i tried to resist i really did but grimmons
warning: swearing, and probably really OOC i’m sorry don’t look at me i never claimed to be a good writer
"Goddammit Grif, when was the last time you cleaned these?" the angel grumbles, sitting on his knees and picking through the other angel’s wings.
"I don’t know." Grif shrugged, sitting criss-cross apple sauce, back facing Simmons.
"These are the most disgusting wings I have ever had the horror of touching." Simmons complained, pulling out a mangled feather that was so dirty he couldn’t tell what color it was anymore, and he wasn’t gentle about it.
"FUCKING BE CAREFUL" Grif winced.
"Then why don’t you do this yourself?" the angel asked angrily, plucking another feather.
"Because-AUGH- because I don’t care."
Grif was like a cat being brushed, he very well might turn around and slug Simmons in the face any moment, it was dangerous work cleaning his wings.
"If you don’t clean them they’ll get bogged down and broken, then what are you going to do?" Simmons asked, brushing crumbs out of the pale orange (it was yellow but Grif got made when you called it pale yellow) wings.
"Probably walk everywhere. Wait no fuck that, probably take a nap."
"You are such an idioit." Simmons grumbled, digging through wings. He let out a disgusted sigh.
"Grif, why is there an oreo in here?"
"I don’t know, why is there an oreo anywhere Simmons?" Grif said, somewhat profoundly.
"God, you are so disgusting." Simmons sometimes wondered why he even bothered, but if he didn’t go through the trouble Grif sure as hell wouldn’t, and Simmons couldn’t stand to see Grif’s wings become unusable.
"Wait Simmons don’t throw it out I’m hungry." Grif whined, flailing his arms in front of him as if to grab invisible food.
"Hell no, that’s disgusting." Simmons retorted, then tossed the oreo aside, far away from Grif’s reach.
"Shut up and hold still." Simmons ordered, and tried to finish up. Soon Grif’s wings were looking clean, but still out of place. He sighed and tried to reaganed feathers that would make it more comfortable, and more atehically pleasing. He didn’t mean to, but he stopped, and felt the soft fuzz of feather in his hand, and got lost in it, so lost that he buried his face in Grif’s wings.
"SIMMONS WHAT THE FUCK"
Simmons quickly pulled away blushing like an idiot. “I’m almost done.” Simmons tried to ignore how shaky his voice was.
"If I wanted my wings all pretty I’d go to Donut." Grif mocked, obviously growing impatient. It was true, Donut did often beg people to let him style their wings, and sometimes he didn’t even ask, he would just sneak up and start his work. It was hard to make him stop, he had some headlock. Even Sarge fell victim to it, Donut was able to style his wings while he slept, and Simmons was still trying to figure out how Donut had avoided getting a black eye.
"I’m not making them pretty I’m making them functional asshole." Simmons finished up and looked proudly at his work.
"Are you done?"
"Almost" Simmons slipped his arms around Grif’s next, and leaned forward, press a kiss on Grif’s neck.
"Oh, Simmons you flirt you could of just asked me." Simmons pushed Grif forward then got up blushing madly and stomped away.
"No wait Simmons come back, I want kisses, Simmons please I don’t wanna get up. SIMMOOOONS"