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Title: 13 – A Life Without Grimes
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Kink, explicitness, sub/Dom stuff, physiotherapy.
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.
Note: The idea of permanence is tough to grasp.
A Life Without Grimes
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
It was boring, the constant physiotherapy, Grimes reminding him to do his therapy, then more physiotherapy.
McKnight’s inability to crush a stupid rubber ball for the first few days had been mortifying. His fingers would curl but they couldn’t clench all the way into a fist. He could visualize them performing the task, will them to execute the order, curse at them for their sluggishness, but they stopped short. Grimes told him it was okay and massaged his hand gently.
“It’s all healed, but the muscles haven’t moved for so long, sir. They’ve forgotten how to do it. It’ll take time, that’s all.”
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
McKnight’s fingers had felt foreign on his hand. His whole hand felt foreign. When it had been immobilized in the cast, it was his hand in a cast. Now that it was out, it was like someone else’s hand and forearm was attached to him, some weak, pathetic person’s hand and forearm. With flaky skin and hair darker than McKnight’s.
The skin problem cleared up right away. Grimes rubbed cream into it three times a day, which McKnight thought about protesting because hand cream… that wasn’t something McKnight did. But he didn’t protest, because it wouldn’t have done any good. Grimes would have given him one of those looks and said “Now, sir…”. Cajoling. And the protest would have died a quick death.
Besides, McKnight didn’t really mind Grimes rubbing his hand like that. And the cream, as it turned out, was a pretty good lubricant.
McKnight had graduated from the rubber ball to a proper hand grip, albeit a pretty wimpy one, only medium tension, and it had foam handles - foam handles, like he was some office worker who couldn’t take the pressure. But he could squeeze it almost all the way. And by next week, he’d graduated to the high tension one with a proper plastic handles.
He still had to use the stupid ball, though. For control, they said. He had to practice squeezing and stopping, holding and releasing, re-educating the muscles. Grimes watched him like a hawk.
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
Grimes always watched him, even when his eyes were lowered. When Grimes had only been visiting in the evenings, and it was pretty much sex from when he arrived until he left, it hadn’t bothered McKnight at all, being watched like that. Now that they were around each other so much more, doing normal things, almost normal things, it was a bit unnerving. He wondered what Grimes was looking for, what he was expecting, and was there anything McKnight should be doing to make his viewing more pleasurable.
He couldn’t imagine what Grimes found so interesting. He’d never been the type of person people stare at. But Grimes didn’t stare, he watched, and there’s a difference. He watched, and he observed, and he anticipated. Hell, Grimes knew when McKnight had to take a piss before McKnight did.
McKnight dropped his free hand to his crotch and rubbed at his erection. Thinking about Grimes and pissing at the same time was a sure-fire, one-way ticket to a raging hard on. Grimes really liked to hold McKnight’s dick when he pissed. McKnight would have thought it was weird if it hadn’t been so fucking hot.
It didn’t happen all the time. It wouldn’t be so exciting if it was all the time. But every so often, Grimes would get that buzzed looked, bursting with energy, and he would quietly follow McKnight into the john and McKnight would let him. Grimes would unzip him and pull him out and stand close to him, holding him, aiming him, pressing against him. Grimes would sigh when McKnight started to piss, and sometimes he would move his hand so his fingers would get wet, and then when McKnight was done…
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
He hadn’t thought, at his age, he’d be capable of being erect so much, so often, but a guy like Grimes’ll do that to you. McKnight was actually used to it, now.
He’d grown used to waking up hard, and instead of ignoring it or jerking off in the shower or whatever he used to do before - he couldn’t even remember what he used to do but he was sure he used to wake up hard often enough – instead of treating a morning erection like a minor inconvenience or a mere physical phenomenon to be dealt with, he had Grimes.
Sometimes he woke up and he was already in Grimes’ mouth, where it was hot and slick and had just the right amount of suction and pressure, always.
Or he would wake up pressed against Grimes’ back, and his hard cock would slide between Grimes’ cheeks and he would reach around and stroke Grimes’ cock, waking him up too.
Sometimes he would roll Grimes over on his back and straddle him, fucking straddle his chest, and fuck his mouth. Grimes had been opposed to that until McKnight assured him he was perfectly capable of keeping his arm out of the way. McKnight would go on his elbows and knees and Grimes would wriggle down the bed and open wide. Jesus, fucking Grimes’ mouth first thing in the morning was better than anything he could imagine.
Grimes made a noise.
McKnight stopped thinking about fucking Grimes’ mouth, and stopped rubbing his dick, and looked up. Grimes had a slight frown on his face.
“Too fast?” McKnight asked.
Grimes gave a short, sharp nod. “You’re supposed to be concentrating on the therapy, sir. It’s about control.”
Control. If the physiotherapist had told him to use the hand grips all day long, or lift weights or anything else, it would be fine. But he had to do this stupid, fucking wimpy shit. Isometrics and control exercises, where he didn’t just squeeze as hard as he could, but he had to do things in stages, halfway or a quarter of the way. Hold it still. Count to whatever.
McKnight slowed his fingers. “Better?”
Grimes nodded.
Grimes took care of McKnight.
It was absurd. McKnight had lived alone all his adult life, or as alone as you can get when you live on base. He’d never had anyone do anything for him, and now he had someone making his food, doing his laundry, washing him, even holding his fucking dick when he pissed, sometimes but not all the time. He was getting spoiled, that’s what he was. He was getting used to being indulged. He wanted a beer, it was there. He needed a shower, the towels were waiting. He had a sore back, it was massaged.
He worried he might start to resent it. That would be bad. He had to keep things in perspective. He perpetually worried about taking Grimes for granted, and since Grimes so obviously wanted to be taken advantage of, it was tough to find the right balance.
And today, McKnight had fucked up. He’d done more than take Grimes for granted. He’d been rude.
Grimes had been close to nagging him about spending enough time working on his precious muscle control. McKnight had been in a bad mood already when he got home from work, and the last thing he wanted to do was boring exercises. He’d said so, and Grimes had given him some bullshit straight from the doctor’s notes about diligence and the importance of the reps. McKnight had been irritated with Grimes, for the first time ever. He told Grimes to leave him alone.
So Grimes did.
Grimes always did as he was told.
That was just wrong. There was no reason to be angry at Grimes. It was his arm, the injury, and the therapy he hated, not Grimes. He couldn’t believe he’d allowed himself to be short with Grimes.
McKnight went into the kitchen, where Grimes was cooking. Corn chowder. It smelled fantastic. Grimes was putting pepper into the chowder and stirring and trying to ignore McKnight, which he couldn’t really do because all his training, everything in his mind and body, told him to pay attention to McKnight.
He kept stealing looks at McKnight while pretending not to.
It would have been comical, if McKnight hadn’t felt like such a shit.
Anyone else would have made a snarky comment about him having a bad day; Grimes didn’t say a word.
“I’m sorry,” McKnight said. “It was a bad day.”
And it was. That fucking Colonel Marks had really put him on the spot, calling him into his office like that, out of the blue. So sudden.
McKnight had grown complacent. He’d almost forgotten he was in the army. He went to work and came home and was taken care of and it hadn’t, for a long time, occurred to him that when you’re in the army, nothing is permanent. That you could be called away at any time. That he would be called away, at a moments notice, and there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He was a lifer. That was that.
“How’s the arm, Danny?” Marks had said casually.
Fuck you, McKnight had wanted to say. You don’t give a shit about my arm. But he didn’t. He didn’t even know why he wanted to say that, since Marks was just being friendly.
McKnight was already in a bad mood when he had arrived at the base. While getting ready for work, he’d stubbed his toe on the bed frame, which was leaning against the wall in the front hall, so he was in a bad mood. He hadn’t expected it to be there. Grimes had disassembled the bed while McKnight was in the shower, because the new bed was being delivered that day. But McKnight could hardly say anything about that to the Colonel, so he’s said something noncommittal about it taking time to heal.
“Not as young as we used to be,” Marks said cheerily.
Not something McKnight needed to be reminded of.
And then Marks had hit him with the reason for the meeting. The doc wanted him on light duty for another month or so, and then he’d be active. Meaning ready to ship out at any moment. And Marks said this part casually, because it was no big deal. It was no secret that McKnight had spent most of his time in the army overseas, on active duty, often in combat, and that he liked it that way.
Now he had trouble imagining it. What would that be like? A life without Grimes? It would be so bleak. He would get up and go to work and do his duty and shit and shower and shave and sleep and do it all over the next day and there would be no relief, no joy, no pleasure. No Grimes.
No sex.
He wouldn’t want anyone else. There might be some who would offer, but he couldn’t imagine wanting them. They would never serve as well, as thoroughly, as perfectly as Grimes. They would seem sloppy and insincere and pale in comparison.
McKnight would be utterly alone.
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
And what about Grimes? How would he cope without McKnight?
Grimes would miss him; McKnight knew that. Would he meet someone he wanted to serve? Or would he go back to observing in lieu of serving?
“I had a meeting with Colonel Marks today,” McKnight had told Grimes in the kitchen. “About me going back on active duty, maybe shipping out.”
Grimes had turned his back on McKnight to stir the soup. Just as well. McKnight didn’t really want to see the disappointment on his face. Maybe he shouldn’t have phrased it so bluntly.
“Can you put that on low, or something? For a little while. I need your help... with my therapy.”
Grimes had shut off the stove wordlessly and followed McKnight up the stairs.
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
Grimes whimpered.
“Too hard?”
Grimes nodded. McKnight adjusted his grip.
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
The bed. It was huge. It had arrived that morning, while McKnight was at work.
It was worth stubbing his toe, McKnight had thought when he saw it for the first time. The new bed was great. But he felt bad about how he’d been that morning when he’d stubbed his toe and bitched about it, and then when he got home and Grimes had told him he had enough time to do his therapy before dinner, McKnight had bitched about that, when really Grimes probably wanted McKnight to get the therapy and dinner over with so they could try out the new bed.
McKnight wanted to make it up to Grimes, and there was the bed.
Just what he’d asked for. King size. It barely fit in the room. They would have to get rid of one of the dressers, not the one with the mirror, though. The bed had a metal frame with vertical bars on the headboard. Round, shiny, silver vertical bars just the right diameter for Grimes to close his fingers around, just like that.
“Take off your clothes,” he’d said casually. At least, he hoped he’d sounded casual.
No big deal. It was just a bed. Just a regular, ordinary bed with a huge mattress and bars at the top that were begging to have someone tied to them, or at least gripping onto them for dear life, and it was in his bedroom and Grimes was standing next to it, naked. No big deal.
McKnight had to take a deep breath. A really deep breath.
“Get on the bed,” he’d said, and even he could hear the tension in his voice, but he stayed outwardly calm. “In the middle of it, on your back. Reach up and grab the bars.”
Grimes was laid out in front of him on the bed. Their bed. McKnight took a moment to enjoy the view. Slender, but strong, pale skin with dark hair, hard little belly, trim hips.
Grimes wasn’t sure what to do with his legs. He had them together, a bit tense, which made the muscles stand out along his thighs. McKnight made himself look down at the burn scars, the rough skin that had been torn and infected, along Grimes’ lower leg and foot. Did it still hurt? Grimes never complained.
They were both marked, McKnight thought. They both bore the marks of a life that is different from the ones most people had.
Grimes still had the high and tight haircut, even though he’d been out of the army for months now. Hair still longer on the top than on the sides. Grown out, though. Longer on the sides and on top. But you could still tell what it was. Barely.
McKnight’s hair was grown in evenly now. He only did the full hoo-ah cut when he was going into battle. His life didn’t include battle, not at this point.
“Sir?” Grimes asked nervously.
Jesus, McKnight had probably scared the shit out of him, laying him out on the bed and staring at him like that.
No, that wasn’t it. Grimes wasn’t scared. He was worried that he wasn’t serving properly.
McKnight sat on the bed next to Grimes and put his bad hand on Grimes’ belly. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. I find the therapy a bit boring.”
Grimes nodded. “I know, sir,” he said earnestly. “We just have to get through it. I only want to help.”
McKnight slid his hand down. “Yeah, well, I think you can help me.” He lightly touched Grimes’ cock, which was lying half-hard over his balls. Big balls, covered with soft dark hair. They made a perfect pillow for the cock, McKnight thought. He hadn’t spent enough time on Grimes’ cock and balls, he concluded. It was always about McKnight. Grimes got edgy whenever McKnight tried to do to much to him.
“I like doing things,” Grimes had explained one time. “I don’t like being done to.”
But everyone likes being done to, McKnight figured. It just had to be under the right circumstances.
He wasn’t going to give Grimes a blow job or anything like that. Grimes wouldn’t like that. He’d been close to panicking the two times McKnight had put his mouth on his cock. Some day, maybe, Grimes would let him do that. But for now, he wanted to spend a little time on Grimes, and Grimes wouldn’t say no because he wanted to help McKnight.
So, McKnight curled his fingers, stronger than they used to be but still in need of therapy, around Grimes’ dick and squeezed.
Squeeze. One, two, three. Release.
He’d been at it for a while. Grimes was so hard he was leaking. He was such a good boy. He’d stayed perfectly still while McKnight did his exercises, first the ones where he was supposed to tighten his grip in stages, holding each stage for two seconds. Then McKnight had moved his hand and cupped his palm around Grimes’ balls and squeezed ever so lightly. Quick, steady, gentle pulses.
And now his hand was around Grime’s cock again, and Grimes had his eyes squeezed shut and his hands were clenching on the bars and his legs were so tense they vibrated.
McKnight wasn’t sure how long he’d been doing this, squeezing Grimes and watching him react so beautifully. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier? It was so much better than a stupid rubber ball.
Grimes arched his back slightly, and it made his ribs stand out. McKnight wanted to climb on top of him and fuck him until his arm and Marks and the army and every fucking overseas base didn’t exist anymore.
McKnight let got of Grimes' cock and moved his hand to Grimes’ chest.
Grimes opened his eyes.
Grimes had really nice eyes. They were grey, but they tended to take on the colours around them. Grimes had one particular t-shirt, a strong blue, and it made his eyes turn the colour of the sky. Here in this room, with the green blanket and the pale green walls, Grimes’ eyes looked a bit green too, with the colour of the iris surrounded by a dark, almost black rim, which made the whites look even whiter.
“They want me to teach.”
“Sir?”
“Colonel Marks. He wants to know if I’ll forgo shipping out for a while and teach. They want to set up a new training program … well, I can’t be too specific. But they want to ship captains in from other bases for two-month training courses.”
Grimes’ eyes got bigger.
“They want me to commit to eight training sessions with a couple of weeks between sessions to develop the material.”
Grimes was doing the math in his head. “That’s two years.”
McKnight nodded. “With the leave I’m entitled to, about that.”
“Two years here.”
McKnight nodded again.
“Two years before you would even have to think about going anywhere else.”
Marks had been so tentative about it.
“I hate to ask you this, Danny,” he’d said. “Hell, if you weren’t injured, you’d probably be overseas now. I know you’d rather be out there in the game, but you have the combat experience we need for this project.”
Fuck the game. It had been hard not to accept too fast.
But it meant scrutiny. It was dangerous. He would have to be so careful, not to let anything slip. Two years of going home to Grimes. It was a blessing, but it would be so easy for someone to find out.
And he wasn’t sure what Grimes would say. He might be thrilled, or he might think McKnight was making one hell of an assumption, taking a two year position and expecting Grimes to commit to it as well.
Grimes squirmed on the bed, but kept his hands on the bars.
Good boy!
“So… you were teasing me.”
Teasing?
“Saying you might have to ship out.”
“I never said I had to ship out.”
“It sounded like you were going to ship out.”
McKnight thought about it. Maybe he had made it sound like he was going to ship out.
“You wanted to see if I would miss you.”
McKnight watched Grimes lift his hips and drop them back down on the bed. Grimes long, slender cock bobbed with the movement. It was shiny on the head, skin stretched tight.
McKnight really wanted to lick it.
He grabbed it instead. Made a fist around the shaft, squeezed.
“I think you would,” he rumbled.
“Sir, I miss you when you’re gone for the day.”
Grimes wasn’t kidding. He wasn’t complaining either. He was stating a fact. McKnight could tell. His face was as open and honest as it could be.
There was no fucking life without Grimes. Period. This was it. This was what he wanted. He’d already accepted the position. He planned to work at it so hard, to do the job so well, they would extend the program. Indefinitely.
McKnight squeezed. “I accepted.”
Grimes nodded again. “Yes, sir, I thought you might.”
“So… I’ll be around, like you said, for a couple of years.” McKnight couldn’t believe he was saying this out loud. Talking about the future. Plans. Like a normal person. “I’m not saying… I’m not asking you for any kind of…” He couldn’t quite say ‘commitment’. That was way too normal. “…confirmation,” he decided to say.
Grimes whimpered and his hips shivered. “Sir,” he gasped.
McKnight shifted his grip so he could run his thumb over the slick head of Grimes’ cock.
“Request…” Grimes’ voice was weak.
“Go on,” McKnight growled.
“Ah, ah, ah…”
“Talk to me, soldier.”
Grimes rolled his hips up off the bed and rammed his cock up into McKnight’s fist.
“Request permission to re-up, sir!”
Fuck!
“Good boy! Show me how much you want to.”
Grimes did.
His back arched so high off the bed he was only supported by his shoulders and his heels. His whole torso bowed gracefully, matching and then surpassing the curve of his cock. And his come made another arc in the air before spattering on his chest and belly.
All those arcs. McKnight wished he’d paid more attention to linear algebra, because there had to be some scientific way to describe all those curved lines. He bet even the equations would be beautiful.
Grimes made a sound like all the air was leaving him. Then all the air left him. He fell back to the mattress with a gasp.
McKnight just sat on the edge of the bed and watched Grimes’ chest go up and down. The shiny come caught the light when Grimes breathed in.
Grimes whimpered. His hands were stuck in a deathgrip. Sexgrip. McKnight reached up to gently pry them off the bars. They shook when he pulled them loose.
McKnight wanted to look into Grimes’ eyes again, but they were closed. He looked at Grimes’ mouth for a while, the lower lip dark where Grimes had been biting it.
“I’m not going anywhere,” McKnight whispered.
“Yes, sir. Excellent, sir,” Grimes rasped.
McKnight could kiss Grimes now. Or he could lick the come off his chest.
Grimes would be expecting the kiss. It would be good.
But McKnight favoured the element of surprise. Plus he was hungry.
Continued in Permission Granted
Back to: Soldier Porn
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