Not A Day Over Thirty
Title: Not A Day Over Thirty
Rating: R
Summary: Grif and Simmons have a 'chat' about getting older. Inspired by lvsinsanity.
Grif craned his neck in the bathroom mirror, trying to see the back of his head but unable to get his eyes to cooperate. He tried everything, tipping his head forward for a top-down angle, trying one of Donut's hand mirrors, trying to pull his hair forward further, but nothing was working. Even if he had let his hair grow well beyond regulation length, he just could not seem to get a good visual on the hair at the back of his head. He finally hung his head in shame and went to find Simmons.
The red-head was in his room, polishing his armor. He didn't bother to look up when Grif walked in, not until the younger stood right in front of him, dripping water on his brand new polish job.
"Dammit, Grif!" he snarked, "Watch what you're doing! I've been working on this all morning!"
Grif, unphased by the normal bickering that they engaged in, didn't move. "I need you to look at my head," he said.
"Fine, whatever. I'll do it later, now finish drying off. You're leaving a mess all over the floor!" Simmons indicated the trail of water that stretched across the length of the room from the door to puddle at the feet of his sometimes irritating as hell lover.
"No, Now!" Grif insisted. "I think... I uh... I think I might be..."
Simmons reached up and snatched Grif's towel off from around his waist and began to sop up the water before it got on any more of his armor. "Spit it out," he said.
Grif mumbled out a few words under his breath, pointedly not looking at Simmons and trying not to turn three shades of red.
Simmons looked up at him. "What?"
"I think I might begettingabldspt-"
"Dammit, Grif, I don't have time for this. Tell me what you want or leave me alone."
"I THINK I'M GETTING A BALD SPOT!" he yelled, exasperation taking over. Simmons gaped. Grif groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I can't tell," he said. "I can't get a good view of the back of my head-"
"Well, I've seen it plenty of times, don't you think I would have noticed by now?" he said, a bit harsher than he meant.
"Oh come on, please just take a look?"
Simmons gave a sigh and rolled his eyes but he could tell that this really seemed to mean a lot to Grif so he finally gave up mopping the floor and sat down on the bed. "Come here, sit down," he said, indicating the floor in front of him.
Grif plodded over and flopped down cross-legged.
"Sit up straight," Simmons chided, tipping Grif's head back and pulling his shoulders up a bit more. "Ok, let's see. Hmmm." He mussed in Grif's wet hair a bit, pushing tufts this way and that. He fussed and fiddled until Grif was certain if he didn't have one already, Simmons was going to give him one.
"Well?" he cried after he couldn't stand it anymore.
"Well what?" Simmons replied nonchalantly.
"Am I getting a bald spot or not?"
"No."
Grif sighed in relief.
"But you are going gray."
"WHAT?!"
Simmons laughed and Grif reached back and clutched his hair as if he could somehow will the gray out through flat denial. "How can I be going gray, I'm not even thirty yet!"
"You will be in a few months," he pointed out. "Anyway, what's so surprising about it? We've been through a lot."
"You're not going gray!" Grif accused, as if this were somehow Simmons's fault. "And you're three years older than me!"
"My family has a history of late grayers," Simmons said. "My father didn't start to turn gray until he was almost forty."
Grif buried his head in his arms and groaned, mumbling incomprehensibly while Simmons laughed. "What are you so worried about? It's just a few strands, anyway. Besides, I like it. It makes you look... I dunno, kinda distinguished. More mature looking."
Grif shot him a nasty look. He didn't want to look mature. He didn't want to look distinguished. He didn't want to be turning gray before he even turned thirty! Simmons wasn't going to let him mope about it, though. He kissed the top of his head a few times and let his hands slide down Grif's bare chest. "It doesn't mean anything, Grif. It's just melanin."
"What the fuck is melanin?" Grif hated it when Simmons stated as obvious fact things that he had no clue about. It made him feel dumb, and he hated feeling dumb, even if he did little to alter the image.
"Well, melanin is the chemical in your body that creates pigment. Hair turns gray as you age because the follicles at the base of the hair shaft cease to produce melanin. Each follicle contains a finite number of pigment cells, and these cells produce melanin, a chemical that gives the hair its color. It's the same chemical that makes your skin browner than mine."
"Then I should have plenty, shouldn't I? I'm darker than you, my hair should stay the right color longer!"
"That's not how it works," Simmons replied.
"Well, that's stupid."
"Other things can contribute to early graying, including smooooking," Simmons chided. He had never succeeded in getting Grif to quit. "Or things such as anemia or a Vitamin B deficiency can-"
"Shut up," Grif moaned. "I don't care- wait. Does this mean my skin is going to go whiter?"
"No," Simmons said, getting irritated at Grif's ignorance. "That's not how it works either! Look, just trust me, you'll stay brown, but your hair will go gray. It's just how it works."
Grif pouted.
"I like it," Simmons repeated in a mumble. He wished that meant something to Grif anymore. It seemed that the longer they were together, the more Grif got settled into his ways and nothing Simmons could do would change that. He wished that Grif cared as much for his feelings on things as he did about Grif's.
So it came as something of a shock when Grif turned around to face him and said, "Really?"
He blinked, then smiled at the adorable pout Grif wore. "Really."
"So, you're not gonna leave me just because I'm getting old?"
"I'm older than you are, stupid!" Simmons said. "Hell, I should be the one worried that you're going to trade me in for a younger model!"
"I think they discontinued your line," Grif teased, sticking out his tongue. "So I'm stuck with you."
"That's right! They broke the mold when they made me!"
"Too bad they didn't take your face out first," Grif snorted.
"Is that so?" Simmons teased back. "Well, maybe I don't want to be stuck with you! There's plenty of hot guys with full heads of hair that aren't going gray-"
"Wait, you said I wasn't going bald!" Grif cried, eyes wide.
"I think that's just where I pulled your hair last time," Simmons said, a wicked glint growing in his eyes as he fussed through Grif's damp hair. "I seem to recall I got quite a bit tangled in my fist."
Grif made to reply, then blushed a little before matching Simmons's wicked look with one of his own. "I guess I forgot about that. Maybe you can... remind me?" Grif pressed Simmons down onto the bed as he crawled on top.
Teasing seemed to be more of an aphrodisiac for these two than anything else could hope to be, and they had both developed their abilities to a fine art. "You sure everything still works, old man?" Simmons said, reaching down to grasp hold of Grif's growing erection, making him moan.
"I'm pretty sure I can still get you up," Grif countered, already pulling Simmons's clothes off.
"We can take it slow if you need. You know, maybe catch a nap half way through so you can get your energy back?"
"Your face needs a nap," Grif said, wondering himself what that even meant. He took Simmons mouth into a needy kiss to delay any retort for the moment, but when they parted again he added, "They do say older men make for better lovers."
"Well, you'd know that better than I would."
"Want me to oil any of those stiff joints for ya?"
"You just worry about keeping up."
"Shut up and fuck me already."
Rating: R
Summary: Grif and Simmons have a 'chat' about getting older. Inspired by lvsinsanity.
Grif craned his neck in the bathroom mirror, trying to see the back of his head but unable to get his eyes to cooperate. He tried everything, tipping his head forward for a top-down angle, trying one of Donut's hand mirrors, trying to pull his hair forward further, but nothing was working. Even if he had let his hair grow well beyond regulation length, he just could not seem to get a good visual on the hair at the back of his head. He finally hung his head in shame and went to find Simmons.
The red-head was in his room, polishing his armor. He didn't bother to look up when Grif walked in, not until the younger stood right in front of him, dripping water on his brand new polish job.
"Dammit, Grif!" he snarked, "Watch what you're doing! I've been working on this all morning!"
Grif, unphased by the normal bickering that they engaged in, didn't move. "I need you to look at my head," he said.
"Fine, whatever. I'll do it later, now finish drying off. You're leaving a mess all over the floor!" Simmons indicated the trail of water that stretched across the length of the room from the door to puddle at the feet of his sometimes irritating as hell lover.
"No, Now!" Grif insisted. "I think... I uh... I think I might be..."
Simmons reached up and snatched Grif's towel off from around his waist and began to sop up the water before it got on any more of his armor. "Spit it out," he said.
Grif mumbled out a few words under his breath, pointedly not looking at Simmons and trying not to turn three shades of red.
Simmons looked up at him. "What?"
"I think I might begettingabldspt-"
"Dammit, Grif, I don't have time for this. Tell me what you want or leave me alone."
"I THINK I'M GETTING A BALD SPOT!" he yelled, exasperation taking over. Simmons gaped. Grif groaned and covered his face with his hands. "I can't tell," he said. "I can't get a good view of the back of my head-"
"Well, I've seen it plenty of times, don't you think I would have noticed by now?" he said, a bit harsher than he meant.
"Oh come on, please just take a look?"
Simmons gave a sigh and rolled his eyes but he could tell that this really seemed to mean a lot to Grif so he finally gave up mopping the floor and sat down on the bed. "Come here, sit down," he said, indicating the floor in front of him.
Grif plodded over and flopped down cross-legged.
"Sit up straight," Simmons chided, tipping Grif's head back and pulling his shoulders up a bit more. "Ok, let's see. Hmmm." He mussed in Grif's wet hair a bit, pushing tufts this way and that. He fussed and fiddled until Grif was certain if he didn't have one already, Simmons was going to give him one.
"Well?" he cried after he couldn't stand it anymore.
"Well what?" Simmons replied nonchalantly.
"Am I getting a bald spot or not?"
"No."
Grif sighed in relief.
"But you are going gray."
"WHAT?!"
Simmons laughed and Grif reached back and clutched his hair as if he could somehow will the gray out through flat denial. "How can I be going gray, I'm not even thirty yet!"
"You will be in a few months," he pointed out. "Anyway, what's so surprising about it? We've been through a lot."
"You're not going gray!" Grif accused, as if this were somehow Simmons's fault. "And you're three years older than me!"
"My family has a history of late grayers," Simmons said. "My father didn't start to turn gray until he was almost forty."
Grif buried his head in his arms and groaned, mumbling incomprehensibly while Simmons laughed. "What are you so worried about? It's just a few strands, anyway. Besides, I like it. It makes you look... I dunno, kinda distinguished. More mature looking."
Grif shot him a nasty look. He didn't want to look mature. He didn't want to look distinguished. He didn't want to be turning gray before he even turned thirty! Simmons wasn't going to let him mope about it, though. He kissed the top of his head a few times and let his hands slide down Grif's bare chest. "It doesn't mean anything, Grif. It's just melanin."
"What the fuck is melanin?" Grif hated it when Simmons stated as obvious fact things that he had no clue about. It made him feel dumb, and he hated feeling dumb, even if he did little to alter the image.
"Well, melanin is the chemical in your body that creates pigment. Hair turns gray as you age because the follicles at the base of the hair shaft cease to produce melanin. Each follicle contains a finite number of pigment cells, and these cells produce melanin, a chemical that gives the hair its color. It's the same chemical that makes your skin browner than mine."
"Then I should have plenty, shouldn't I? I'm darker than you, my hair should stay the right color longer!"
"That's not how it works," Simmons replied.
"Well, that's stupid."
"Other things can contribute to early graying, including smooooking," Simmons chided. He had never succeeded in getting Grif to quit. "Or things such as anemia or a Vitamin B deficiency can-"
"Shut up," Grif moaned. "I don't care- wait. Does this mean my skin is going to go whiter?"
"No," Simmons said, getting irritated at Grif's ignorance. "That's not how it works either! Look, just trust me, you'll stay brown, but your hair will go gray. It's just how it works."
Grif pouted.
"I like it," Simmons repeated in a mumble. He wished that meant something to Grif anymore. It seemed that the longer they were together, the more Grif got settled into his ways and nothing Simmons could do would change that. He wished that Grif cared as much for his feelings on things as he did about Grif's.
So it came as something of a shock when Grif turned around to face him and said, "Really?"
He blinked, then smiled at the adorable pout Grif wore. "Really."
"So, you're not gonna leave me just because I'm getting old?"
"I'm older than you are, stupid!" Simmons said. "Hell, I should be the one worried that you're going to trade me in for a younger model!"
"I think they discontinued your line," Grif teased, sticking out his tongue. "So I'm stuck with you."
"That's right! They broke the mold when they made me!"
"Too bad they didn't take your face out first," Grif snorted.
"Is that so?" Simmons teased back. "Well, maybe I don't want to be stuck with you! There's plenty of hot guys with full heads of hair that aren't going gray-"
"Wait, you said I wasn't going bald!" Grif cried, eyes wide.
"I think that's just where I pulled your hair last time," Simmons said, a wicked glint growing in his eyes as he fussed through Grif's damp hair. "I seem to recall I got quite a bit tangled in my fist."
Grif made to reply, then blushed a little before matching Simmons's wicked look with one of his own. "I guess I forgot about that. Maybe you can... remind me?" Grif pressed Simmons down onto the bed as he crawled on top.
Teasing seemed to be more of an aphrodisiac for these two than anything else could hope to be, and they had both developed their abilities to a fine art. "You sure everything still works, old man?" Simmons said, reaching down to grasp hold of Grif's growing erection, making him moan.
"I'm pretty sure I can still get you up," Grif countered, already pulling Simmons's clothes off.
"We can take it slow if you need. You know, maybe catch a nap half way through so you can get your energy back?"
"Your face needs a nap," Grif said, wondering himself what that even meant. He took Simmons mouth into a needy kiss to delay any retort for the moment, but when they parted again he added, "They do say older men make for better lovers."
"Well, you'd know that better than I would."
"Want me to oil any of those stiff joints for ya?"
"You just worry about keeping up."
"Shut up and fuck me already."