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Title: 11 – The Cat
Author: Haleth
Fandom/Pairing: BHD. McKnight/Grimes
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.
Beta: Cayce P.
Note: This is extra-especially for elfscribe5, who is a wonderful writer, a darling pal
and one of my very favorite-est slashers ever.
The Cat
Motherfucker! That fucking cat did it every time. Scared the shit out of McKnight.
He used to wonder about the cat. It came and went through the little hinged flap in the kitchen door of Linda’s kitchen. McKnight saw it whenever he stayed there.
His instructions were to put fresh food and water in the bowls twice a day. There was no litter box to clean, no sleeping place, other than the couch, where it only seemed to nap. He figured it belonged to a neighbor. Grimes had taken over the feeding of the cat and vacuuming of the couch, so McKnight had sort of forgotten about it.
The cat liked Grimes. It rubbed up against him the first time it saw him. Grimes never mentioned it, he just fed it and cleaned up the cat hair. The same way he’d taken over care of the fish tank. Grimes just did things. Took them on without mentioning it.
The only thing he’d ever said about he cat was the when he discovered how it got into the cottage. There was a little door set into the plywood covering over one of the basement windows.
The cat must have been coming into the cottage all summer when no one was there, but it hadn’t made any messes. It shit and pissed outside like a dog, but other than that it acted like a fucking cat. McKnight had run into it in the garden a few times, but usually it surprised him in the living room.
It wasn’t really a pet cat; it didn’t sit on your lap or demand attention. It only looked like a pet. It was big, healthy, well-fed, and fluffy. White. It never seemed to get dirty, even when it came in from the rain.
Maybe it was a ghost.
McKnight had entered the cottage quietly, not wanting to wake Grimes. It was only half past noon, and he wanted Grimes to get a decent sleep. He crept stealthily into the living room and there it was, a giant white furball on his armchair, licking its paws and purring as if it owned the place.
McKnight jumped, but managed to do it quietly. Fucking cat. It stared up at him balefully, like it knew he was going to kick it off the chair.
“You fuck,” McKnight muttered. The thing was going to scare him to death someday. He composed himself and sat on the bottom stair to take off his boots.
The cat jumped off the chair and walked past McKnight to the kitchen, pretending McKnight wasn’t there.
What was it about cats? They depended on humans for food and shelter, but they acted like they were in charge of the joint. McKnight decided to ignore the cat right back. He went upstairs.
He almost made a noise loud enough to wake Grimes when he opened the bedroom door. He’d never seen Grimes sleeping like that before. On his own.
They’d slept together, in the same bed, only twice. The first time was when he broke his wrist. He’d been so out of it, he couldn’t remember anything other than the sex. Which was fine, because the sex had been mindblowingly great. The second time was the first night after Grimes moved in. McKnight had stayed awake as long as he could that time.
McKnight had been plastered against Grimes’ back, and he had his arm around Grimes, his hand on Grimes’ chest. All night long. He knew it was a bit unnerving for Grimes, but that hadn’t stopped Grimes from sleeping.
Grimes was exhausted. He fell asleep, and McKnight held him and it was so perfect it gave McKnight an ache in his chest whenever he thought about it.
Grimes muttered in his sleep. He didn’t talk. They weren’t words you could understand. But there were noises. Small noises, sometimes murmuring, sometimes pleading, sometimes helpless and sometimes… sometimes wanting. In the middle of the night he made one of the wanting noises and he put his hand on McKnight’s wrist and held it against his chest.
McKnight had drifted off at some point, and when he woke again Grimes was up, in the kitchen, making breakfast. McKnight was a little pissed off, since he’d wanted to wake up with Grimes’ ass pressing against his morning erection. But then he thought about how hard he’d fucked him the night before, and it was better to wake up alone. He’d only want to fuck again, and that would have been impossible. Or at least very uncomfortable for Grimes.
Since then, Grimes had been working every night. And things had been awkward.
McKnight felt it when he got home the evening after they’d slept together. Grimes was nervous, jumpy. He’d finished putting the blinds up on all the windows, so they would be free to do whatever they wanted to do without fear of being seen from the outside, which should have made him more relaxed, but instead he kept moving restlessly from room to room, straightening things, moving things, stacking things.
McKnight thought maybe he was sore from the fucking and didn’t want to do anything. McKnight could understand that. It had been a pretty intense fuck. That had to hurt.
He didn’t like the idea of hurting Grimes, but making him tender seemed okay. Grimes didn’t seem to mind.
He read the paper and watched the news and sat in his chair. Grimes brought him a beer and sat on the floor next to him with his head on McKnight’s knee and McKnight touched his hair lightly and asked him if he was okay.
Grimes looked startled. “Fine, sir,” he stammered and got up. “I’d better clean up in the kitchen.”
Except he’d already cleaned up in the kitchen.
But he hadn’t cleaned the kitchen, which involved scrubbing grout lines and floors and buffing the taps with a soft cloth and other things McKnight never did, even when he lived somewhere regularly.
And it went like that all week. On the second night, Grimes sucked his cock, and damn, it was good. But that was all that happened. Grimes left for work and McKnight was left in his chair, wondering why he hadn’t told Grimes to jerk himself off or something. Something. Anything.
It seemed as if Grimes was trying to make time for McKnight at the same time he was working around the house. And McKnight never did get to wake up with his morning erection up against Grimes’ ass, because Grimes didn’t get home until McKnight was already leaving for work in the morning.
And when McKnight got home, Grimes would be rushing around making dinner or maybe he hadn’t even started dinner yet, and when McKnight sat in the back having a smoke or in his chair, Grimes would be sorting through books, putting them in piles; first editions, signed by the author, inscribed as a gift, annotated, paperbacks, what the fuck ever. Or he’d be sorting through stacks of paper. McKnight had long since given up divining the system for those. Or he was cleaning and polishing weird little knickknack things, boxing them up carefully, labeling everything in clear, block letters.
Maybe that was what Linda had in mind when she moved Grimes into the cottage, but it sure as fuck wasn’t what McKnight had in mind.
But today, McKnight had gone to see the doc and had his cast removed. And the doc told him to take the rest of the day off, so McKnight stood in the doorway of the bedroom, cradling his bad wrist with his good hand, because it was sore but not in pain, and staring at Grimes on the bed.
Grimes slept curled up. Like a baby. Knees drawn up to his chest, and one hand clutching the pillow beside his head.
He was wearing a t-shirt and nothing else.
McKnight couldn’t see the nothing else, because there was a sheet was pulled up to his waist, but he knew, because a couple of days before he’d forgotten his keys and when he went upstairs to get them, Grimes was standing beside the bed, pulling the covers back, wearing only a t-shirt and his socks. He hadn’t been expecting McKnight, so he was just standing there with a soft dick and his slender legs exposed.
McKnight had mumbled some sort of excuse and rushed off, because it seemed a bit too intimate, and he was late as it was. Then he ended up spending the whole day thinking about how Grimes slept in a t-shirt. And maybe his socks.
When he got home that night, Grimes was up at Linda’s house doing laundry. There was a small washing machine at the cottage, good enough for clothes, but quilts and blankets wouldn’t fit. So McKnight had to sit around Linda’s kitchen table waiting for a fucking duvet to dry, for fuck’s sake. Then Linda had invited them both for dinner and they hadn’t got back to the cottage until after nine o’clock and Grimes was doing all kinds of shit and it was a waste of a good hard on, because by the time Grimes actually did anything about it there was barely time for McKnight to come in his mouth before Grimes had to leave for work.
Grimes muttered and wriggled in his sleep, and the sheet slipped down a bit to reveal pale, smooth, bare hip under the hem of the shirt. Motherfucker. He was only wearing a t-shirt.
McKnight backed out of the room, because he really did want Grimes to get a decent sleep, and McKnight wasn’t going to be able to let Grimes sleep much longer if he kept looking at him like that.
Grimes mumbled and McKnight panicked. He retreated down the hall and slipped into the first available door.
Shit, it was the creepy room. This room was worse than the cat. McKnight leaned against the door and looked around. It was, like all the other rooms, full of junk, but this was the worst junk, since it was where Mildred McCartle used to do her sewing.
There wasn’t only one but two dressmaker’s dummies. Headless and eerie, one of them had a half-sewn dress pinned on it, pale gray with a wine-colored trim.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, Miss McCartle had been into hats. A half-dozen faceless heads were lined up on a shelf opposite the door, two bare, one with a knitted cap on it, two with straw hats and the last one with some sort of black fedora. One of the straw hats had fake flowers on it.
McKnight didn’t know what the forms were made of, but they were wrapped tightly with strips of dull, black cloth, and with no electric light on, they sat in shadows like Egyptian mummies.
This was the darkest room in the house. The giant lilac bush outside blocked out the sun. He could have turned on the lights; they were bright enough for an old lady to have sewn by. But he didn’t want to see too much more detail. What he could see was creepy enough.
The sewing machine by his hip was an old one, black and decorated with curling gold letters and designs. Ancient. It was loaded with yellow thread. He wondered what it was intended for. Grimes hadn’t done much up here. There were half-finished projects all over the room. Maybe Grimes was intending to finish them all some day.
Did Grimes know how to sew? He could mend things. McKnight had seen him repair a carelessly ripped shirt one time. That was with a needle and thread, though. McKnight didn’t know if he could use one of these machines, either the old one at his side, or the almost new one in the center of the room, the kind with a computer inside that could be programmed. Or the really old one in the corner.
One time, a while back, McKnight had watched a documentary about the mechanics of sewing machines. He knew that the really old one in the opposite corner, the one with the treadle beneath, operated on the same principles as the new one, and that the concept of a machine that could loop together threads to sew two pieces of fabric together was incredibly complex, and at the same time fundamentally simple.
What could be more simple than putting two things together?
The cat leapt up on the black machine. McKnight jumped. Motherfucker, it had to be a ghost.
Must have come in when he was in the doorway looking at Grimes. McKnight reached out and the cat nudged his hand, purring.
The cat was solid enough, once you got past all the fluffy fur. When it was wet, it would be about the size of a well-fed squirrel.
What was wrong with Grimes? He was so skittish. It wasn’t like Grimes to be skittish. Something had changed. Ever since that night they slept together.
Went out together.
Kissed a lot.
Did Grimes not like kissing? Come to think of it, he didn’t really respond to kissing. But it seemed to turn him on, nonetheless. He made nice noises when McKnight kissed him hard.
Maybe Grimes didn’t like going out. But he’d been grinning and he said he enjoyed it.
The blow job in the car? No, that wasn’t it. Grimes had liked that, McKnight could tell.
The fucking? McKnight groaned quietly and rubbed his dick.
The fucking.
Thinking about the fucking, even for a second, made him hard.
It had been… maybe it had been a mistake, to fuck in bed. McKnight couldn’t stay in control. He only wanted to fuck harder and harder. He wanted to come harder and harder. He got so fucking horny, so fucking turned on, it was like being wired on speed or adrenaline. He wanted it to go on forever, but he was going to do himself or Grimes serious injury if he went on too long. So fucking good.
Grimes had to say his name. And McKnight was actually grateful when he did, because it was such a relief to come. He’d even thanked him that one time, because it had been the only way McKnight could stop. It was like permission to come.
There was something wrong with that. He shouldn’t need permission to come. But Grimes could do that to him, put him in that state of mind.
Or maybe McKnight did it to himself.
McKnight looked around the creepy room. Fuck. What was up with this? He was hiding in his own house. Not his house, actually, since Linda had made a point of leasing the house to Grimes. And had made it clear to him that he was to ‘treat Mr. Grimes with the appropriate amount of respect.’ Which sort of pissed off McKnight, because he respected Grimes.
Some people might not like what they did together, but that’s what the fucking blinds were for. It was none of their fucking business what he and Grimes did together. But no one could say he didn’t respect Grimes.
But had he taken him for granted?
McKnight rubbed his eyes with his good hand. Jesus, this was starting to get complicated.
He took one more look around the room, at all those unfinished projects. Ghost projects, they would never get done. If McKnight dropped off the face of the earth today, would he leave anything like that behind?
No, the only thing left to do would be to pick up his last paycheck. He had no ongoing projects, nothing happening on a daily basis.
Except Grimes.
He pushed the door open and stepped into the hall, moved stealthily down the hall. Grimes was still asleep. He still had the pillowcase in his fist and a little, boyish frown on his face. He looked fit for human consumption.
McKnight went back downstairs. On the table in the hall was the splint, Caucasian-flesh-toned and smooth, custom-made to fit his arm. McKnight didn’t like it. It looked like it was trying to seem natural, but it didn’t. Like that waxy look people’s hands get when they’re embalmed. Hands are meant to move, not to be rigid. Wrists are made to be flexible.
He pushed up his sleeve and looked at his arm.
It was hideous. The hair was black, long, simian. The forearm was shriveled. Atrophied. It would take a few months to build it back up to the size of his other forearm. He had a rubber ball he was supposed to squeeze all day, and a list of exercises he was supposed to work up to. Grimes would make sure he did them.
His arm was covered in flaking skin, and he couldn’t submerse it in water for twenty-four hours. He was supposed to leave it out in the open in the meantime. He had to ‘let the skin breathe’. Fucking doctors.
Well, fuck that. The doc told him to wear the splint if he was doing anything that could put pressure on his wrist. McKnight figured fucking Grimes would fit the bill. His wrist would have to be covered. At the moment, being able to fuck Grimes properly was more important than letting his skin breathe.
McKnight fit the two pieces around his forearm and wrapped the Velcro straps around it. Solid. Then he went back upstairs.
Grimes was just nervous because things had been uprooted. The move, the kissing, the sleeping together - it reminded McKnight of those test you can take where you tick off what changes have happened in your life recently and add up the score, see how close you are to having a heart attack.
Grimes didn’t need anything else to change. He needed stability. He needed security.
He needed McKnight to reassert command.
It was all McKnight’s fault. He’d let things slip. He’d let his desires take control. He hadn’t consulted Grimes at all. He’d asked him out on a date and kissed him and done everything wrong. Sure it had been great, while it was happening, but the fallout…
He’d found himself one night, after Grimes left for work, whispering Grimes’ name in the dark. ‘John’. He was off-guard. Off-balance.
Not that there was anything wrong with Grimes’ first name. But he couldn’t allow himself to be put off kilter like that so easily. He pushed the bedroom door open again.
Grimes had rolled onto his back. His eyes were still closed, but he was awake. McKnight could tell, because he could see Grimes’ hand on his cock, under the sheet, moving in a lazy rhythm.
Grimes licked his lips and pulled harder on his dick. He squirmed his hips a bit and sighed. McKnight could see his other hand creeping down his belly.
McKnight could picture everything going on under the sheet – Grimes’ fingers circling his cock, his other hand reaching down to cup his balls, long slim cock, fat heavy balls.
McKnight contemplated standing there and watching Grimes until he made himself come. He wanted to know what Grimes looked like, all alone, jerking off, making himself come.
But maybe some things should be kept private.
And it was the perfect opportunity. McKnight couldn’t let it pass.
McKnight sat on the edge of the bed.
Grimes’ eyes flew with a start. He grabbed the sheet to his chest and stared at McKnight. “Sir!”
McKnight grinned. You could catch Grimes off-guard, but he would never forget to call you ‘sir’.
“’morning, soldier.”
Grimes blinked wildly. “It was you, sir. You know it was you I was thinking about…”
“I know.”
Grimes sat up weakly. His eyes zeroed in on McKnight’s arm. “Your cast, sir.”
“Gone. This splint is for when I’m undertaking active duty.”
“Active duty. Sir?”
McKnight stood up again, planted his feet shoulder-width apart, parallel to the bed. “You know what to do,” he said.
Grimes blushed. He fucking blushed. McKnight had never seen that before. Then he realized why. McKnight was wearing the kind of fatigues with buttons instead of a zipper. And Grimes would have to use both hands to open the fly. So the sheet would fall down.
Big fucking deal. McKnight had seen him naked, half-naked, half-clothed, with his jeans around his ankles, from the front, from the back, cock soft, cock hard… but not when he’d just woken up and had a healthy erection because he’d been jerking off and was only wearing a t-shirt, and a small one at that.
Grimes was, maybe, a little off-guard. Off-balance. Unprepared.
McKnight liked Grimes unprepared. He pushed Grimes’ hands away, pulled his dick out and rubbed the fat head across Grimes’ face. “Ready for breakfast?” he teased.
Grimes nodded and whimpered.
“Hands behind your back.”
Grimes gripped his elbows and swayed forward.
Motherfucker, that was good. Grimes loved to suck cock, and he was fucking good at it. Really skilled. Great suction. Fantastic tongue action. McKnight pumped his hips and watched Grimes try to compensate, keep his mouth locked on target.
Grimes somehow managed to keep McKnight’s cock in his mouth at all times. If it slipped so only the head was in, Grimes would raise up a bit and slide his lips along the shaft. Little moans and grunts as he kept up with every shift, every movement.
McKnight wanted to come already, but it wouldn’t be enough, so he stepped back, pulling his cock away. Grimes lunged after it, like a dog after a bone. McKnight grinned and pushed his head back, hand on his forehead.
“Hands and knees,” McKnight growled.
Grimes obeyed instantly, sideways on the bed, with his knees right at the edge so his ass was at perfect fucking height. It was an old bed, an odd size. Not quite a double bed, so Grimes could kneel on the edge and reach the other side without having to stretch.
It was sort of a shame. On a wider bed, he would stretch and his back would arch and his ass would tilt up.
“Good boy. Spread those legs. Let me see your ass.”
Grimes did as he was told, with a moan.
McKnight hadn’t fucked him in a week. He wanted it so bad his dick throbbed. “Lube.”
Grimes lunged for the bedside table and grabbed the bottle. He moved back across the bed, reached back and behind, over his ass, smeared some lube around his hole. His fingertips slipped around the tightly puckered entrance. One dipped inside briefly, and McKnight felt a distinct tug in his belly. Felt good.
“Put a finger inside.”
Grimes slipped his index finger inside his ass.
“That’s pretty,” McKnight observed, surprising himself with the calmness of his voice.
Grimes groaned. “Sir, oh, please.”
McKnight had to bite his lip to keep from saying something that might spoil the mood. Grimes was fucking himself with his finger and panting. Working himself into a frenzy.
“Another finger,” McKnight instructed.
Grimes did as he was told, only he spread his legs a bit more at the same time. Slid both fingers inside. Scissored them. Fucking obscene. “Please.”
“I don’t think two fingers is enough to adequately prepare for me.”
“No, sir, it’s not, but I don’t care.”
McKnight wanted to say ‘but I do’. Instead, he put his hands on Grimes’ hips. He didn’t want to make things awkward again. The whole point was that Grimes was there to please McKnight. Serve McKnight. He was happy to serve.
McKnight knew that, but he still worried. He worried Grimes could hurt himself some day.
But hell, he was slicked up enough. A bit of a stretch. A little flailing. Nothing Grimes hadn’t and couldn’t handle. McKnight pushed Grimes’ hand aside roughly and dragged the head of his cock over the still-tight hole.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” he announced.
“Yeeeeesss.”
“And you’re not going to come until I tell you to.”
Grimes nodded vigorously. “No, sir. I mean, yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
That was much better.
Grimes was thanking him.
McKnight grabbed the lube and squirted it on his cock. He spread it swiftly and held the thick head steady.
Best not to say anything. He pushed inside.
Grimes flailed, all right. His hands skittered across the sheets and he grabbed the edge of the bed with one hand. The other held a pillow in a death grip. Grimes head hung between his shoulders tensely.
“Grimes?”
“S… sir.”
“Talk to me, soldier.”
“Fuck, sir. That’s…”
Big, McKnight thought.
Best if they didn’t fuck too often, maybe. It gave Grimes’ asshole time to forget.
Grimes made a gurgling noise. “Sorry, sir. Permission to speak freely, sir.”
McKnight jerked his hips forward and clutched at Grimes’ hips so hard, the sharp edge of the splint left a raised mark. “Go ahead, soldier.”
“Fucking perfect, sir!”
McKnight pulled back until only his head was inside. Grimes sputtered and tried to stay still, but he was squirming all over. McKnight almost fell out. He slammed back in. “Grimes, you have the tightest asshole…” he grunted.
He did. A week without being fucked and Grimes was a tight as a goddamn virgin. “Fucking perfect is right,” McKnight growled.
The pillow shuddered in Grimes grasp. “Thank you, sir.”
McKnight rocked back and forth. He slowed his strokes so he wouldn’t come too fast. He wanted this to last. The bed squeaked under Grimes ominously.
“We need a new bed.”
“Yes, sir.” Grimes was waving the pillow in the air, scraping it over the sheet. The other hand gripped the wooded edge of the bed and when the muscles tensed in his arm, the whole frame squeaked.
“Something more solid. Order one today.” Fuck, he had money. More than enough for a new bed.
“Yes, sir.”
“I want a firm mattress, so I can kneel on it and fuck you hard.”
Grimes didn’t make any words. He made noises, but no words.
McKnight looked at Grimes’ hand gripping the edge of the bed. “And I want something with bars on the headboard. I want to see you holding the bars.”
Grimes shook under him violently.
“Don’t come.”
“No, sir,” Grimes said through gritted teeth. The tension in his voice was sharp.
“If you need to squeeze your cock…”
“Thank you, sir!” Grimes let go of the pillow and reached between his legs. He was gripping the base of his cock and taking in air in huge gulps.
Too much. McKnight growled and thrust and let go. He could see his cock pulsing, Grimes’ ass clutching it.
“Motherfucker, that’s good!” McKnight grunted and squeezed Grimes’ ass with his good hand.
“Sir, please, I can’t… I have to…” Grimes’ voice was higher than usual.
“No, you don’t.” McKnight barked. He pulled his cock out, watching the pink hole contract as he left it. His cock was still hard, and slimy. Grimes asshole twitched and come leaked out of it. McKnight ran his thumb over it and lifted his knee onto the edge of the mattress to steady himself. “Turn around,” he said hoarsely.
Grimes moved slower than usual, because he was shaking more than usual. He knelt on the bed with his hands behind his back again.
McKnight raised his hand and rubbed his come-slicked thumb over Grimes’ lips.
Grimes moaned.
“No more jerking off unless I tell you to,” McKnight said.
Grimes nodded as he sucked the thumb into his mouth. His cock was bobbing in the air, dark and wet at the tip. Every muscle in his body was coiled for action.
“Don’t even touch your dick unless you’re pissing.”
Grimes nodded again and swirled his tongue around the thumb.
“And clean me up.”
Grimes dropped to his hands and knees and took McKnight’s cock into his mouth. He slurped noisily, licking all over as he held the cock carefully between his lips.
He really would do almost anything McKnight told him to do. It was amazing.
It was a fuck of a lot of responsibility.
McKnight half-regretted the order, because his cock really was too sensitive to be licked after a fuck like that. He nudged Grimes’ temple with the edge of the splint.
“Lie down, with your head on the pillows.”
Grimes let the clean cock fall from his lips and dropped back onto the bed, twisting as he fell. He had his legs bent and spread. McKnight told him to spread them further.
McKnight moved onto the bed and knelt between Grimes’ splayed legs. He sat back on his heels.
“Now, put your hand on your cock.”
Grimes did.
He held his fingers loosely around the rock hard cock and looked up at McKnight expectantly. He was breathing shallowly, with his lips parted. Wet.
“Now you can jerk off.”
Grimes squeezed his dick and stroked it frantically. Hard and fast and desperate. His hips twitched up and down with his movements, quick little thrusts that made his stomach muscles clench. Open vowel sounds, indiscriminate, fell from his mouth. They got louder, trying to take form but not succeeding.
McKnight was mesmerized. The slender body in front of him, wide open and exposed, cock fucking into a tight fist, balls bouncing with the jerky movements, legs hard and tense. All for him. All his.
“You can come,” he said. “Now.”
Grimes arched off the bed and howled. His cock stiffened even more and then exploded. The first spurt landed in a thick rope across the bottom of the t-shirt. The second smeared across dark belly hair. McKnight caught the third in his cupped palm, hot and slick. He used his thumb to spread the rest of the come over the end of Grimes’ dick. Grimes whimpered and trembled under his touch.
“That’s for me only,” McKnight felt the need to reinforce the point.
“Understood, sir. I’m sorry, sir. Couldn’t help myself.”
McKnight scooped up the come off Grimes’ belly with two fingers. Almost black hairs were plastered to his skin. McKnight moved across his legs and stretched out on the bed next to Grimes and brought the hand to his mouth.
Grimes licked it gratefully.
“Make it a king-size bed.”
“Mm mm.”
“We’ll need a few sets of sheets. And a new blanket.”
Grimes nodded and kept sucking.
McKnight watched Grimes thoroughly clean his palm. Then Grimes licked all over his hand. When he was finished, Grimes took the fingers back in his mouth and suckled some more. His eyes were closed. His slim body was pressed up against McKnight’s thicker form, warm cock pressing against McKnight’s hip, just above where his pants gaped open.
McKnight said what he’d been really thinking ever since he’d walked in the door. What all his other thoughts had been leading to, but he’d been too chickenshit to even bring to the front of his mind. What he needed to say:
“And quit that fucking night job.”
Grimes let McKnight’s fingers slide out of his mouth wetly and slammed his lips shut.
“You don’t need the money. You’re not getting enough sleep, and you have too much work to do here, and I don’t want you working when I’m home. I want you beside me, or under me, or on top of me, or on your knees with my dick in your mouth.”
Grimes opened his mouth. “Is that… an order, sir?”
“Quitting the job? Yes. My dick in your mouth? Not right now. I’m tired. Get that shirt off and get my fucking clothes off me. I wanna spend the whole afternoon in bed with you, naked. You can suck my dick again after dinner.”
The cat walked in and watched McKnight kiss Grimes.
Grimes did not kiss back.
Continued in Settled
Back to: Soldier Porn
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