Chapter Text
“I’ll come with you!”
Simmons blinked. “What?” he said as the suggestion rolled once, twice around his mind before Simmons finally gave in, seeing as it didn't make any sense. “You’ll do what?” he elaborated, as though this would somehow make Church more forthcoming from where he was hovering outside Tucker’s suit.
Church scoffed, and Simmons instantly decided he’d misheard him. Why the fuck would Church want to come with him to pick up the shipment of water anyway? He was an idiot. Well, at least he hadn’t up and asked Church why he wanted to come with--
“I said I’ll come with you,” Church stated, crossing his holographic arms over his chest as though that clarified his point.
Simmons squinted this time. “Are you okay?”
“What?” Church squawked, his voice pitching high. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“You just went up about thirty octaves, dude,” Tucker said, sounding mildly amused. “Are you going through puberty or some shit? I mean,” he continued, tone taking the sultry edge it always did before he said something fucking ridiculous, “that would explain why you suddenly want to--”
“Shut up!” Church interrupted, waving his arms frantically for a moment before disappearing from sight. After a second, he reappeared with a resounding, “Fuck!”
“What? Got too flustered? Your wiring overheated because you have a crush--”
“Tucker, go fuck yourself!” Church’s body shifted, as though uncertain, as Simmons frowned and simply continued to watch this exchange. Having Tucker approach him for casual conversation had been weird enough, but this?
Church stuck up his nose indignantly. “Besides, I’m an AI! I can’t, uh. Get.”
Tucker cocked his head.
“Shut up!” yelled Church. “Simmons, I’m going with you. I’m sick of being with this perv.”
Tucker huffed. “You know, I totally didn't have to come here and act like--”
“If I take you will you both stop being weird?” Simmons interrupted. It was literally just water. What the hell was so hard about that? And what the fuck was happening between these two?
“Yes,” Church said immediately as Tucker chirped, “Oh, he certainly won’t.”
“Fuck you!” Church shot at him.
Simmons and Church weren’t particularly close, let alone Simmons and Epsilon Church, so he honestly had no idea how to handle this particular situation.
Not for the first time, he wished Grif had decided to make this trek alongside him if only to make small talk.
Oh, God. What had he just agreed to? AIs were a signature Blue Team Thing -- as far as Simmons knew, not a single Red had actually dealt with an implant beyond O’Malley’s hopping-spree, and that had been bad enough.
“Wait--” he said, sticking up his hands to form a ‘time-out’ sign.
Something swam against his head, filling the gaps of his mind like water before flinging itself to a corner.
He froze in the time-out pose. “Uh.”
Tucker was staring at him, expectant.
What…
God-fucking-dammit. This was exactly why AIs were Blue. How the fuck did you deal with actively sharing a mind with one? Because it was there, just-- fucking-- chilling as though this was natural which oh fuck it wasn’t and Simmons was a cyborg so natural didn't even cover him properly but this was his brain and his brain was a Safe Zone™ and this was a fucking invasion
“Simmons, chill the fuck out. You’re gonna make me go Theta or some shit from, I dunno, second-hand anxiety.”
And just like that, all of his aforementioned anxieties were flooded away by his own wave of scientific curiosity. “Theta? That’s one of the other AIs, right? You're technically memory and all, but does that mean you inherited the others? Wait, when you say go Theta, do you mean memories or you’ll actually become another AI because that would be an extremely interesting development seeing it would prove the individuality of and psychological capabilities of what would be initially perceived as a mere piece of technology but Dissociative Identities are a strictly human experience so--”
Warmth spread through his head in a pulse.
Simmons cut himself short, momentarily confused as to why he was sorta feeling embarrassed while also not being embarrassed and--
Oh.
Oh shit.
Church was embarrassed.
Oddly enough, knowledge of that was enough to make him actually embarrassed even though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was embarrassed about. He was just in a steaming pile of Awkward that was not fun and oh god he was sharing a head with Church and Church could probably feel what he was feeling seeing as he could feel Church’s feelings and they were just making each other more embarrassed in a stupid fucking cycle because-- why had Church been embarrassed wait had Simmons pressed too far no wait then Church would’ve been mad not embarrassed but he was embarrassed why had he gotten embarrassed in the first place was DID too sensitive a topic and Simmons had just broached it without a fucking care and--
Tucker snapped his fingers in front of Simmons’ face, and Simmons jumped back with a yelp. He could feel Church startle, too, in the corner of his head because they were sharing a head
“Are you both good in there? What was all that nerd-talk about?” His eyes widened, and his face split into a smile. “Wait, did you stop because Church told you--”
Church’s body appeared at Simmons’ shoulder. “I didn't say anything, Tucker.”
“You’re annoyed,” said Simmons, dumbfounded.
“Yeah, that’s a side-effect,” Tucker offered with a shrug. “He’s perpetually annoyed, so you will be, too.”
Why. Was this happening. He. Just wanted to get the water.
Instead he was just standing in front of Tucker with a blank look.
Um.
Church made a small, aborted movement before blipping out of sight. Simmons briefly wondered how Church had transferred so easily -- how an AI could hop from person to person without even being in their implants how the hell did that make sense unless it was proximity-based or maybe it had to do with the type of unit he was because this was a memory unit which would mean Church could hop to people he remembered wait no that didn't make sense how would that account for--
Church’s mind melded deeper with his. It was a sensation not unlike holding hands (and okayokay why the fuck did his mind immediately go to Grif and holding Grif’s hand and wow he hadn’t held anyone’s hand in a long time and holy shit the first person he was basically holding hands with was Church what the fuck was happening), and he felt Church actively slide through his body into his arms and legs and oh fuck brain don’t go there--
His body turned and started walking. “Bye, Tucker,” his mouth said in Church’s voice.
They were going in the right direction because Church knew that the shipment was in a different spot than normal because Church was in his head and sharing his thoughts and Church hadn’t realized he’d accessed that part of Simmons’ brain and now they were both uncomfortable again--
“Okay, look, I get this is new for you,” Church was saying without speaking but rather more like thinking because he could hear thoughts wait could he hear Simmons’ thoughts ohmyGod did that mean he knew that-- wait don’t think about that you fucking idiot-- “SIMMONS SHUT UP GODAMMIT.”
His body stopped walking, and Simmons felt control leak back into his fingers as Church retreated so he was only in his head. “Uh, sorry! This is… um, this is weird.”
Church chuckled, the sound coming low and sensual (why did he think sensual where did that come from oh fuck was he thinking like this because Church was in his head welp this was weird). “Yeah, imagine being me. This is my life. Unless, I’m, y’know. Possessing a person or robot.”
“Uh, right,” Simmons replied. “Sorry. That must be. Um. Hard. Sorry.”
Church hummed, and the sensation thrummed through his bones in a pleasant buzz. “Don’t worry about it. It’s… still taking some getting used to. Even though technically I’ve always been… AI. Yeah.”
Church was being… very honest. Was that a part of sharing a mind? Wait, was that why Church wanted to go with Simmons?-- so they could get to know each other? Why did he want to get to know Simmons? Oh, fuck, was he planning some dumb fucking--
Another surge of embarrassment pulsed through Simmons’ head before it was immediately reigned in. “You’re super fucking loud, you know? And you can just ask.” Simmons felt Church shifting, running along the outskirts of his mind to his other side, tendrils dragging like fingers against the base of his skull. “I… don’t mind.”
There was something tentative there, like Church was waving some metaphorical olive branch in front of him.
Simmons blinked.
This was… definitely weird.
Even still, he let a part of his mind gently reach out as if to take it.
Okay.
Simmons felt appreciation drift out and back in like a tide.
This was intimate.
Wait, not like intimate intimate.
Church snorted, the sound popping near Simmons’ left ear. “How would sharing a head with someone not be intimate?”
He flushed. “Yeah, whatever,” he said, and it sounded just as frazzled as he now felt, which meant Church knew how he felt because he was feeling it too nope not this cycle again Simmons couldn’t think too long on this otherwise he’d--
“We’re here,” said Church.
Oh, right. He’d completely forgotten about getting water. He’d just… got here. “Right,” he said, nodding once. “Water.”
Church laughed again. “Yeah, Richard. Water.”
His face flushed. Richard. No one called him that. He… supposed he didn't mind. Actually, it was kind of nice, like the way people gave each other nicknames that could be dumb but were still affectionate and showed some form of caring and man he’d love hearing Grif call him Richard which would be a first because sometimes he called him Dick and that made him feel strange but in a good way and Church calling him Richard felt strange in a good way but not exactly the same way as--
There was a flash of something; a bolt of pain. Before Simmons could study it, it was gone. Church, in the recesses of his mind, seemed contemplative, defensive. “Are you trying to solve something?” Simmons asked. “Because I-- uh, I sometimes feel how you’re feeling when I’m sorting through something complex.”
“I’m… yeah. Trying to solve something.” Church shifted Simmons’ gaze back to the supplies. “You gonna grab that or not?”
“Yeah. I-- I got it.” He bent over, picking them up and hefting it under his cyborg arm with ease.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Church teased, giving him the mental equivalent of a playful elbow jab. “Even easier with that arm, I bet. How much does that hunk of metal weigh, anyway?”
Simmons grinned. “Shouldn’t you know, being inside me and all that?”
There was a low, resounding pop, and Simmons momentarily lost Church. It was only for a split-second, and he returned flustered and annoyed. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” he said.
“What was that? Should I be worried? Have you been malfunctioning? Why are you flustered?” And why was he flustered in the way Simmons always got when Grif made a sarcastic comment before clapping his shoulder and touching a second longer than normal? And why did he keep thinking about Grif?
“I’m fine,” Church said. “Completely and totally fine. What’s with you…” There was a pause. “Are you comparing me to your relationship with Grif?”
He stopped walking. “What?”
“You keep-- nevermind.” Church was… pleased. For some reason.
After another moment’s hesitation, he kept walking. They were already nearing the building -- he’d be back to useless routines and lounging with Grif pretty soon. “But, uh, yeah. The cybernetics have taken some time to get used to.” He huffed and shook his head. “I mean, I guess it’s helped with improving my upper body strength.”
Church paused. His minute shifting halted, his prodding stopped. A gear whirled. “I’ve noticed.”
Simmons frowned. “Oh,” he said. That almost sounded like… wait, no -- there was no way Church was-- oh fuck Church was in his head and Church meant that he’d noticed because he was partially cybernetic which was a very noticeable thing to… notice. Yeah. “Oh! Yeah. It’s, um. Useful.” He shifted his arm, using the mechanized rotation to flex his bicep slightly. “I can do a lot of crazy stuff with this thing.”
Church did something that sounded suspiciously like choking, and there was a flash of ‘Donut’. “Uh, yeah. I’m sure that it can. I, uh, guess we sorta understand each other there. I mean, hey,” he continued, “You’re part machine, and I’m technically… well, just a machine.”
There was something else there; something Church was hiding. Despite his curiosity, he found himself focusing on the words rather than the puzzle beneath. “Hey,” he said, making his tone as soothing as possible, letting that tone seep through as genuine and even letting some of the concern shine through (hell, Church may have known about it even if he tried to hide that concern. He lived like this, after all.). It was different than his usual approach to these things -- every time Grif told him something bordering on personal, something that framed a further narrative, a past, he avoided it. Simmons wasn’t sure why. Grif did the same. It was their routine. Perhaps he could try something different with Church -- the best practice would probably be when having someone there who’s basically psychically connected to him.
“You’re not a machine. You’re still a person. You-- you have thoughts and feelings and emotions and-- and all that. You’ve got a personality! Granted, you’re definitely kind of an asshole, but I dunno.” He grinned, ignoring the way Tucker was lounging in front of the pantry door looking nowhere near casual. “You’re someone I think I’d like to know better.”
Tucker’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, are you talking to me or--”
Simmons pursed his lips before lifting the bag of waters. “Nope. And move. I need to put these away.”
Tucker lifted his hands. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” Then he winked. “Have fun getting to know him.” He brushed Simmons’ shoulder as he walked past, and for a second Simmons wondered if that comment had actually been innocent for once.
Church still wasn’t saying anything; occasionally releasing a soft electromagnetic throb Simmons couldn’t yet interpret. There was something familiar there.
“Bow chicka bow wow!” Tucker called over his shoulder.
“Fuck,” said Simmons.
Church made a strangled sound.
Simmons kind of wanted to shoot an insult at Tucker’s back. That was usually his brand with Grif -- with everyone else, the insults came muttered or disguised in some form of ass-kissing. “Shut the fuck up, Tucker!” he yelled after the man anyway.
Tucker wolf-whistled. “He’s really in your head, isn’t he?”
“I’ll kick your ass!” Church told him, easily gaining control over Simmons’ body once more. “I’ll tell Caboose you want a hug!”
Tucker’s laughter echoed through the room.
Simmons was still in the backseat, watching through what felt like Church’s eyes. It was… odd. He knew he could easily take back control -- Church left that pathway wide open and easy to navigate. But this… this was how Church spent much of his time living. Working behind the scenes, assessing probabilities and threats; never the focal point he’d been as Alpha. “This--” he began, halting at the way speech came like-- like that. Analogous to using a comm system. “This doesn’t make much scientific sense,” he finished.
Church looked down at Simmons’ hands, opening and closing his fists in deliberate motions. “It makes a bit more sense when you’re the program being run. If you want I can… show you?”
Simmons felt the meaning, thoughts like images in explanation surfacing in his brain. Meld deeper. Church had been sticking to the edges, navigating his way around fissures, only sticking his fingers in deep enough for basic motor control.
It was a silent conversation, communication without words, without even thinking. It’d be close. Personal. They’d understand more about each other -- they’d get answers, but they’d get more than that, too. Things not conscientious. Nothing buried -- not that far, not yet (“yet” reverberated down his spine with a shiver), but closer than they’d be with anyone else.
He wasn’t entirely sure why he did it, but he… he opened himself immediately. Everything in him was suggesting trust, telling him that this was okay. It was like tearing down a forest, plucking the trees from the Earth to see the plains beneath.
Church hovered above him like a sun, hesitating. Simmons’ knuckles were turning white. “Are you sure?” Church said, his tone dipping. Simmons could see where the hesitance was; see it in the same way he could see his own motives. He wanted to. But this was… new. Different. For both of them.
This was about much more than understanding the science behind an AI.
“I’m sure,” he responded.
Church dove into him.
Simmons’ body stumbled back, and he blinked; control thrust back upon him from the shock. He grasped desperately at the counter for purchase. He couldn’t focus on the physical, his head still reeling from the continuing crash. It felt like their minds were fusing, Church’s thoughts intermixing with his own, stretching into each furrow and dissolving within.
A small, surprised sound escaped him, and his knees buckled slightly.
It felt like minutes, hours -- hours of his muscles tensing, toes curling inward as the sensation arched through his body.
Then Church finally settled. One last wave wracked through him, and Simmons gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the counter to let it flow through.
Then he could finally breathe again.
His breaths were coming out in heavy pants.
“I,” said Church, “didn't expect it to work like… that.”
Simmons flicked his eyes upward.
Tucker was standing in the doorway, expression somewhere between shock, horror, and absolutely pleased. “Wow,” he said. “I was just coming to grab one of those waters you brought back.” He lifted an empty plastic bottle as if to exaggerate his point. “But I think I’ll give you two some space.”
Church was annoyed and embarrassed. Simmons was annoyed and embarrassed. Or maybe Simmons was just embarrassed and Church was just annoyed but in their current state, distinguishing between the two was a bit difficult.
Simmons flushed. Church glared. “Fuck off,” they said.
Tucker’s mouth twisted into a smirk. “Like I said. I’ll give you two some space. Bow-chicka--”
Church scrambled to grab anything off the counter space -- Simmons directed him to the roll of paper towels -- before launching it in Tucker’s direction -- Simmons made sure it didn't go wide by five feet.
Tucker ducked, and the roll sailed over his head. “--bow-wow!” he concluded.
With that, he ran back out cackling. Simmons could, perhaps a bit too clearly, make out his calls for Wash.
Well, shit.
It definitely had… looked like. That.
It even kind of felt--
“I’m going to my room!” Simmons squeaked, steering in that direction.
Church was anxious (and not just feeding off Simmons’ anxieties -- actually anxious because--)
Simmons stepped into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. (It wasn’t just his room it was also Grif’s he needed to check if Grif was in here and probably eating fucking Cheeto’s like the fatass he was--)
They were alone.
Most of Simmons’ anxiety ebbed out. His head stopped pounding.
Immediately, many things were clear to him:
1. Church preferred being called Church by his teammates and Epsilon by Carolina because he thought of Carolina as his sister because he was technically her dad (what the fuck what the fuck) but he also liked going by Leo but never Leonard and never Doctor because that was too much like the Director who he technically was and who was Carolina’s actual dad (no, seriously, what the fuck?).
2. Church knew that Simmons liked being called Richard but still preferred to be called Dick by most people (how was this now clicking he hadn’t thought this earlier what the fuck was happening) because his father went by Richard and his father was fucking awful except maybe if Grif called him Richard that would be the one exception because of the simple fact that Grif was Grif.
3. Church had a big thing dealing with his personal identity in which he simultaneously believed he was his own individual but also recognizing himself as made of numbers and as a refracted version of someone else. He chose to ignore the whole Dissociative Identity Disorder thing as much as possible because that acknowledged Sigma’s presence within him and also other things like the fact that he actually was just a fraction of a whole which wasn’t a good feeling because while he still had feelings, they never felt entirely like his own. Besides, he lived in other people’s heads. Having other people live in a head within a head was something best left ignored.
4. Simmons could see the numbers behind Church’s composition, as well as the way they warped unnaturally. They changed, altering themselves on a second-to-split-second basis, following no algorithm he was familiar with. It was a living code. (He emphasized ‘living’ for Church.)
5. Simmons was an extremely anxious person. Church wasn’t as anxious, but he fed off other people’s emotions, which meant he was feeding off Simmons’ anxiety. Simmons had already figured this out. Church was only now figuring it out. This made him anxious.
6. Simmons was completely and utterly in love with Grif, and had been for quite some time.
7. Simmons hadn’t known this.
8. What the fuck he hadn’t known this.
9. He was in fucking love with his best friend and he’d had no fucking idea.
10. This fact hurt Church because he was completely and utterly in love with Simmons.
It was like a punch to the gut.
No-- not that. A punch to the gut was too familiar a feeling for this.
It was like finding out you had been in love with someone for years while simultaneously finding out that someone you hadn’t known very well was in fucking love with you.
“Um,” he said. “You… you…”
“You don’t need to lose your shit,” Church interrupted. They were both talking now, but it seemed… perfunctory. Not necessary, seeing as they could feel everything. Because Simmons had opened himself up entirely. “It’s not…” Not a big deal.
But it was. They both knew this, and they both were aware the other knew this.
Still, Church didn't close himself off. He was defensive, but… he wasn’t trying to hide anything. He was being honest, direct. Leaving himself open.
It was refreshing.
Simmons released a small snort. “Uh. Wow. Okay. Well, you know. I think we should… probably. Talk about this?”
Church swallowed and nodded. “Right. Can’t say I have much practice in that as… me me.”
Simmons stepped further into the room, moving to sit at the edge of his bed. “So you… love me.”
He knew this. Knew it as a fact, knew it as confidently as Church.
Church still answered. “Yes.”
“And I’m… I’m in love with Grif.”
“Also yes.” It was a weird sensation, his mouth still talking like this, holding a conversation by itself. Their voices had even seemed to meld together, so it really did sound like he was talking to himself. Church pressed a hand against his knee. “Yeah, it is weird. I’ve never done this before. But yeah. You’re in love with Grif.”
Simmons pulled his other hand through his hair. It seemed obvious, now. All these years by each other’s side, rarely going more than a couple hours without talking. His thoughts tended to revolve around the man, anchoring on his opinion of Simmons, on his relationship with him. He’d even do those stupid, unnecessary touches -- some he’d claim as an accident when they brushed hands while walking, while talking, while eating, while doing anything together where he thought he could somehow get away with it. Wanting Grif to be by his side on that stupid, short as fuck supply run.
“Yeah, it was pretty fuckin’ obvious,” Church piped up.
“Shut up!” Simmons glared at the wall directly across from him. “You’re an asshole.”
“Uh, yeah. I noticed.”
Simmons rolled his eyes. But Church wasn’t denying anything. He accepted the fact that Simmons loved Grif, even though it hurt him.
“You know,” said Simmons, “I’d expect you to be far less emotionally mature.”
“Hey. I’m an AI. AIs are mature as fuck.” He smirked. “But, all things considered, you too. I honestly expected you to, I dunno, pass out from embarrassment. Maybe even die.” Simmons let the flicker of amusement settle in. “I’ll just blame it on the fact that you’re a cyborg. I appoint you an Honorary AI.”
Simmons actually laughed at that. It tore through them both unexpectedly, cutting short as fast as it had started. Simmons didn't miss the pleased feeling emanating from Church, a shimmer of delight from the reaction he’d gotten. Then again, Church wasn’t hiding anything.
He actually did like Church.
He still didn't know him that well (well, he knew a fuck-ton more than before given that they were currently together), but what he did know, he liked.
“Okay,” he said, the word coming out in a sigh. “Well. You know I like you.”
“Everyone likes me.”
“I don’t like you anymore.”
Church made a surprised, wet sound before smiling and sticking his tongue out. “Yes you fucking do. I’m great.”
He lifted his hands. “You caught me. But, seriously I… yeah, I do. And um, obviously I know that you like me.”
Church hummed in affirmation, opting out of making another sarcastic comment. “I do.”
“I think I’m…” Simmons leaned back and exhaled slowly. He didn't know if Grif loved him back. Not to mention, he was terrified of losing their friendship. But… this. Seemed. It seemed in reach. Plausible. Perhaps not exactly logical -- Church was still an AI. It was unorthodox.
But Church was a person.
And Simmons was a person.
And, well, right now they were one person.
He could feel Church examining his line of thought, picking apart each word and examining it, trying to understand.
Sometimes, you just had to say, “Fuck it,” and go.
“Do you wanna try something?” said Simmons.
The words poured out almost unbidden, and Simmons was left not entirely sure what, exactly, they were suggesting.
Church stopped the sorting he’d been doing moments earlier, letting the new words sink in, letting the sentiment behind them follow. Simmons could sense his curiosity -- he wanted to ask what Simmons was thinking, but he was already aware that this was different, that Simmons hadn’t fully thought this through. His usual analysis, formulas, plans were disregarded within the space of one question. “Well… sometimes you just have to say, ‘Fuck it,’ right?” Church mused. “So-- fuck it. Why not?”
Church’s own thoughts and emotions were buzzing; nervous, excited. He was reading Simmons, untangling his thoughts like they were code, holding them up and gripping them tight. Simmons liked him, trusted him enough to jump headfirst into figuring out their potential relationship. Gratitude sparked along the edge of their minds, beams of hope gleaming through each burst. Church was optimistic -- a tentative optimism that told Simmons Church believed he had a chance, that while Simmons would continue to love Grif, perhaps there was room for him to love Church, too.
It seemed that his hope for what could be wasn’t alone.
Church wanted to prove himself, prove that he was worth this time and effort despite the irregularity of their circumstances.
As Simmons parsed through those thoughts, he felt himself become more and more flustered. ‘Fuck it,’ was easy enough to say, easy enough to want, but he still wasn’t even sure what it was he wanted. And having someone in you, someone who was understanding you in your entirety, spilling their thoughts with yours…
Church could feel Simmons’ anxiety freezing him in place. He didn't know what he wanted, never knew how-- had never done something like this before.
Following a quick, questioning prod from the AI, Simmons allowed Church to thread his way back into Simmons’ body, taking control of each muscle, each tendon, each bone.
He slowly laid back against the bed.
Church’s moves were slow, tender. Every action played out in their minds for reassurance, moving further, deeper with every affirmation. It pulled Simmons to his brink, fulfilling him in ways he could never do on his own. With control relinquished, he was left truly feeling like it was Church pulling at the neckline of his shirt, ghosting his fingers along his flesh, gently gripping his collarbone. Every touch was deliberate, sending desperate waves of ecstasy through Church as he registered the contact, felt it like he was the one made of flesh and bone.
Simmons felt cared for. Safe. The feeling was unusual, unfamiliar after years of being on edge, of looking over his shoulder and expecting someone to hurt him, kill him, break him.
As Church continued, brushing his hands along his throat, Simmons released a placid sigh.
A static flare cut in Simmons’ mind as Church contorted at the soft sound, his presence momentarily blipping at Simmons’ audible gratification. The remnants of apprehension fled Church’s mind, and his movements became more determined.
His hand worked its way up his neck, grazing against each muscle and tendon with eager precision, sending chilling ripples down Simmons’ spine. He closed his eyes, leaving himself vulnerable as his sighs grew to deeper moans.
Church hadn’t realized that Simmons would be this… vocal. It was pretty fucking hot.
The bluntness behind the thought made Simmons purse his lips, suddenly self-conscious. He didn't know what was normal, what was expected in situations like this. Even though he could sense the pleasure behind Church’s words, he was still uncertain about how to feel -- if it was something he’d need to stop. If it was actually acceptable.
“Hey, it’s… it is, alright? So you should, uh, do that more,” Church offered, his tone comforting. Even still, Simmons could feel Church’s embarrassment for his own pleading tone underneath.
Simmons found himself relishing in that tone, succumbing to the reassurances. He threaded his mind through Church’s thoughts, the AI letting him take everything in with soothing warmth, letting him see if just touching his neck got this kind of reaction, what would happen if…?
Every sound that escaped Simmons in breathy gasps was driving Church to his edge, making him want to push further. Simmons was losing himself, leaving himself unguarded, permitting Church to go even further without question.
Church opened their mouth. “Take off your shirt,” he commanded softly.
He released the reins on Simmons’ functions.
Simmons swarmed back in a rush, almost dazed by the sudden shift. Even still, he could understand, could read into Church’s thoughts to understand his desire for mutuality even while he led (Simmons glanced further there, curious, and saw a tightly wound ball of fear and trepidation and more self-doubt; the need for control stemming deeper into a need to understand he actually could control, could act independently, could choose to take those better paths. Simmons grazed against it, understanding. Church nudged him back, appreciative.).
Simmons timidly reached for the bottom of his shirt, ready to follow the order efficiently and quickly because he didn't want to overthink this again and--
Church sent a warm, calming pulse to halt his panic. “‘S’alright,” he offered, his voice bordering on a tease that he somehow knew would make Simmons settle, relax. “No different from getting ready for bed, right?”
Simmons huffed, a small grin tracing his lips. “Right,” he repeated back.
When he started pulling upwards, Church lowered his voice and added, “… Slowly.”
Simmons swallowed, his throat turning dry. He resisted the urge to nod, allowing Church to shift his gaze so his eyes trained just below his hands as the fabric lifted to gradually reveal his torso.
Simmons had seen his own body before, obviously. But to have someone else ogle him, using his own eyes to take him in hungrily, sensing Church’s yearning to examine him more closely… it was strange, to say the least. He tried to think of something to reduce the rapidly rising uneasiness.
“… Like what I see?” he said, heat rising to his cheeks as he gave Church a tentative grin, fully removing his shirt and placing it to their side.
Church abruptly laughed. “That-- that was--” pretty funny, and kinda cute he finished as a thought. “But yeah. A lot, actually.” He honestly couldn’t get enough of it.
Church licked their lips. It somehow made their position more intimate, the sensation of having Church moving the muscle as Simmons felt it simultaneously -- it was something new, almost akin to his first time making out. Except this was… essentially with himself.
Simmons released a small, beseeching whimper.
Church, interest piqued, exploratorily ran his tongue along their canines before lightly biting down on their lower lip.
Simmons tensed his muscles and clenched his jaw, effectively freezing his body in place as he took in the feeling.
Another feeling swelled within him. Between his inner thighs, there was a twitch.
Church and Simmons blinked.
Church took the moment of vacancy as an opportunity to control his hands before anxieties about their hard-on could stall Simmons out again. He grazed the cybernetic one featherlight against his pecs, indulging in the unique contrast of hot skin to cool metal. He moved the other hand down his sternum, tantalizingly slow, rising and falling across the landscape of muscle and scars gained over years of training and war.
Simmons took a staggered breath when his fingers trailed across his hip bone and further down, teasing, hinting where Church craved to go.
His skin flushed, blood pooling under the surface and pumping toward his groin. Heat laced his skin from the lust Church was emanating throughout. Two minds molded, intertwined with desire and folding their converging wants amplified their senses, made everything burn with untamed ecstasy.
Simmons… wouldn’t mind getting used to this.
The desire between them spiraled, fleshing out symbiotically in a way far more enjoyable than the cycling embarrassment of before.
Out of habit, Church sorted through Simmons’ thoughts one more time, probing for reassurance that it was okay to go further.
Simmons paused, his breath shuttering slightly.
His response came in another unthinking action as he pushed his hand down his boxers, curling his fingers around his hardened shaft. Church’s euphoric surprise beat through him in a wave, magnifying the feeling. It grew even more as Simmons tipped his chin up and whispered, “Leo…”
Church’s mind radiated, clutching onto the sound like a lifeline. Hearing his name falling so intimately from Simmons’ lips was… special. Just for him.
He wanted Simmons’ to understand the feeling first-hand, not just through the vicarious nature of their interlocked minds.
Cautiously, he began to stroke their hand downward, lowly moaning, “Dick,” in return.
“Hey man, I-- Simmons, what the fuck?!”
They’d been too… distracted to notice the door open.
Fuck, they both thought. Embarrassment thrust through them, followed on tail by disappointment.
Simmons scrambled to grab his shirt, the blanket, anything to cover what he could, as if that would somehow discount the fact that Grif obviously saw his hands all over himself.
Grif’s eyes were wide, and the patch of Simmons’ skin on his face was bright red. Simmons could only imagine how he looked by comparison. “Dude… next time, put a sock on the door,” Grif mumbled. His gaze shot downwards, and he quickly retreated, pulling the door to a close behind him.
Church and Simmons exhaled.
“Well,” said Church, and then proceeded to say nothing else..
Simmons snorted.
Church immediately broke out in laughter. “Shit,” he said, and Simmons doubled over, clutching at his chest.
“So... you seemed to be enjoying yourself,” Church said, grin intact. “Before we were so rudely interrupted, I mean.”
“Whatever, asshole,” said Simmons, still trying to pull himself together. “Like you weren't enjoying it, too.”
Church hummed softly. “Yeah, you could say that.”
Simmons rolled the past events through his mind. The moment was ruined in a sense, even as amusement and gaiety boiled through them. It was a different moment now, given how Grif had thoroughly dismantled the sensual passion of before.
Even still, he wanted something further, wanted to hear Church’s response, hear him use his lips in that same way he had moaned his name. Simmons desired the intimacy, that drive of before, but he wanted more. Wanted him in a way that delved deeper than the physical, needed more of the coexistence that left him feeling breathless, safe.
“Maybe we should… reconvene? Sometime later?”
Church suffused with emotion, elated that, despite their previous interruption, Simmons’ didn't simply want to ignore it, act as though nothing had happened at all. Such behavior would’ve been par for his course, based on what Church had glimpsed, what Simmons had allowed him to see. But Simmons was giving Church a chance -- he wanted more. More of him. More of them.
“That’s…,” Church offered softly, still reveling in the feeling but not wanting to push Simmons for too much. “Maybe sooner rather than later.” He ran his hand across the bedsheet, paralleling the feeling by grazing tendrils of tranquility against Simmons’ synapses. “If you’d like to, that is.”
Simmons offered a genuine smile. “Yeah. I think I would.”
----------
Church returned to Tucker not long after. The other man had just left Wash’s room, and Church couldn’t even bring himself to wonder what, exactly, he’d told told the former Freelancer.
Tucker released a small surge of surprise upon Church’s return. The sensation was muted compared to his merger with Simmons of before, more innocent.
“Innocent?” Tucker thought at him, bemused. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”
Church gave him the notion of rolling his eyes and flipping him off. Even still, he couldn’t hide the delight radiating throughout him.
Tucker stopped walking, glancing curiously at his shoulder even though Church hadn’t projected himself there. “Dude,” he said, “I have never felt so much second-hand happiness in my life. I should have Cy-boy babysit your ass more often so I don't have to deal with your brooding shit.”
Church projected himself to cross his arms over his chest and stare at Tucker. “Yeah,” he retorted, sounding far more confident than he felt. “Tomorrow sounds good.”
Tucker snorted, lifting a brow. “Oh, wow -- you drop me like a hat like that? You want him so bad,” he said, and his voice pitched up slightly in his tell-tale way before, “bow-chicka--”
Church interrupted him before he could go any further, letting some of his smugness filter through their connection. “No, seriously. He said he'd take me tomorrow night for a few hours.”
“Wait,” said Tucker. “It sounds like… it sounds…” He took a deep breath. “It sounds like you’re taking him. To church. Except he’s gonna be on his knees praying for--”
“Tucker, give me one good reason not to fry your brain like an omelette.”