Just Desserts

Title: Just Desserts
Author: Kaid
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Grif/Donut/Simmons
Warnings: Use of food in questionable taste (lawl puns), humor (I hope), a lot of ooc, including mild closetDom!Donut. This is for funzies, people! Smut, PWP.
Disclaimer: Don’t own, don’t sue!
Summary: Simmons and Grif go to war over Donut’s specialty. ~4282 words


“What is that?”

Simmons looked up sharply from his spot behind Donut, who was intently sprinkling a layer of crumbs into what looked like a fat, curved Champaign flute. The blonde Marine licked his pinkie and kept it arched from the rest of his fingers, then smiled widely at the stiff-backed soldier standing in the dining room.

“It’s-”

“Parfette,” Simmons interrupted, his voice coming out as more of a growl than anything. Donut blinked at his tone and eyed the taller man, clearly disgruntled at being cut off, before turning back to Grif.

“Yes, it’s parfette,” he broke off another sliver of graham cracker and began snapping it into smaller pieces. “It’s got vanilla ice cream-”

Grif’s gaze latched onto Simmons’. Completely unaware of the intense glares flashing over his head, Donut continued. “And strawberry mousse, and white chocolate shavings-”

Grif took a step into the kitchen. Simmons bared his teeth at the advancing Spartan and moved closer to the pink Marine.

“And I’m going to top it off with whipped cream and chocolate shavings, just for a little contrasting flavor. Um. Guys?” he finally looked up from his work and noticed the battle occurring between the two men. “What’s up?”

Grif turned jolly, honey-gold eyes on the smaller Spartan, leaning an elbow casually on the counter near the dessert glass.

“So. Parfette, huh? Never heard of it.”

“Surprise,” Simmons said, a superior smirk on his face.

“What’s it taste like?” the orange Spartan asked, ignoring him.

Donut lifted a spoon and opened his mouth, only to be cut off by Simmons.

“What the fuck do you think strawberry and vanilla taste like, moron?”

“Hey,” Grif bristled. “What the hell is your problem? I didn’t even know you liked sweet shit, asshole.”

“Well I do. Maybe not as much as your fat ass-”

“HEY!”

“But I know a damn good parfette when I see one!”

Donut slipped out from between the two men, his mostly finished concoction in tow, and took a good look at them. They followed his retreat, both sets of eyes locked on the delicious looking pink and white sugary treat.

With a rush, Donut realized the raw power he held in his perfectly manicured hand.

“Oh. I see what this is,” he flicked the spoon between the two. “So, Simmons is actually a closet sugar addict, and Grif feels like his territory is being encroached upon. Well, guys, this glass has the last of my ingredients,” he blatantly lied. “What to do, what to do-”

“But you already said I could have some,” Simmons pouted from behind the counter. Grif slid around the marble and approached Donut. Not to be left behind, Simmons followed.

“You know how much I love sugar, Donut,” Grif said, expression serious. “You wouldn’t be so cruel to deny me a taste.”

The pink Spartan nodded thoughtfully and held up a hand to stop his teammates from coming closer.

“You’re absolutely right, I’m certainly not that cruel,” he pulled out a chair from the table and took a seat, resting the glass on the clean tabletop. “So, come get your tastes, boys.”

Grif looked at Simmons. Simmons returned his stare with a sneer. Wordlessly, they went to take a step forward-

“Stop.”

-and did as they were told.

Donut grinned. Grif frowned.

“Kneel.”

Simmons dropped to his knees immediately. Grif gawked, then snorted.

“Yeah, that’s right. Must come naturally to such a kiss…ass…”

His words died as Donut dipped the spoon inside the glass, making sure Grif watched as every inch of metal sank into soft, perfect layers. Donut stood with his giant spoonful and walked over to Simmons, making the maroon soldier tilt his head to accept the utensil into his mouth.

His moan of appreciation was downright sinful. Grif’s knees met linolium.

“Ah, ah,” Donut waved a finger at Grif disapprovingly, “you only did it because Simmons won that one. You’ll get yours when you obey me the first time I say it.”

Simmons smiled wickedly at his scowling teammate, making sure he saw the last speck of ice cream licked from the corner of his mouth.

“Whore,” Grif spat bitterly. Simmons shrugged, his attention already focused on the glass.

Donut returned to his seat and tapped his chin with a pale finger, his stomach secretly roiling with giddiness and no small amount of arousal at having his two perfectly male, perfectly straight teammates subjugated in front of him. He beckoned them closer to his spot. Scowling, the men shuffled over.

“Beg like a puppy.” The kneeling reds each watched each other as they tried to figure out exactly what ‘beg like a puppy’ entailed. Jerkily, they bent their arms at the elbows and let their hands curl in front of them. Grif added wide, pleading eyes to his pose. Simmons added eyes, a whimper, and a wiggle of his hips. Donut clapped and giggled like crazy. “Oh wow. That was perfect, Simmons. You get another.”

“Heeeey,” Grif whined. “I did it exactly like he did, what the hell? Since when is this a contest? I thought we just had to do what you said!”

Donut shrugged and spoonfed the maroon soldier. Grif could actually see the goosebumps that exploded over his arms, and the shudder of pleasure that ran through him.

“Dude, there is no fucking way that stuff is that good.”

“Whatever, man. More for me if you’re too much of a pansy to keep playing.”

“Screw you, I’m way too cool to be kneeling on the kitchen floor, begging for Donut, of all people, to feed me some-”

Without warning, the pink Spartan shoved a tiny spoonful into Grif’s flapping mouth. His eyes went wide.

“Holy shit,” he whimpered. “Holy shit, I’m in. Fuck you, Simmons. This game is MINE,” he growled.

“Just give up, jackass. You don’t stand a chance. I can take any order and fulfill it a million times better than you ever could.”

“Just because, again, you are so god damn good at being a kissass and you’ve had waaaaaaaaaaaahaaaaayhaaaaaaaaaaaay more practice than me doesn’t mean you’ve got this in the bag. C’mon, Donut. Let’s do this.”

Donut’s knees bounced with pent up excitement. “Okay, okay, umn…” he paused and bit nervously at the tip of his finger, melting under the eager, determined gazes of his two teammates. “Simmons.” The maroon soldier’s eyes flashed. Donut held back a groan of delight. “Take off your shirt.”

Simmons shot Grif another shit-eating smirk. Slowly, deliberately, Simmons slipped his fingers under the hem of his shirt and pushed up. His fingertips slid over pale, notched abs and passed lightly over his small, pink nipples. Donut wound his fingers tightly in his lap and tried not to look like he was eating Simmons with his eyes, but failed miserably (if the scrunch of Grif’s nose was any indication).

Finally, Simmons had the shirt up to his neck. He pulled off the piece of fabric with a delicate arch of his spine, dark auburn hair ruffling as it popped over his head.

A tiny squeak erupted from Donut’s throat. Grif rolled his eyes as the pink soldier’s hand shook when Simmons received his prize.

“Your turn, Grif,” Donut tore his eyes off the slim muscles before him just long enough to give the command. Wiggling his arms to loosen up, Grif crossed his forearms and grabbed the hem of his tee, then lifted, pulling it up and over his head. He blew a stray lock of hair out of his face, licked a thumb, then reached down and pinched a nipple.

The two men could practically hear Donut’s brain sizzle. “Buh” was all he managed as he fed Grif a massive glob of softening ice cream and crispy graham cracker. Grif closed his eyes to savor it, then cracked one to check on Simmons. The older male was frowning.

“That’s right, bitch,” he murmured. Simmons glared.

Donut licked his lips and glanced at the glass in his hand. There was only one serving left.

Which meant that there was only one thing to do.

“Alright, last scoop.” Grif and Simmons ‘awed’ in unison. “Don’t worry,” Donut lifted his shirt and upended the glass onto his bare stomach. “You get to share it.”

Grif’s jaw hit the ground. Simmons blushed an embarrassingly bright pink.

“Hell to the naw!” Grif backed away. “I knew you’d make us do gay stuff, dude. I just didn’t think it’d be this-”

“Grif,” Donut interrupted, his voice almost a whisper and pupils heavily dilated. “I can make these with oreos.”

Grif was between his legs in an instant. “Get the fuck over here, Simmons,” he snapped, before leaning in to lick off as much as possible. He was stopped by a hand in his hair.

“Wait for him.”

Grif withered under the look on Donut’s face, surprised by the sudden shift in demeanor. The pink soldier’s light green eyes were hard, demanding. Grif waited patiently for Simmons to shuffle over, crouched on the other side of Donut’s right knee.

“Okay,” Donut purred. “You two share it. Slowly.”

“Fuck that, I’m not living out one of your homo fanta-”

Simmons craned his neck and licked softly at a trail of ice cream that had tried to escape over Donut’s hip.

“-sies,” Grif finished, eyes wide at the sight of tongue on skin. Simmons tried to send him a ‘haaaa, you’re a pussy’ look, but only ended up looking embarrassed and kind of scared. Grif swallowed and leaned down until his face hovered over the rapidly melting ice cream.

Fuck it.

Donut watched Grif’s brain go on automatic as he lapped at the sugar sliding down his stomach. His breath hitched again as Simmons joined in, and the boys gently shared the ice cream. The pink Spartan lifted his other hand into Simmons hair and pushed them closer together. Grif resisted, Simmons let his neck go mostly limp, let himself be lead around by Donut’s hand.

“Yeah…all of it. All of it, or I won’t make any more for either of you.”

Grif whimpered at the threatened loss and diligently smoothed his tongue over places where he’d already licked. Simmons, to his dismay, finished off the very last of the parfette, but stayed with him to complete the job, dipping into Donut’s bellybutton, sliding lower to collect the traces they hadn’t been fast enough to catch.

The maroon soldier licked at salty skin, running his mouth over quivering muscles. One particular trail led further down than the others, so he followed it to the top of Donut’s low-slung fatigues. His chin bumped something solid and Donut’s hand tightened in his hair. Simmons almost choked on his tongue.

Donut was hard.

Simmons’ heart beat furiously in his throat. What the fuck was he supposed to do? Keep licking and hope for the best? Panicking, the only thing Simmons wanted to do was let Grif know so that he wasn’t alone in the discovery. Maybe together they could figure out how to handle this new…development.

He poked him in the side. The honey-eyed man glanced over at him, caught the frightened look on his face, and shrugged his shoulders questioningly. Simmons glanced up at Donut, and paled when he saw sharp canines, exposed from the wicked, knowing smile on the pink Marine’s face.

Simmons pulled away and Donut’s fingers slipped from his hair. Grif felt the lack of a presence at his side, and sneered at his teammate’s retreat.

“Pfft, for he who follows orders impeccably you sure aren’t thorough. Dude, you missed a whole spot.”

Grif leaned down and took Simmons place, licking at the patch above the buttons on his fatigues. Simmons winced when Grif froze.

“Hoookaaay,” Grif held up his hands and wrenched away, obviously sharing a similar experience with the taller soldier. “I think we’re good here.”

Donut curled his arms behind his head and glanced down, completely unashamed of the erection straining against his zipper. He tilted his hips, examining his lower half from different angles.

“You missed some,” he purred, cocking his hips. A fat trail of melted cream clung to his button and had dried on top of his zipper. Directly over the thick bulge that both kneeling men were trying their hardest not to look at.

“Oreos and vanilla ice cream, Grif,” the pink Spartan reminded. “Or nothing at all.”

“Holy shit, I hate my addiction,” Grif whined, then closed his eyes so tightly they hurt. He leaned forward, noting Simmons’ squeak of surprise with immense satisfaction, and polished the button.

He pulled away quickly and shifted on his knees, eyeing the very last streak of sweetness with a flushed face.

“That one’s all you, Simmons.”

“What?!” the other man barked. “Fuck that! You’re closer, you do it.”

Grif tried to grin, but it was a shaky smile at most. “Chickenshit.”

Simmons’ jaw clenched. Grif’s eyes sparkled in victory and interest as Simmons bent back over Donut’s crotch.

“icecreamicecreamicecream,” he muttered, psyching himself up for what he was about to do. He watched the constrained dick give a visible pulse at his proximity and snapped his eyes closed. “Oh god,” Simmons groaned, then touched the very tip of his tongue to the smear.

Beyond the occasional thick twitch under his mouth reminding him of what he was doing, Simmons found it easy to focus on the fabric he was licking, and how that last strip of ice cream was determined to stay firmly attached to it. Getting aggravated that it wasn’t coming out after a few swipes, Simmons made the mistake of scraping his teeth lightly over the substance.

Donut groaned and both slender hands wove into Simmons’ hair.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck, it was almost out, just a few more god damn motherfucking licks and he … he could stop.

The damn spot he’d been licking got…wetter. And…saltier. Simmons leapt back, a hand clapped over his mouth. His eyes shot to Grif’s, completely full of terror. That was….he’d just tasted…

Grif didn’t know what the fuck to do. He sat there, knees sore, trying to register that he had just, essentially, seen Simmons licking Donut’s dick. He shrugged helplessly at the wide-eyed, shock filled stare he received from Simmons. He glanced at Donut and asked, throat dry, “Dude…are we done?”

Donut’s lips were red and swollen from being bitten. He eyed the dark spot on his crotch, wet from saliva and his own precum, and shifted in his seat.

The Spartan ran a thumb through the damp patch, plucked absently at the button on his fatigues. “If you want to be, sure.” Grif and Simmons both gave looks of immense relief, then awkwardly shuffled a few inches back so they could stand. “Or…”

They stalled, Gif almost falling over from the half-crouch he’d managed, Simmons with his hand still over his mouth. Both boys gazed at Donut with horror stricken faces, desperately afraid of what the younger Marine was going to say.

“Or half a gallon of chocolate ice cream a month to the one man enough to finish the job,” he purred and popped the button from its slot. The zipper came down easily, and Donut shoved the fatigues down his hips just enough so his arousal could slip free.

A low fog settled in Grif’s skull. Simmons made a strangled noise behind his palm.

“I…hate you,” the orange soldier growled, gaze pinned to the flushed, bobbing erection in Donut’s lap. The slim red watched the kneeling men stare between his legs, cheeks growing hot with built up desire. Pale fingers slipped over his hip to encircle the base of his cock. He pulled it away from where it curved over his stomach and let it spring back to slap against his skin.

The sound snapped the other two out of their dazed state. Simmons finally removed his hand and spoke, eyes still locked on their teammate’s dick.

“You gonna do it?”

“Are you gonna do it?” Grif, likewise, had trouble tearing his gaze away.

“I don’t wan’t to.”

“Me either.”

“But I want ice cream.”

“Me, too.”

Their voices were dead, completely lacking any of the screaming panic both were experiencing. Simmons turned his face to Grif, deliberately looking him in the eye.

“I’m not gay.”

“Neither am I.”

“Okay, then,” Simmons said with finality and he and Grif nearly tackled Donut, Grif’s palm shoving him flat against the back of the chair, Simmons’ fingers digging into the mottled camo at his hip.

Their temples knocked together as they both dove for Donut’s crotch, halting their momentum. Grif elbowed Simmons out of the way and, without thinking about it more than he absolutely had to, closed his mouth over the tip of Donut’s cock.

The youngest Marine’s legs spread reflexively, hips bucking to slide further into the heat between Grif’s lips. Simmons tightened his grip and held him down while Grif took a breath through his nose and sucked.

“Ha-ah,” Donut hissed, gritting his teeth fiercely and digging his fingers into Grif’s messy hair, anchoring himself and keeping his teammate from moving. “S-slow. Slow,” he groaned, watching hungrily as he pushed past the resistance of Simmons’ hand and slid further inside Grif’s mouth.

And wasn’t this just bass ackwards, Grif thought, a dark blush peeking through his tan, rolling from his cheeks to his collarbone. He flicked his (shame) lowered eyes to the side, saw Simmons’ tongue flash out to lick at the side of his mouth.

“Eager much?” he pulled away just far enough to murmur the words, a trail of spit clinging to the softsaltybutnotthatbad swollen head of Donut’s shaft, attached to his moving lips.

Simmons had to swallow down the curious lump in his throat before he could speak. He shot Grif a quick grin. “I wasn’t the one pushing you out of the way to get to that dick, was I?”

The orange Spartan’s mind went blank, caught between trying to find an appropriate response and being completely floored by the rough purr that Simmons’ voice had become.

“More,” Donut demanded and tugged at Grif’s hair, pulling him back down. He opened his mouth again and let the pink soldier slide inside, let him thrust softly against his tongue. The hand that was pressed against Donut’s chest found its way down to the base of his cock and squeezed over the skin that his lips didn’t reach.

As far as sucking a dick went, it could have been worse. Donut wasn’t huge, he wasn’t gagging on the slender length bumping the back of his throat. He was clean, he didn’t smell, it didn’t taste horrible…it was surprisingly easy to dip his head , pull back up, lick just beneath the crown and then bob back down. Rinse and repeat.

If it weren’t for Simmons staring so intensely at him he would have been able to put his mind on something else. As it was, all he could think was Simmons is watching me suck Donut’s cock. The phrase rolled itself over and over in his mind, gradually making him more and more flustered and more and more aware of the heady little noises he was wrenching from Donut.

“You make it look so easy. Done this before?”

Grif jerked away to snap at the maroon fucker, but Donut’s hand kept him down, kept him gagged by ruddy flesh. Simmons smiled as Grif glared angrily at him from his spot between bent knees, felt his molars gnash as the pissed-off red sucked more vigorously.

“Mnnno, stop,” Donut gasped and lifted Grif’s head from his lap, then made him lay his cheek on one camo-clad thigh. “You’re not supposed to be doing this alone.”

Grif smirked up at Simmons, panting lightly from his bent position, lips wet. “You’re going to see how easy it is in a second, Richard.”

Simmons deflated, like he’d just remembered that he was going to be giving oral sex to a guy for the first time as well. He swallowed around the rising lump in his chest and carefully wrapped a hand around Donut’s cock.

It was smaller than his, shorter, slimmer…but somehow so much softer. His eyes slipped almost completely closed as he watched his thumb rub beneath the purpling head. This would be the … third penis he’d touched? No, not like this. That was for training, for learning purposes. None of them were hard like this, wet like this, covered in Grif’s spit and pulsing in his hand…

He lifted his eyes to Donut’s when the younger man’s hand came down on his, tightening his hold, urging him to go faster. Simmon’s grit his teeth at the look on his face, at the sweat that he could see right at his temple, how his whole frame was tensed –shoulders, stomach, thighs. Simmons slowed his pace. The pink soldier let out a cry and thrust up into their joined fingers.

“H-urry…” he begged, the domineering tone that had swept over him completely shattered as want overtook him. Simmons’ stomach leapt when Grif pushed Donut’s hand out of the way and replaced it with his own.

“Fucking suck him or I will,” he murmured, golden eyes glazed but still containing a glint of competitive desire. Simmons bent his neck and flattened his tongue over Donut’s weeping slit, taking the nearly sobbing Marine into his mouth. He slipped down until his lips bumped Grif’s knuckles, sucked while Donut rolled his hips sosweetly below him.

He barely registered the warmth next to his face before he felt the slick pressure of another tongue graze his lip, and then a hand in his hair was pulling him up, smashing his face against Grif’s as the cock pinned between their cheeks gushed slick heat all over them.

Simmons kept his eyes closed, heart hammering in his chest and a bright pink blush finally spreading over him as fingers rubbed some of the come into his mouth. He sucked at them obediently, but his eyes snapped open when he heard a breathless laugh.

“Told you…you were a whore…” Grif took his fingers from the shocked man’s mouth, and watched with satisfaction as his face twisted in anger. A tug in his hair ended his mirthless chuckle.

“Clean him.”

“What!?”

“Lick it off, ” Donut smirked. “All of it. Simmons, you too.”

Grif paled. Simmons smiled. Compared to Grif, he was drenched. What didn’t cling to his lips and cheek had slid down his neck over his collarbone. Grif had a thick trail that led from the corner of his mouth to just beside his adam’s apple.

“Sometime today would be good,” the maroon soldier taunted. Grif sneered and leaned down to smooth his tongue over a prominent collarbone. Simmons’ jaw locked. He noted that, like most things Grif did, the job was quick and sloppy. Despite that, it still felt wonderful to have hot breath and a soft tongue on his neck. Grif pulled away and waited impatiently for his turn, mouth still working over the tangy, bitter taste of jizz.

‘Fuckers,’ Grif scowled and let his gold eyes flash between the two men next to him. Thankfully Donut had zipped up his damn pants, but he still had that look on his face as he’d watched him clean Simmons. Little fag bastard. Making him turn tricks for ice cream. Disgust-.

Simmons pressed close and rolled his tongue over the skin on his neck, sucking at the semen covered flesh. Grif’s eyes fluttered shut and his back arched, both actions happening without his permission. Simmons…fucking…making out with his neck…not…just cleaning…is he trying to leave a hickey?!

Grif let out a disgruntled wail and tried to push the taller man away. Simmons shoved back.

“Not done,” he growled, then slid his tongue from Grif’s jaw and over his bottom lip.

Simmons released him. “I swear to god, dude,” the brown haired marine hissed. “If you left a fucking mark…”

“Well,” Donut interjected, standing and stretching lazily. “That was fun. You’ll get your ice cream, as promised.” He hummed happily to himself and took the spent parfette glass to the sink. “And now, to shower. See you guys around!”

The two shamed soldiers remained kneeling on the floor, eyes trailing over spots on the linoleum.

* * *

Grif dug his spoon into the tub between his legs. Across from him, Simmons did the same. “Y’know,” the shorter red stuck his last spoonful inside of his mouth, staring sadly into the empty box, “I’m really fucking glad that this was amazing ice cream.”

Simmons ‘humph’ed his agreement, polishing off his own portion. “Yeah,” he set the spoon inside and set the container on the floor, then stretched out his long legs and looked up at the ceiling. “Makes me wonder what he’d make us do for something better.”

“One, don’t think that shit.” Grif shuddered and tossed his own tub on the carper. “Two, there is nothing better than ice cream.”

“Brownies.”

“Oh god, I lie. Yes. Fuck yes, brownies.”

The two drifted into a comfortably full silence.

“I wonder what he’d make us do for brownies…”

“DUDE!” Grif snapped. “I said don’t think that shit!”

The rest of the irate shouts from the orange soldier were lost on the ears of the pink marine as he passed the cracked dorm door. A slow grin spread over his face.

Humming, he disappeared around the corner.