Grif groaned, "please, don't--"

"Grif," Simmons shuddered with pleasure as he whispered into Grif's ear. "I love you. I love you."

Grif shuddered after. "Don't cry, damn it. I--"

"I -- ah! -- I'm sorry," Simmons choked, and Grif pulled away, drawing a cold and lonely space between them. Simmons did what he had to and threw his arm over his eyes. "D-don't stop. Don't look at me, I just--"

"I don't know if I could-" Grif panted, his thrusts against Simmons a trial against restraint. "Stop, I mean -- if I wanted to."

"I mean it," Simmons said, choking back a groan and biting down on his lip. "I mean it, you stupid--"

"I know," Grif said, breathless as he leaned back over Simmons, warm and soft and comfortable over him as much as he was lighting a fire. He held his hand against the small of Simmons' back, running over the shadow of his ass as he rutted persistently against him. " Oh fuck . Stop that." With his other hand, Grif tugged at Simmons' elbow to pull his arm away from his face. "Just kiss me, will you?"

"Okay," Simmons said, the word pealing out of him high and whining and broken, but Grif didn't seem to care. Grif kissed his forehead, his eyes, and his cheeks before coming back to his lips, salt and smoke and careful pecks there. Simmons thought he might have heard the sound of his heart snapping in half and folding around to repair into something whole and different. Simmons sniffed against Grif's cheek. Grif sighed into his mouth. Every half second hit him when their bodies were drawn together again, crashing over Simmons new and invigorating every time until his climax peaked. He hiccuped. "I-I-I'm gonna--"

"Yeah," Grif said. Soft, low, and self-satisfied as he slid his hand back in between them. "Come for me, Simmons."

So he did, punctuated with a sound he'd lose sleep over for years, holding Grif as tight against him as he could, as close as they could get without merging into one another. The second stretched out long and beautiful, Grif warm over him, smelling smokey and tangy with sweat, and tugging shivers and whimpers out of him as he dragged his orgasm out as long as he could. Simmons was safe and high, his head swimming. He held Grif as he fell down into the afterglow, with wet sniffs and whimpers. Grif kissed him through it as he shifted, going solo.

They parted just enough that the coldness sank into Simmons. He lay his hands against the sides of the sink, the porcelain jabbing into his back in a way he didn't notice before. Grif pressed one arm across him against the far wall, and bit his lip as he came long seconds later, his filth joining Simmons' between them. Disgusting.

"Hey!" Grif barked as Simmons pushed him away with his feet, shoving him into the metal shelf behind him. "Ow!"

Simmons hopped down from the sink and spun, getting his clothes back in order. He ran the tap hot and washed his hands. He washed his face. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to wash the jizz off his shirt. The disgust and shame of it and the things he'd said had already sunk so deep into him he wasn't sure he could get it out.

Grif spoke up a few beats later than Simmons was expecting. Simmons knew the tone, as open and sympathetic as Grif could manage. "Simmons, hey--"

"Don't, Grif," Simmons said sharply, his voice tight and stringy with the tears he held back behind it. "Just don't."

Grif released a monumental sigh as he buttoned his pants. "Simmons-"

"I don't want to talk about it," Simmons said, and sat on the closet's cement floor, hiding his face in his arms.

And they didn't.