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Title: 12 - Settled
Rating: NC-17
Warning: It’s kinky. Consider yourself warned.
Disclaimer: The usual. 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: Communication is a bitch.
Settled
McKnight was pacing the length of the kitchen. Grimes could see him through the window and the open door of the back room. He was striding back and forth, muttering, glancing up at the clock at regular intervals.
“Shit,” Grimes said out loud. He had hoped McKnight would be at work when he got home. He’d purposefully missed the bus, and stopped to buy smokes, and walked the long way around, but McKnight was still there, and he didn’t look like he was going anywhere else any time soon. He lit another smoke. His head hurt.
Grimes felt stupid. He hadn’t purposefully tried to avoid someone he was sleeping with since… since he was married.
Damn. He usually managed to forget he’d ever been married. McKnight didn’t know. He wondered if he should tell him about the marriage. In the interest of honesty.
McKnight wanted this to be more than sex. That was obvious. Things were more intense.
Maybe McKnight thought things should be intensified because of the cottage.
Well, of course, they were going to be intensified. Grimes would be at the cottage, working and sleeping, and McKnight would be there too, so they would see each even more. They’d already been seeing each other as much as possible, what with Grimes working nights and McKnight working days, but with Grimes actually living there the travel time was way shorter. Just the time it took McKnight to walk the path from his sister’s house to the cottage.
Grimes didn’t take the cottage too seriously – that was McKnight’s sister’s doing, not McKnight’s. He was extremely grateful for McKnight’s sister’s matchmaking tendencies, but he had to keep his feet planted firmly on the ground. The cottage was home, of a sort, but Grimes knew it wasn’t a permanent thing. It was something that would happen for a while, and he wanted to savor every minute of it, because it was a gift, but there was an aura of unreality to it.
But McKnight didn’t seem to think it was unreal. He seemed to think it was very real. And he wanted things intensified. That’s why he’d kissed Grimes so much on the night they’d gone out. The night of their date.
And that’s why he’d fucked Grimes so thoroughly that night, so thoroughly Grimes had thought he might pass out.
And then.
Grimes shifted from foot to foot. It was a little less than twenty-four hours since McKnight surprised him in the bedroom. He couldn’t believe he’d been caught jerking off. How juvenile! Grimes was getting hard thinking about the look, the leer, on McKnight’s face when he found him.
Grimes had been thinking about McKnight. He hadn’t lied. Grimes never lied. He had woken up imagining, he thought, that he’d heard McKnight come home. He wished McKnight had come home, because things had been awkward since Grimes had moved into the cottage, and it felt weird, the idea of serving McKnight and then going off to work when McKnight would be sleeping in the bed Grimes slept in during the day.
Grimes wanted McKnight to be sleeping in the bed at the same time as him.
He liked it. He liked the warm, solid presence at his back. Hand on his hip. Thighs pressing against him. Breath on his neck. He wanted to feel the cast scratching him when McKnight moved it. McKnight’s cock growing hard against him.
Grimes had got up, on the morning after their date, because it was too much. Too much to expect, to want, to need. He had to be disciplined. Deny himself something, or he would go soft.
No danger of going soft, he thought with a smile, and looked around the tree again.
Still pacing.
Grimes was halfway through the second cigarette and still didn’t have the courage to go inside.
Grimes had been in the bed, thinking about McKnight, imagining that McKnight had come home in the middle of the day because he’d been thinking about fucking Grimes and couldn’t wait anymore. Silly fantasy, Grimes thought at the time. Silly to think that McKnight would want to fuck him enough to leave work.
But he’d thought it anyway, and as his fingers closed over his cock he had thought about the stretch of McKnight entering him, the burn of it.
And now, hiding like some kid afraid to show his bad report card to his parents, or afraid to show he’d ripped a hole in his good, for-school-only pants, he kept thinking about McKnight surprising him, making him all flustered, ordering him to not come, and then ordering him to come.
It wasn’t like being made to do things, because he wanted to do them, but to be ordered to do things was a special thrill.
And McKnight liked to talk dirty, especially when he was close to coming, and Grimes loved that.
But the fact remained – it wasn’t just sex. It was more than that and maybe McKnight didn’t have a right to expect more of him, but it was perfectly reasonable to expect more because things had gone far. Some might think too far.
Grimes didn’t think it was too far. It was farther than he’d ever been, even when he was married, but it wasn’t too far. Nothing was ever too far with McKnight. No matter what it was, with McKnight it was always perfect.
Grimes would have to tell him, eventually, that he’d been married. And about other things, too. It was only fair. He knew so much more about McKnight than McKnight knew about him. Some of that he knew from McKnight, some from his sister, some because there were some things McKnight couldn’t hide.
Maybe Grimes wouldn’t hide things either. Shouldn’t hide things.
Plus, some things couldn’t be hidden. He touched the corner of his eye, where it was tender. McKnight would not be happy about it, not one bit.
Grimes crushed the cigarette under his shoe and faced the cottage.
McKnight was wearing a pair of desert camo pants and nothing else. His hair was sticking up in all directions, as far as his short hair could stick up. He was barefoot, which was rare. Grimes wanted to throw himself on the floor at McKnight’s feet and beg to be fucked, but he knew McKnight wouldn’t go for that.
Not immediately, anyway, he thought with a smirk.
Grimes had hoped to have the day to prepare for the discussion he knew he and McKnight were going to have as soon as McKnight saw him, but now they would have to have it now. Shit.
He waited for McKnight to go past the window before fully emerging from behind the tree and crossing the back garden. McKnight didn’t even notice him until he was in the kitchen, on his knees, with his hands on McKnight’s thighs. Steadying him, stopping that fucking pacing. Grimes had timed it perfectly. They were almost in the corner, away from the window and the door.
“Where the fuck have you been? It’s nine-thirty!”
“I’m sorry, sir. I was delayed. I… I didn’t realize you would be worried. We have to talk, sir.” Grimes leaned forward, kept bent at the neck. He was looking down at McKnight’s bare feet and had the top of his head resting somewhere around the middle of McKnight’s thighs, which were warm against his scalp.
“Fucking right we do,” McKnight blustered.
McKnight took a step back.
Grimes followed, on his knees. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought you’d be at work. I wouldn’t have delayed if I’d known you were here.”
“I’m not mad you’re late. I was worried, that’s all. I figured you would be home earlier but you weren’t and so I thought…” McKnight stopped talking and Grimes knew, if he looked up, McKnight would be gesturing in the air, drawing his frustrations on some imaginary blackboard. McKnight had thought…
What? That Grimes had been in an accident? That was absurd.
That Grimes wasn’t coming back?
Why would he think that?
Because he’d ordered Grimes to quit his job, and Grimes hadn’t said he would or he wouldn’t, so McKnight thought that maybe Grimes didn’t want to. That he wouldn’t quit. That he wouldn’t come home. Did he really think Grimes would walk out without saying anything?
Jesus, after lying together in bed half the day, they’d got up and Grimes had made dinner, and then McKnight had sat in his chair and stroked Grimes’ hair while Grime sucked his cock, long and slow and easy. Did McKnight really think Grimes would do that if he’d been planning on leaving?
Grimes didn’t know if he should be insulted that McKnight thought he would do such a thing or upset with himself for giving a wrong impression or what.
McKnight’s fingers massaged Grimes’ scalp.
Grimes did not feel insulted or upset. He was too busy feeling horny, because his head was resting against McKnight’s thighs and McKnight was rubbing his scalp intently and it was obvious McKnight was having to consciously, purposefully calm his breathing.
When McKnight started to lose it, for whatever reason, it made Grimes unbearably horny.
It didn’t matter if McKnight was upset or angry or frustrated or impatient, if it was because he was upset about a bad play, or was angry with some stupid foreign policy statement on the news or frustrated because he was unable to do everything he wanted because he was injured, or horny as hell and wanting Grimes to hurry up, when he started to lose it, Grimes started to lose it.
It was to the point where McKnight probably wanted his favorite teams to lose every game, because every time someone scored against them, Grimes would suck him that much harder.
But Grimes had to maintain control of himself for just a few more minutes.
“Sir, please.” Grimes was determined to make his point, no matter what. He had to clear up any misunderstandings about quitting his job. “You have never… you don’t tell me what to do.”
“What?”
Oh, shit, McKnight thought this was a challenge to his authority. Not so. So not so! Grimes desperately tried to find a better way to express himself.
“I mean, I do what I do because I want to do it.” That was what he’d wanted to say. But there was more. “And if you tell me to do it, I like it because I’m going to do it anyway. Or it’s something I want to do.” Oops, that didn’t sound as good. Made it sound like Grimes was practicing some sort of mind control over McKnight.
He wasn’t saying this very well. That was probably because he wasn’t entirely sure what he was trying to say.
McKnight’s hand stopped rubbing him quite so hard, which made it easier for Grimes to think clearly, and settled on his head, sliding through his hair. “I apologize,” McKnight said slowly. “I shouldn’t have told you to quit your job. That was unfair.”
Damn. Why was it so hard to make himself understood? “It’s not that, sir. I wanted to quit the job. I’ve done it already; I quit last night.” Grimes tightened his grip on McKnight’s thighs. His knees were steady on the ground, but he felt as if he might tip over.
“No, you don’t have to,” McKnight insisted. “You can work wherever you want to work. I don’t have the right to stop you. I was… I wanted you to be around more. It was selfish of me to say it.”
It was bad that McKnight was apologizing, because he hadn’t done anything wrong. But it was still good to hear.
And McKnight wanted him around. Grimes wanted to be around more, too. This was so good.
Grimes took a deep breath and looked up.
“What the fuck?” McKnight grabbed him by his shoulder and hauled him up to his feet. “Grimes! What the fuck happened?”
He looked worried. Really worried.
That made Grimes feel special. He liked the feeling.
McKnight looked upset, and then he looked angry, but the anger wasn’t directed at Grimes, it was for Grimes.
McKnight was looking at Grimes’ black eye. “Your eye…”
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you, sir. I thought I’d see you at the end of the day. I wanted to explain this so you wouldn’t get upset.”
“Too fucking late for that. What the fuck… are you okay?”
McKnight had his hand on the side of Grimes’ face, cupping it gently. He was back to looking worried. Concerned. Grimes took a few seconds to bask in it.
Then the story spilled out.
Grimes couldn’t stop himself from talking. He told McKnight everything. About talking to his boss and telling him he had a day job and would have to give up the night job. About promising to stay on until they could find a replacement, because he knew it was hard to find someone willing to do a demanding job like that. About his boss saying that was great, and he would try to find someone as soon as possible.
And then he had to tell him about that asshole cab driver Rick, who called Grimes a pussy for quitting his job. Said Grimes couldn’t cut it. Couldn’t take the pressure.
What fucking pressure? Grimes had wanted to ask. But he didn’t, because he really didn’t want to get into the topic of pressure and what it was like to really be under pressure, because Grimes never, ever talked about the Mog, except for that one time after he ran into McKnight the day he left the army, because they’d needed something to talk about and he couldn’t bear running out of things to say because he was enjoying talking to McKnight so much, and the only way it was going to turn into something other than talking was to keep talking.
But after the battle, after he got out of the hospital, he didn’t sit around drinking and pouring over every detail like some of the other guys did. He didn’t jabber on about who did what to who and how many people he may or may not have killed and what fucking wounds he got and who bought it. He lived the fucking thing once - he wasn’t going to go over and over it looking for answers.
There were no answers. It had happened, and it was never going to happen to him again. End of story.
So Grimes sure as hell wasn’t going to talk about it to impress some dickwad cab driver he knew had never experienced real pressure in his whole, sad, pathetic life.
He was going to walk away. He turned to walk away.
But then Rick called him a faggot and told him to go back to the army where they like pussy faggots, which at first made Grimes want to laugh, when the hilariousness of the oxymoron struck him, but it wasn’t so funny when Rick’s fist struck him.
Tough night, Grimes figured. Rick hadn’t made much money, because he’d missed two pick-ups, probably because he was smoking dope, which he sometimes dealt on the side. (Grimes had been the night dispatcher long enough to know everyone’s secrets.)
But Grimes didn’t think it was fair for Grimes to suffer just because Rick was on the verge of getting fired. So Grimes went down fast – always a good tactic if you want the fight to end quickly. But when he went down, Grimes shot his leg out and caught Rick by the ankle, which made him crash to the floor, flailing. Combat training kicked in and Grimes had Rick pinned to the floor, bloodied his nose before the boss managed to grab him by the shoulder and haul him off.
Everyone knew Rick started it. But Grimes was given his pay and asked to not come back.
McKnight looked happy for a second, when he realized Grimes wouldn’t be working anymore night shifts at all.
Then he looked angry again. “That fucking shit,” he growled. “What the fuck does he look like? I wanna go over there and – ”
Grimes actually put his hand over McKnight’s mouth to shut him up.
McKnight looked stunned.
Grimes was stunned.
McKnight’s tongue flicked out, and why not? Grimes had done that on a couple of occasions.
Grimes moved his hand away quickly, as if he’d been burned.
McKnight’s eyes glowered.
“Sir, that would not be good. If you go over there and say a single word to Rick, then he’d know why you were so angry, and it would get back to the army, somehow, you know it. Sir, you can’t risk that. You have your career to think about.”
“I want to beat the fucking crap out of him.”
“I know, sir, and I appreciate that. But I did a pretty good job of it myself, and I don’t want you to have any trouble.” It’s not like he needed anyone to take care of him. What was he, a girl? Did McKnight want a girl he would have to protect?
“Not like I’d announce my name before I creamed him,” McKnight said. “No one has to know I’m in the army.”
Grimes stifled a laugh.
“What?” McKnight demanded.
Grimes snorted. “Sir, I’m sorry, sir. But you can dress like a civilian all you like but it won’t work. It wouldn’t hide what you are.”
McKnight was trying to look indignant, but the result made him look even closer to totally losing it. “Which is what, exactly?”
Grimes lowered his eyes. Bad move. McKnight was shirtless, and Grimes couldn’t look at McKnight’s naked chest without feeling weak in the knees. “Sir,” he said softly, “Maybe it’s just me, but it doesn’t matter if you’re in uniform or civvies or naked, it’s obvious to me. You’re a commanding officer.”
McKnight cupped Grimes’ face with his hands again.
Grimes looked up into McKnight’s eyes. “My commanding officer, sir.”
McKnight sucked in his breath. “You’re a good soldier,” he breathed out.
“Thank you, sir.”
“You kicked his ass good?”
“Rangers lead the way, sir,” Grimes smirked.
Grimes knew he wasn’t a Ranger anymore. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever really been a Ranger. That was an issue he would deal with some other time. Just like the matter of his very brief marriage.
He and McKnight had always operated on a need-to-know basis. They could keep it like that for a while longer, while they got settled in.
In the meantime, McKnight was starting to lose it. He barely got ‘all the way’ out before he started to pull Grimes toward him.
“Sir!” Grimes pulled back and moved quickly to close the back door and the kitchen blinds. They had privacy here, but they still had to be careful.
Grimes let McKnight pull him close.
McKnight didn’t kiss him. He held him for a minute or so, slowing his breathing, stroking Grimes’ back. “We have to take care of your eye,” McKnight said in a raspy voice.
Grimes touched McKnight’s injured arm. “And you too, sir. Are you in pain? Is that why you stayed home?”
McKnight shrugged. “Naw, I figured I’d have a long weekend, is all.” But he might have been hiding something. McKnight could be stoic, when he wasn’t cursing a blue streak.
Grimes suspected McKnight had stayed home because he wanted to talk to Grimes. He looked at McKnight, and saw that he hadn’t slept much, if at all. He’d probably worried about the order to quit the job all night long. Lost sleep. Tossed and turned.
If only he’d asked about it before Grimes went to work. It would have saved a lot of trouble.
Grimes scrubbed the sink to make sure it was clean, and filled it with warm water. He’d wanted to give McKnight a bath, now that he could put his arm in water, but he remembered from when he’d broken his arm when he was a kid how the skin all flaked off in the water and was sort of gross. So he had McKnight float his arm in the sink and he gently rubbed at the dead skin with a soft cloth.
And while he did that, McKnight held an ice pack to Grimes’ black eye.
That lasted about ten minutes. They didn’t talk at all. Grimes gently massaged the arm and McKnight held the ice gently against Grimes’ eye, which was growing a darker purple, but that would only last a week or two.
McKnight’s injured arm was small compared to the other one. Almost frail. But it would build up fast. Grimes had studied the exercises on the sheet from the doctor. He would make sure McKnight followed instructions. He would be very careful of the arm, make sure McKnight wore the brace when it was needed. He would have to delay some of his ideas for the grab bars and the shower and the new bed, but they had lots of time.
Then Grimes dried off McKnight’s arm and massaged it with some vitamin E cream. The skin was so soft, and the hair so dark. It lay straight and soft against the pale skin. Grimes ruffled it, against the grain.
Grimes wanted to touch hair. He wanted to, and he would, because it was what McKnight wanted too, he knew it. And he figured that after he’d been in a fight because of quitting his job, which was following orders, he deserved a treat. He lightly ran his fingers over McKnight’s chest. “How about a shower, sir?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
McKnight shrugged. He was probably hoping for something else. He probably hoped Grimes would say something more along the lines of “How about a blow job, sir?” But he allowed himself to be led to the shower.
The water was warm, and Grimes knew McKnight would like being in the shower without the ‘goddamn motherfucking plastic bag on my arm’, as McKnight had put it for the last few weeks.
Grimes was careful to not make McKnight too excited when he washed him. He didn’t want to risk blowing him in the shower yet, because McKnight was sort of predictable; if Grimes went down on his knees, McKnight would want to hold his head, and he would use his good hand for that, so when he needed to catch his balance, after Grimes had been sucking him for a while, he would reach out with his injured hand, and risk re-injury.
Someone had to act responsibly.
So Grimes was very efficient and almost nurse-like as he washed McKnight all over. It wasn’t an entirely successful strategy. When his soapy hands slid over McKnight’s back, there was a grumble, and when they ran over McKnight’s chest, there was a bit of a growl. And when he washed lower, around McKnight’s cock, but was careful to not handle it too much, McKnight started to lose it.
“Fuck, Grimes, are you trying to tease me to fucking death?”
Grimes shook a bit, but didn’t alter his strategy. “Sir, the leading cause of household injuries is falling in the shower. Just being careful.”
“I don’t want you to be careful!”
“I know, sir. But I have a plan, sir.”
McKnight was quiet after that. He was hard, but he wasn’t demanding. Grimes finished washing him, and gave himself a perfunctory wash. Then he toweled off as quickly as possible, and took a bit more time to dry McKnight. He calmly, patiently, moved the towel over McKnight’s skin. McKnight was more patient now as well. Maybe he was indulging Grimes because of the black eye.
Grimes didn’t care about the black eye. It didn’t really hurt. Yet. Might tomorrow. Right then, while he was on his knees, using a fresh towel to dry McKnight’s legs and breathing in the fresh, just-showered scent of McKnight, he wasn’t worried about a lousy black eye.
Grimes maneuvered McKnight so he was leaning against the side of the bathtub, then he leaned in and buried his nose in the damp hairs above McKnight’s cock. It wasn’t easy, since he had to move McKnight’s hard, jutting cock out of the way to do it. But he had a craving for hair.
He nuzzled gently and listened to McKnight’s swearing and serenely acknowledged it by sliding his fingertips over the smooth skin of his cock. McKnight hissed.
Grimes rubbed his nose in the soft curls. They weren’t especially coarse when they were dry, but when they were damp like this they were glossier and they curled around his fingers as he combed through them. He kissed skin through them, enjoying the texture on his lips, the way they tickled his nose.
“Good boy,” he heard, whispered, from above.
Grimes was tingling all over. He licked up the length of McKnight’s cock.
How could McKnight have ever thought he wouldn’t want to do this? Every day? Every night? He opened his mouth wide and took all of McKnight’s cock in it, all he could fit. The heat of it, and the bulk and the taste, were perfect. He shouldn’t have waited so long outside. He should have been inside, as soon as he’d seen McKnight in the kitchen. He hollowed his cheeks and purred when McKnight stroked his hair.
Wait. That wasn’t McKnight’s fingers. It was McKnight’s fingers, but they weren’t touching him. The towel was touching him. McKnight was drying his hair. Grimes groaned and relaxed his throat muscles. McKnight responded by dropping the towel and curving his fingers in the thatch of thick, longer hair on the top of Grimes’ head.
Grimes was going to let McKnight fuck his mouth, fuck his throat, as deeply as he wanted, and when McKnight was almost ready, Grimes would lean back and let his mouth fill with come, and he would hold it in his mouth, tasting it and feeling the texture, until McKnight told him to swallow.
Wait. McKnight was pulling him up.
Grimes stood, legs shaky after kneeling so long. His cock, hard and long, brushed up against McKnight’s.
McKnight moved both of Grimes’ hands between them, and then he grabbed a bottle of bath oil from the side of the tub and poured a generous amount over their cocks.
Grimes closed his eyes. His fingers started to slip and slide around the two cocks. Grimes felt McKnight’s good arm brace his back. He could lean back into it and not have to worry about falling.
“Fuck, yeah. Good boy. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”
You certainly have, Grimes thought. He rubbed their cocks together. So good. So warm and hard and perfect. “Perfect,” he sighed, which made McKnight growl.
“Squeeze them,” McKnight hissed at him. “That’s it, good boy. Motherfuck, that’s it!”
Grimes kept sliding his hands up and down, squeezing and pulling and slithering. The oil made everything burn, the dampness made their legs stick together, the moist air made their breath seem to hang between them.
Grimes tried to move so the come would hit McKnight’s belly, so he could lick it off. But he lost control, because McKnight lost control. McKnight started to swear and jerk his hips forward. But he never let go of Grimes. He held Grimes upright and Grimes felt hot breath on his face when McKnight pulled him closer and started to come.
There was come everywhere, because Grimes started to come at the same time and it flowed over his hands and onto their bellies and over their cocks between them. Grimes whimpered. So good to come together like that. He sank down as soon as he had enough control and started to lick, gently, first around his hands, which were still holding McKnight’s cock, then around the cock, and then at the come clinging to the soft hairs. He sucked the curls into his mouth and cleaned them patiently, painstakingly. McKnight kept his hand on Grimes’ head the whole time.
When Grimes was done, he staggered to his feet.
“I think we both need to take another shower,” McKnight said.
Grimes blinked.
“You did a good job of cleaning me, but…”
But?
“I wanna watch you wash yourself.”
Oh.
“You never showed me what you did in the shower,” McKnight. “That night we went out. You jerked off in the shower.”
Yes, Grimes had done that.
“I wanna watch.”
Fuck.
“You think you can come again?”
Grimes nodded. “Sir, for you I could come all day long.”
Continued in A Life Without Grimes
Back to: Soldier Porn
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