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Title: 10 – After The Date
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Kink. Grimes’ style.
Disclaimer: Has absolutely nothing to do with the real life men the book and movie were based. It's only inspired by the movie and I make no profit. And I do not set forth this type of relationship as ideal or healthy for anyone. Although it works for these two.
Note: Often the best part of a date happens after the date.
After The Date
Grimes didn’t realize how hard he’d been gripping the steering wheel until after he pulled into the driveway beside McKnight’s sister’s house and let go. His knuckles were white. Everything else was pitch black. McKnight’s sister hadn’t turned on the side light, like she usually did.
McKnight didn’t notice. He had his head tilted back and his eyes closed. He wasn’t asleep, but he wasn’t looking at anything either. Grimes got out and walked around the car to open McKnight’s door. McKnight’s eyes opened.
“We’re, um,” Grimes squinted, “here.” He was going to say ‘home’, but it wasn’t home. It was McKnight’s sister’s home. McKnight’s home. Well, McKnight’s mailing address. And where McKnight had been sleeping. Grimes’ new home was down in the cottage. He wanted that to be McKnight’s home, but he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure that was how McKnight thought.
Grimes was confused.
McKnight got out of the car, and reached awkwardly for his fly, which was still undone, even though Grimes had sort of tucked him in.
“Let me, sir.”
McKnight growled a bit and looked around, but no one could see. He let Grimes zip him up and quietly cursed the cast on his arm.
Grimes’ hands shook. He’d never touched McKnight out in the open before. He had very recently given him a blow job in the car, which had been another first, but that was an enclosed space. Even though it was so dark, and there was no one out on the street, and probably no one even awake in the houses on the street, he was still touching McKnight in public. Not only touching him, but touching his cock. He let his fingers linger over the soft skin, wrinkled now because McKnight wasn’t hard, but warm and maybe starting to get hard again.
McKnight hissed.
Definitely getting hard again. Grimes zipped up the fly and reluctantly pulled his hands away.
Some day he would get on his knees and suck McKnight’s cock outdoors. Maybe in the woods. Nature sex. Not tonight, though. There was a bed waiting for them.
Grimes smiled to himself and followed McKnight through the gate, across the backyard, into the forest. He was feeling a bit dizzy. The path tilted from one side to the next, and he couldn’t get a firm footing. He didn’t think he was drunk; he’d only had one beer. But then, he hadn’t had time for dinner. And he’d been working all day. Maybe he hadn’t had lunch either. He did have some breakfast when he got home from work. And the night before he’d had some soup and bread before McKnight arrived… wait a minute. He hadn’t really slept since the day before. He’d been up, what? Thirty-six? Thirty seven hours?
He stumbled on a root and crashed into McKnight’s back. Shit. That was stupid. Not entirely stupid. Crashing into McKnight’s back gave him an unprecedented opportunity to savor the breadth and solidity of McKnight’s back. But it was clumsy.
Grimes stammered, seeking an excuse. McKnight shushed him. Honest-to-god shushed him. He turned and put his hand up against Grimes’ mouth and said “Shhh.” Then he turned his back to Grimes and reached back and put Grimes’ hands on his waist and started walking again.
Grimes followed, confident now that he was being led, trying not to think too much about the fact that his hands were on McKnight. McKnight’s waist. Where the top of McKnight’s body met the bottom of McKnight’s body. Had he ever had both his hands on McKnight’s waist at the same time before? He tried to stay calm, but he couldn’t help flexing his fingers. Hard muscle built up with some padding between layers made a thick, strong torso that would crush him into the mattress if McKnight were ever to lie on top of him, rest his weight on top of Grimes. If he were ever to lie naked on top of Grimes. With his cock inside Grimes.
Grimes pressed his fingers into the firm flesh. It didn’t give a lot, but it was exciting.
McKnight stopped walking. Grimes stopped walking just before he crashed into him again.
“We’re almost there,” McKnight said quietly.
“Yes, sir.” Grimes’ fingers twitched, but he didn’t squeeze. Much. “I can control myself, sir.”
But Grimes felt faint when McKnight whispered ‘good boy’ and started walking again, a little faster this time.
McKnight stood to the side of the door and let Grimes deal with the locks. Then he suddenly wasn’t standing to the side; he was inside the door, and had Grimes backed up against it.
Kissing him.
Fuck! Grimes was pinned by McKnight’s hand on his shoulder, by the fingers curved over it, and the cast beside his head, hitting the door with a clunk at the same time McKnight’s lips hit his, hot and hard. Grimes barely had time to part his lips before his mouth was filled with tongue and McKnight’s hips were grinding him against the door. He rolled his hips up in response, desperate for friction, realizing he’d been hard since… since it felt like forever.
Grimes didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wanted to put them back on McKnight’s waist, to feel him from the front, but he wasn’t sure if he should. He had one hand on the door handle and the other one hanging at his side, keys dangling from limp fingers. McKnight groaned into his mouth and the keys hit the floor. Loud. The noise startled Grimes, and made McKnight stop kissing him. Grimes whimpered when the air hit his open lips.
McKnight gave Grimes’ shoulder a squeeze. Grimes wondered what McKnight thought of the bones he must have felt there. “Come on,” McKnight growled.
But he didn’t pull Grimes toward the stairs.
Okay, Grimes thought. The chair in the living room. That was closer. That was a good idea.
But McKnight had his hand on Grimes’ upper arm and was dragging him into the kitchen.
The kitchen? That was fine as well. Grimes could deal with the kitchen. He’d even washed the floor that afternoon.
McKnight pulled a chair out from the table and pushed Grimes down into it. “Sit.”
Sit? On the chair? He did as he was told, but he didn’t know why.
McKnight flicked on the light and opened the fridge. Grimes watched him pull out some ham and sliced cheese and a jar of mustard. McKnight pulled a plate out of the cupboard and opened the breadbox on the counter. Grimes shook his head. Maybe he was dizzy again. He didn’t quite understand what he was seeing, but then it dawned on him.
McKnight was making a sandwich.
It wasn’t the neatest sandwich Grimes had ever seen. The bread was sliced crooked and the mustard oozed out one side. It wasn’t easy for McKnight to wield the knife with only one good hand, and he was rushing it a bit. Then McKnight got a glass from the cupboard and put it on the counter and opened the fridge and poured milk into the glass. Milk.
He put the plate with the sandwich on the table in front of Grimes. He put the glass of milk beside it.
“Eat,” he said.
“Sir?”
“You didn’t have dinner, did you?”
“No, sir.”
“Did you have lunch?”
“Um…”
“Did you sleep at all today?”
“Sir?”
Then McKnight squatted on the floor beside the chair and Grimes was looking right at him, in the eyes.
“You have to take care of yourself,” McKnight said softly.
This could not be happening. Grimes looked at the sandwich and the milk and back at McKnight, and he wanted to slide off the chair onto the floor but McKnight’s hand was on his thigh, burning a hole through his jeans, holding him on the chair.
“If you don’t take care of yourself, how are you going to take care of me?”
Oh.
That made sense.
Grimes picked up the sandwich and started to eat. He didn’t like mustard on sandwiches, but how would McKnight know that? The only time they ever ate together was when Grimes cooked and McKnight’s sister was around, and he never made sandwiches for her, always proper meals. Grimes sneaked a look up at McKnight.
“I had a big dinner, don’t worry about me,” McKnight said, but he got a beer from the fridge and sat opposite Grimes, watching him eat the whole sandwich. And drink the whole glass of milk.
Grimes licked his lips and McKnight’s mouth curled up into a hungry smile.
“Better?”
Grimes hesitated. The sandwich and milk might make him less dizzy, but they wouldn’t make it better. Not when McKnight was sitting on the other side of the table and Grimes was on the chair, way on the other side of the table from McKnight.
McKnight jerked his head toward the bathroom. Grimes went to the can and pissed and brushed his teeth and rinsed his face and looked in the mirror. He looked pale. A bit gaunt. He hadn’t been taking very good care of himself. But there was so much to do, and he’d wanted the bedroom to be perfect and there wasn’t enough time. He would have to make time.
When he went back to the kitchen, McKnight was standing at the back door having a smoke, looking out at the stream behind the house. They’d agreed to not smoke inside the cottage proper, as they didn’t want to damage anything, so Grimes had cleared out the mudroom and put a couple of kitchen chairs and an ashtray in it.
“I’ll see you upstairs,” McKnight said. The heater flared as he inhaled and the glow from it made his eyes glitter.
Grimes was grateful. He didn’t know if he could have walked all the way up the stairs with McKnight directly in front of him. And he knew he couldn’t have made it all the way up with McKnight following him. He suspected that trying to maneuver on the narrow staircase, in the dark, when he was still a little shaky, would not be ideal. The stairs offered some interesting opportunity for height and perspective, but he didn’t think he could handle anything too strenuous. Plus, there was a bed waiting for them. He climbed the stairs alone.
The bedroom was spotless. The sheets, the pillows, the mirror. The bottle of lube sitting on the bedside table. That was obvious, but it was okay. Grimes didn’t mind obvious, as long as it wasn’t messy.
He jumped when he heard McKnight behind him in the doorway.
“How long has it been since you slept?” McKnight asked.
“I’m okay,” Grimes said, but his voice sounded a bit shaky, even to Grimes.
McKnight’s hand on the side of his face caught him by surprise. He must have gasped. He swayed a bit and McKnight was pressed against him, solid, holding him steady. Fingers ran through his hair. The cast was comforting, across Grimes’ lower back, rigid and heavy and rough. It gave Grimes his balance back.
Grimes found his mouth pressed against McKnight’s neck, on the side with the scar. He flicked out his tongue and felt the textures. Smooth and tight in the middle, then puckered and ragged, blending into the unharmed skin. Grimes knew, from his own foot and leg, that the middle part was probably still a bit numb, and that the edges, where skin met scar, were the most sensitive. Too sensitive. So sensitive there was no different between hot and cold, pain and pleasure, there was only feeling.
A low, hum came from McKnight’s throat.
Grimes slid down, slid down to his knees on the floor, with his cheek resting against McKnight’s hip, his mouth close to the growing bulge in McKnight’s jeans. He rubbed his cheek against the denim, so different in texture from the usual khakis. The reinforced seam of the jeans was bulkier, the flap over the zipper was narrower, even the smell was different. He put his hands on McKnight’s thighs, careful not to squeeze.
McKnight’s fingers tightened in his hair. They couldn’t quite grab it, but soon McKnight would be able to grip his hair and guide the motion of his head, his mouth. Now, McKnight’s fingers slipped and tried to gain purchase again.
Grimes pressed his lips to the denim. He breathed heat through the jeans. He slid his hands around the backs of McKnight’s thighs.
McKnight’s fingers massaged his scalp, clutched his hair, pulled up. The tension was unbearable. “You haven’t slept for a long time.”
“It won’t happen again, sir. I promise to be more diligent.” No, Grimes thought. Don’t do it. Don’t pull me up.
McKnight took in a sharp breath. Grimes pushed forward, so his lips had to open and the denim-covered head of McKnight’s hard cock pressed into his mouth.
Don’t tell me I need to sleep. No matter how much I do, please, don’t.
“I’m your commanding officer,” McKnight said in a hoarse voice. “I’m responsible for your well-being.”
Grimes squeezed his eyes shut. “I want to serve,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly.
Fingers wandered over Grimes’ scalp, as if McKnight hoped to find some answer there.
Grimes held his breath against McKnight’s cock.
McKnight let the air out of his lungs. “You know what to do, soldier,” he said.
Grimes was on McKnight’s pants faster than either of them thought possible. He whipped the fly down and pulled out the thick shaft, licked from bottom to top wetly, closed his lips over the fat head, tongued the underside. Still tangy from earlier, in the car. Grimes felt his own cock shudder when he remembered the car. It seemed like days ago. But it was an hour, if that. So even though McKnight was hard, and big, it was still pretty soon.
McKnight always lasted a lot longer the second time in one night. He lasted long enough the first time, but on the nights they went twice, he lasted a long long time. Like the night Grimes had sucked him off so hard and fast, and then McKnight sat in his armchair and watched a movie, drank some coffee, smoked a few cigarettes, and all the while Grimes was licking him and sucking him, laving his balls and tonguing his cock, for the whole time it took to watch the whole movie.
Twice McKnight had got up, once to go to the john, once to get a beer. After he’d got the beer, he’d started petting Grimes’ head and encouraging him with low, rumbling noises. And then he’d told Grimes to take his cock out and stroke it slowly while he sucked and Grimes couldn’t think about that anymore because his fingers were pressing into McKnight’s thighs to prevent them from reaching down. He was determined. He would not touch himself until he was told to touch himself.
McKnight’s fingers urged him to move his head, to suck up and down. McKnight liked it when Grimes moved his head, sometimes. Sometimes he liked it when Grimes kept his head perfectly still, and McKnight did the moving. Grimes moaned low, hoping to beguile McKnight into fucking his mouth.
But McKnight bent down and grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt. He shouldn’t have been able to lift Grimes with one hand like that so easily, it was impossible, but Grimes rose to standing and he wasn’t conscious of using any of his own muscles to get there.
His mouth was still open, and he could feel the trail of saliva drying across his chin.
McKnight still had his fist clenched around the front of Grimes’ t-shirt. He was breathing heavily. “Clothes off,” he ordered.
Grimes hesitated. He thought for a split second. Whose clothes did McKnight want him to remove? Hopefully both. He gave no further indication. Grimes had to decide for himself. Whose clothes did Grimes want to take off first? His fingers fumbled on the first button, but by the time he was halfway down McKnight’s chest he’d found a rhythm for sliding the buttons open. Every buttonhole revealed more wiry hair and skin. Grimes opened the last button and pushed the shirt off McKnight’s chest.
Wide. That was the word that filled Grimes’ head. Wide. And then thick. Thick muscles. A lifetime of training and fighting and living hard made McKnight built like one of the armored cars he drove. Grimes pushed the shirt down over beefy arms. The rolled-up sleeves slid down easily, and Grimes laid the shirt on the end of the bed.
McKnight’s torso was naked, and his cock rose up out of his open jeans and Grimes felt dizzy again, but this time it wasn’t because he was hungry or tired but because of the blood rushing to his cock, even though it was already full.
McKnight grinned at him. Leered. “Your clothes, I meant.”
Grimes bit his lips. He’d known that, of course. But he’d wanted to take McKnight’s shirt off more than anything else.
He pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it on the floor. Even Grimes couldn’t be neat at a time like this.
McKnight pulled him forward and crushed Grimes to his chest. Aw, fuck, the texture, the friction of chest hair together as McKnight rubbed against him, hand and cast pulling him tighter, fingers trailing down Grimes’ back, good hand squeezing his ass. The fingers coming out of the cast were more mobile than they used to be, They tugged at Grimes’ hair and tilted his head back.
More kissing. What had Grimes’ done to deserve all this kissing? It was overwhelming. He felt out of control whenever McKnight kissed him. He could usually stay cool and keep himself in check, even guide the action. But once he had McKnight’s tongue in his mouth he lost it. His stomach turned to jelly and his knees shook and his mouth just opened, opened and never wanted to close. His tongue went slack and he let McKnight have his way, every fucking time. He wanted to kiss back, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. It was like kryptonite.
McKnight bit Grimes’ lower lip, gently, an acknowledgement of Grimes’ helplessness.
“The rest,” McKnight growled.
This time, Grimes knew whom to undress. He took a step back, kicked off his shoes and shimmied out of his jeans. He pulled off his socks and stood erect again, hoping McKnight might grab him again so Grimes could rub their bare chests together again, but McKnight slid his jeans down his thighs and sat down on the bed. He pushed at the jeans. Grimes bent down and took off boots, pulled the jeans the rest of the way off.
“Come here.”
Grimes stepped closer.
“Closer.”
“Sir?” Grimes’ knees were touching McKnight’s knees. He couldn’t step any closer.
Until McKnight spread his legs and pulled Grimes between them and suddenly put his mouth on Grimes’ cock. Grimes felt fear at first, and an inexorable sense of wrongness as his cock was engulfed. Fuck, no, this wasn’t… but it felt so fucking good. Heat and wetness and a tongue that didn’t stop moving, running over his slit and around his head.
“Sir, you shouldn’t,” Grimes protested. He didn’t mean it. He meant that McKnight had no obligation to do so. He didn’t mean it was a bad thing. Didn’t matter what Grimes meant, because McKnight ignored him. He spread his fingers on Grimes’ ass and held him close.
Fuck. Other than those few seconds when McKnight was all fucked up on pain and painkillers, Grimes hadn’t had his cock sucked in years. Years. He almost came. He was terrified he might come. He wanted to come so badly. He wanted, wanted, couldn’t, didn’t, had to, needed, mustn’t, wanted.
McKnight finally stopped. He hadn’t been sucking all that long, but he was breathless.
“Get my dick ready.”
Grimes didn’t move his feet across the floor. He leaned to the side and snatched the lube from the table. He slicked a palmful over and around McKnight’s cock. It warmed a bit in his hand, but it sizzled on the cock.
“Get yourself ready,” McKnight growled.
“Already did, sir,” Grimes informed him. And he had. In the bathroom, downstairs, earlier. Not entirely ready, but ready enough.
Grimes expected McKnight to say ‘good boy’ but he didn’t.
He said, “Such a good boy.”
That was even better.
“Get on me.”
Exponentially better.
McKnight pulled Grimes’ ass toward him and his good hand slid down to pull Grimes’ left knee up on the bed. Grimes had to lean forward to balance and pull the other knee up on the bed so that he straddled McKnight’s thighs. McKnight’s mouth was on his stomach, licking him. Grimes spread his legs and got into position and prayed he wouldn’t come all over McKnight’s chest as he lowered himself.
He wasn’t quite ready. It was never an easy fit, and this was even less easy. Grimes flailed a bit as he was stretched open. He knew McKnight didn’t mind a bit of flailing. Which was good, because it was impossible to avoid at least some flailing, even when he was fully prepared. Which he wasn’t.
McKnight's arms held Grimes tightly as he sank the last few inches. When his arms finally stopped pinwheeling, Grimes took a deep breath. He was full and his cock was crushed against McKnight’s stomach.
They were face-to-face.
“Fuck,” McKnight said, so Grimes did.
He had to put his hands on McKnight’s shoulders to do it, but he raised himself up, dragged his cock against McKnight’s stomach, felt chest hairs mesh, felt McKnight’s mouth latch onto his neck and suck hard, dropped himself down and started saying ‘aahh aahh aahh’ uncontrollably. Couldn’t control it and didn’t want to. Didn’t stop until his mouth was filled with McKnight’s tongue.
He couldn’t make any vowel sounds with his mouth full, so he said ‘mmn, mmn, mmn’ instead.
McKnight bucked his hips and Grimes rode him, squeezing his fingers around the broad, dense mounds of McKnight’s shoulder muscles and squeezing his asshole around McKnight’s cock. His thighs were shaking almost as much as his stomach muscles. Everything inside him turned to molten jelly. He wanted to melt around McKnight.
McKnight kept kissing him, searching around Grimes’ mouth with his tongue like he’d lost something important inside it. He had the cast against Grimes’ lower back again, and his other hand cupped under Grime’s left side, guiding his ass up and down.
Grimes dropped his hands to McKnight’s waist. He curled his fingers around it, rubbing the skin. It was unexpectedly soft. Grimes held onto McKnight’s waist and opened one eye so he could look in the mirror.
He was sitting on top of McKnight. McKnight was under him. Naked. Grimes’ legs were spread and McKnight’s cast was the only thing white in the dark room, although his nude skin and McKnight’s nude skin showed in the mirror as a ghostly paleness. He was small, compared to McKnight. McKnight supported him and guided him and was a solid mass in front of him and under his legs and on the bed and in the room.
Grimes lost it. He shuddered and came. There wasn’t any room for his come to spurt out, so it squished between them and coated them both. Grimes was shaking all over by then.
McKnight pulled his mouth away slowly. He licked across Grimes’ lips. He gave Grimes a minute or two to compose himself.
Grimes failed miserably. He couldn’t compose himself. He trembled and dropped his head to McKnight’s shoulder and moaned. “Sir,” he gasped. “Oh, sir.”
McKnight was petting his hair. Not in the distracted way he usually did, when Grimes was on his knees sucking cock. He petted in smooth, even, deliberate strokes. “Shhh,” he whispered. “Rest.”
Grimes nodded and buried his face between shoulder and chin. He was on the side without scars. He moved his lips over the skin and marveled at the smoothness of it. He tried to stop his chest from heaving. That made him notice the wetness between them, slick and warm, starting to cool and get sticky. He should clean that up. He lifted his head groggily and pulled back. Skin peeled away from skin wetly.
McKnight grabbed his discarded shirt and shoved it between them, wiping up the come. That was so wrong. He shouldn’t be dirtying his shirt. Such a nice shirt, Grimes thought. He should do the laundry first thing in the morning.
“I’m not finished,” McKnight said.
No, he wasn’t. His cock was still hard and huge and filling Grimes’ ass.
Was he asking permission?
“Good,” Grimes said. “Neither am I.” He’d be washing the bedding in the morning as well.
McKnight pulled Grimes close so he could roll to the side and stay inside. Somehow he got them both on the bed, so he was on top of Grimes, between Grimes’ spread open legs.
In for a penny… Grimes’ mother used to say that sometimes. In for a penny, in for a pound. He’d found out what it meant in battle, but he liked this application of it much better. He lifted his legs up around McKnight’s waist and hooked his ankles together. It was like straddling a barrel, only upside down. The fierce, low moan from McKnight rumbled across his cheek.
McKnight pushed deeper inside him and Grimes opened his mouth to howl.
“Fuck, yeah, make noise. I wanna hear how much you want me to fuck you!”
Grimes obeyed. He obeyed with every bit of energy left in him. He howled, yowled, groaned. Then he started to talk. It flowed out of him, an unstoppable torrent. “Please, sir, oh yes, please fuck me hard. Fuck! Give me your cock, sir!” It was filthy. And it made McKnight fuck him all the harder.
McKnight strained against him. With every thrust more of his weight pressed Grimes into the mattress. He had his elbows on the bed, beside Grimes’ ears, and his chest got heavier when he thrust up and against Grimes.
“Motherfucker!” McKnight grunted. “You’re fucking hot, you’re so fucking hot inside.”
Dizzying. Grimes tightened his legs around McKnight’s waist and gripped McKnight’s back with his hands. Slabs of muscle slid under his fingers, slippery with sweat. The bed was rocking, squeaking with the movement.
When Grimes moved on top of McKnight, it had almost no effect on McKnight’s bed. But that was a sturdy, newish bed. This was an old bed and Grimes shouldn’t have replaced a few slats, he should have reinforced the whole thing with fucking angle iron. When McKnight moved there was far more mass involved, and he was moving hard and fast. Grimes was shifting up on the bed when McKnight fucked into him, and not sliding down as far when McKnight fucked back out again, so he eventually reached the top and was grateful for the pillows, or he would have been banging against the wooden headboard. He’d known all those pillows would come in handy.
Grimes couldn’t take deep enough breaths anymore, the weight was too much. His shallow pants turned into whimpers. He wanted McKnight to come inside him, now! but he didn’t want to stop either. But it couldn’t last. It was too intense. He wanted this forever.
No, he wanted McKnight to come. That was what he wanted. He had to do or say something, a magic word. The magic word.
“Danny!”
McKnight made a noise like an wild animal. More than a howl. He pushed in as hard as he could, harder than he ever had before and Grimes felt sharp teeth on his shoulder. Every muscle above him tensed, froze, suspended in time.
Then he heard it.
It was quiet. Barely above a whisper. But he heard it.
“Thank you.”
Grimes was aware of the cock pulsing in his ass and the cast scraping against the side of his face and the mouth covering his. No tongue, just lips pressing against his and the breath being sucked out of his lungs.
Their lips parted, and McKnight had his forehead resting against Grimes’ forehead. Nose-to-nose. Grimes’ let his legs fall to the bed. He straightened one, and gently nudged McKnight so he fell to the side. McKnight slipped out of his ass and Grimes could feel the come, smeared over the front of his thigh and dripping from him onto the blanket but he couldn’t do anything to stop it because McKnight was still holding him too tightly for Grimes to move.
Finally, McKnight spoke. “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long.”
What? Come? But he came in the car. Come in Grimes’ ass? He’d done that before. Fuck? How else would he have come in Grimes’ ass? Fuck him from on top? Lie on top of him? Bite his shoulder?
Grimes’ shoulder stung a bit. McKnight had never done that before. Bitten him. Grimes didn’t know what he thought about it.
McKnight lifted his head suddenly and looked Grimes in the eye. “You okay?”
Grimes nodded. He was okay. He was fine. Fuck okay, he was great. But his ass was a bit cold and wet.
McKnight reached down and grabbed the shirt from the end of the bed. He carefully wiped the come off Grime’s legs and from between his legs. He threw the shirt on the floor, then he touched his hand to Grimes’ shoulder.
“I’m sorry. I got carried away.”
Grimes pulled his shoulder away from McKnight’s fingers. They were burning it.
“It’s fine, sir. I’m fine. It’s okay.”
McKnight shook his head. He trailed his fingers down, past Grimes’ shoulder, over his stomach where he’d licked the hair and skin, past Grimes’ cock, which was having trouble deciding if it wanted to be hard or soft. He nudged Grimes’ leg to the side.
Grimes bit his lips. Fingertips ghosted over him, over his asshole, tentatively stroked the opening, which was hot and a bit swollen from all the fucking. Stretched open, too.
McKnight was touching Grimes’ asshole but he was looking at his face. Grimes tried to hide how nervous he was, but he knew it wasn’t working.
“I don’t want to hurt you. That’s not what I want.”
Grimes tried to give him a reassuring smile. He wasn’t hurt. His shoulder stung a bit, and his ass would be sore for a while, but he wasn’t injured. Worse than any physical pain was the way McKnight was stroking him as if he might break. Jesus, if his asshole was going to break from being fucked hard, it would have done so by now, Grimes figured.
“It’s a bit sore, sir. That’s what happens when your commanding officer fucks you the way you want to be fucked.”
McKnight slid his hand up to cover Grimes’ cock. “You’re okay?”
Grimes did not like it when McKnight sounded uncertain. It might be nice to be worried about, but not for Grimes. Not like that. And he didn’t like the way McKnight seemed to think he owed Grimes something. It’s not as if anyone was keeping score.
His cock twitched feebly. “Honestly, I couldn’t handle anything else, sir.” Grimes didn’t think it was such a good idea for McKnight to be leaning on his elbow above the cast like that. “Sir, your arm. We should, um, move.”
McKnight yanked the blanket down and got Grimes under the sheets. Then he rolled on his side and bent the cast against his body, rolled Grimes on his side and pulled him so the cast lay between his stomach and Grimes’ back. The plaster warmed up between them. McKnight kept his good arm draped over Grimes’ arm, his hand spread wide across his chest. McKnight drew his legs up under Grimes’ bent legs and they fit together.
McKnight’s lips caressed the back of Grimes’ neck. “You jerked off before we went out, didn’t you?”
Grimes felt a pang of panic. Had he been ordered not to touch himself? He didn’t think so, not recently.
“You could never have driven home if you hadn’t.” McKnight clarified. He wasn’t berating him. Maybe he was teasing him, teasing him the slightest bit.
“Yes, sir. In the shower, sir.”
Grimes felt the lips smile against his spine.
“Well then, as soon as I get this cast off, you’re going to have to show me exactly what you did in that shower.”
Fuck.
“And tell me what you were thinking while you did it.”
Grimes couldn’t do that. Could he?
“I wanna know what makes you come when I’m not around.”
That was easy. “You, sir. You make me come.”
Grimes drifted to sleep, even though he would have preferred to stay awake.
Continued in The Cat
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