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Title: 17 - Music
Author: Haleth
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, McKnight/Grimes
Rating: NC-17,
Warning: Sub/dom, wanking in the shower, stripping.
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:
Dedication: For Sarah, who says she’s ready for music.
Music
“What kind of music do you like?”
Grimes shrugged. “Whatever you want to listen to is fine with me...”
“That’s not what I asked. You like music, right?”
“Yessss,” The ‘ess’ was drawn out because Grimes was trying not to call McKnight ‘sir’ in front of McKnight’s sister.
The drawn-out ‘yessss’ made it difficult for McKnight to concentrate. He’d discovered that Grimes not calling him ‘sir’ was almost as sexy as Grimes calling ‘him’ sir. The hesitation, the slight stutter on the ‘ess’, and the delicate coloring of Grimes’ cheeks made McKnight’s trousers grow tighter.
He worried briefly that his sister would notice, but she seemed busy checking out the new stereo. Old stereo, actually. McKnight’s old stereo from years ago, with a couple of new components to update it. It had been in storage in Linda’s basement for years, since McKnight’s first tour overseas, before they’d even invented CDs. McKnight had bought just installed the new CD player and speakers and a few other things.
The sound system was a surprise, an early Christmas present of sorts, even though McKnight had never been very big on the whole Christmas deal. He wasn’t planning on any decorating or parties, except for the usual thing at the base, at which he was expected to at least make an appearance, and dinner at his sister’s house. If he was home, they usually had a quiet dinner together, but Linda was planning a bigger dinner, with some friends, teachers from her school, who were single or away from their families. McKnight wasn’t all that interested in going, but Linda assured him that she wouldn’t out him. Grimes would be introduced as the man who had taken over Mildred McCartle’s cottage. Most of the teachers had known Mildred, and knew a colleague of Linda’s brother was doing an excellent job of cataloguing her belongings.
Grimes hadn’t expressed any concern about how he would be introduced. He’d said he would be delighted to help Linda in any way he could, and she’d patted his arm and he’d beamed at her and McKnight had felt like there was something he was missing. Grimes and his sister seemed to have developed some sort of bond, and it made him a little nervous. Then the two of them had gone off to put some of Mildred’s better furniture on consignment with various antique dealers.
McKnight had been left looking at an empty space where roll-top desk had sat beside the fireplace, and it had struck him that it would be the perfect location for a stereo, which he’d been thinking about obtaining for a while.
“I don’t own any music,” Grimes said. “We can listen to whatever you have.”
Sometimes Grimes refused to have an opinion. It was mostly about things like music and TV or food and movies. Things that didn’t matter so much, things that had nothing to do with sex. Not that Grimes was overly-opinionated about sex. As long as McKnight was giving the orders and Grimes was receiving them it didn’t’ matter whose idea they were executing or what the idea was; Grimes obeyed happily.
While most people took it for granted that they would choose what they listened to or when they would watch TV, Grimes let McKnight decide all that. McKnight loved it that Grimes was passive in some situations, but it bugged him that Grimes was willing to be passive about everyday things. So he’d decided to do something about it.
He’d heard Grimes humming a few times. He never hummed anything McKnight recognized, but McKnight figured you only hum a song if you like it, and if you like particular songs, you must like music, and maybe if they had a decent sound system instead of the old radio in the kitchen, Grimes might enjoy listening to music while he worked or relaxed or whatever.
As usual, ‘whatever’ was, of course, what McKnight was most interested in. Not that this was really about ‘whatever’; it was about leading a normal life. He was perfectly willing to accept that he and Grimes had this extraordinary relationship, something he’d never even dreamed could exist, but he wasn’t willing to let Grimes be … he might have been a houseboy of sorts, and God knows he served beautifully, but he was not McKnight’s slave.
‘Whatever’ was topmost on McKnight’s mind, because it had been two weeks since McKnight had last fucked Grimes.
Two weeks.
Not because they weren’t getting along. They were getting along fine. Not because they weren’t having sex. They were having sex, lots of sex, every night and some days as well. It was because the last time had been a little rough. Too rough.
McKnight felt bad about it. It wasn’t as if it was in his power to change the way things had happened, or in his power to change them as they happened, because he’d been overcome. He’d arrived home one day two weeks before and Grimes had been scrubbing the fucking floor. On his hands and knees. And he was wearing nothing but a pair of worn jeans. Barefoot and shirtless. With his ass in the air.
McKnight had fallen on him like a dying man falling on the meal that would save his life.
Later that evening, in bed, he’d used some of the cream Grimes used to use on his broken arm, gently touched the heated skin, slid one finger inside Grimes with infinite care, spreading the soothing lotion. “I’m sorry,” he rasped, almost unable to take the tension in Grimes shoulders. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Grimes was facing away from him, so McKnight couldn’t see his eyes, couldn’t tell what he was really thinking. Grimes didn’t say anything, and he didn’t move. The tension was still in his shoulders. It must have hurt, even to have McKnight do something to soothe him. The skin around McKnight’s finger was enflamed, but not in a good way.
It wasn’t like Grimes hadn’t enjoyed it; he certainly came. He might have liked it even more if he’d been able to lick his own come up off the floor, but it had spattered into the soapy water Grimes had been washing the floor with, and that would not only have tasted bad but would have been unhealthy as well. But as much as he’d got off on it, spit was not proper lube, and to do what they’d done lube was a must. McKnight pulled his finger out carefully and barely touched his fingers to the outside of the swollen ring. “It might be better if we didn’t fuck.”
“But sir, I feel better when we fuck.”
“I know, but just for a while. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He felt a bit guilty about how much he’d enjoyed himself. It hadn’t been necessary for Grimes to do much to encourage him – a couple of ‘sirs’ breathed out in a helpless fashion, the stretch of his arms over his head, raising up on his toes so McKnight could get the jeans down over his knees. Jesus, Grimes’ ass was irresistible. But McKnight would resist it. He had to resist it.
Grimes had twisted in his arms, protesting that he could take anything, pleading that he wasn’t badly hurt at all. McKnight shut him up the only way he knew short of ordering him to shut up. He kissed him. He kissed him long and deep and the way that made Grimes melt under him and go loose in the limbs. By the time Grimes had settled back onto the mattress, all limp and compliant, McKnight was almost out of breath. He ran his hand through Grimes’ hair, so soft but not as wavy as McKnight had expected it to get, and he licked the little indent in Grimes’ chin, which always made Grimes gasp.
“You’re wounded, soldier. It’s not bad, but you need a little rest. I’m ordering two weeks leave for your asshole.”
“You can’t do that!”
“The hell I can’t.”
And he had.
Today was the end of the two weeks.
Toughest two weeks of McKnight’s stateside life. But he stayed away from Grimes’ ass, and it had even turned into a joke. He would ask how Grimes was, and Grimes would say he was managing fine even without the parts that were on leave.
Motherfucker, was he ever managing! He was managing with his hands – long, slow massages that turned into extended, luxurious hand jobs. He was managing with his mouth – astoundingly detailed blowjobs lasting for hours, from the kitchen to the living room to the bedroom. McKnight didn’t want to come, held off coming while Grimes licked and sucked and nuzzled and stroked and played, actually played, with McKnight’s cock and balls. McKnight didn’t have to come right away, because he knew he was going to come in due time, and he was enjoying it so much, being drawn out tight as a trip wire, but never going off until he gave the word to Grimes.
And Grimes had relaxed about McKnight touching him. McKnight had made a regular habit of doing his therapy on Grimes’ cock, and now that he didn’t have to do the therapy every day, he was making a regular habit of jerking off Grimes for its own sake. Grimes let McKnight touch him without protesting or flinching at all.
It was difficult at first. Grimes always wanted to be serving, so McKnight had to convince him that watching Grimes writhe made McKnight very happy all on its own.
The first hand job without therapy took place in the shower. McKnight chose that location because Grimes was always extra pliable in the shower. Something about the warm water made him even more willing than usual. Grimes had finished washing McKnight and turned around to rinse out the washcloth when McKnight pressed himself up against Grimes’ back, cock firmly tucked between Grimes’ cheeks, and reached around. Grimes squirmed, trying to put the emphasis on McKnight’s cock, but McKnight held him tight.
“Don’t move,” he ordered in the lowest voice he could manage. “Put your hands on the grab bar.”
Grimes did as he was told.
“Put your head back, on my shoulder.”
That got Grimes’ face away from the spray of the shower, so it wouldn’t distract him. Or drown him.
“Is this how you jerk off in the shower when I’m not around?” McKnight closed his soapy fingers into a tight tunnel around Grimes’ shaft. He slid them up and down steadily, from base to head, tightening at the top a bit. “Is it?”
Grimes shuddered in his embrace. “Uh, yes, sir, maybe a bit faster.”
McKnight sped up. “Do you touch yourself anywhere else?”
Grimes whimpered. “Y-y-yes, sir.” He tried to move his arms, but McKnight made a warning noise, so Grimes tightened his grip on the bar.
“Don’t show me,” McKnight instructed. “Tell me.”
Grimes thrust his cock a little into McKnight’s fist, a remarkably forward move on his part. “Oh, fuck, sir.”
McKnight nipped a bit at Grimes’ neck. “No, no fucking. I’m jerking you off. Tell me where you touch yourself…”
It was demanding a lot, McKnight knew. But it would keep Grimes’ mind off the fact that McKnight wasn’t doing anything for himself, other than letting his cock get hard between the cheeks of Grimes’ ass, which was plenty for McKnight, but he knew Grimes didn’t think so.
“My, um, oh, sir… my chest.”
McKnight slid a hand up under the spray, splaying his fingers across Grimes’ chest, deliberately avoiding his nipples.
“Like that?”
“Yes. No. Not exactly,” Grimes stammered. “Nipples, sir. I touch my nipples.”
It sounded naughty when Grimes said it out loud like that.
McKnight circled a finger around a small, wet nub. “What do you do to your nipples, soldier? Do you rub them? Pinch them?”
Grimes thrashed a bit. “Rub, sir. Pinch, yes. Oh, please.”
McKnight added a twisting motion on the upstroke of Grimes’ cock and pinched a nipple with the fingers of his other hand. Grimes shook violently.
“What else? What else do you do to make yourself come?”
Grimes had his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth gritted. “You, sir. I think about you.”
“Me doing what?” McKnight changed the motion, so his hand went slow on the upstroke and fast on the way down.
“Oh, sir, anything. You touching me, you fucking me, you coming in my mouth, you watching me… your cock in my ass, your cock in my mouth…”
McKnight’s cock in Grimes’ mouth sounded particularly good. This was three days into the two-week leave, and while part of McKnight was regretting the no-fucking rule, another part was insisting it was for Grimes’ own good.
At the time, though, he was concentrating on making Grimes come. “Good boy,” he whispered into Grimes’ ear. “That’s a good idea. You’re going to come.” He waited for Grimes to stop moaning before he continued talking, although he never let up on the stroking. “And then we’re going to go upstairs and I’m going to lie down on the bed and you’re going to suck my cock…”
Grimes’ hips started to shimmy.
“And you’re going to suck me until I come in your mouth…”
Grimes nodded, almost knocking his forehead into McKnight’s nose.
“And when you have a mouthful of my come…”
That was enough. Grimes arched and his cock stiffened in McKnight’s fingers. His voice gurgled a bit as the water hit his face while he groaned with his mouth open.
And it had been fantastic upstairs too. Grimes had stopped, on McKnight’s order, in the middle of it, and lain between McKnight’s legs, cheek resting on the front of McKnight’s hip, mouth wide open and full of cock, and looked up at McKnight for no one could say how long. They’d just stared at each other for the longest time, perfectly still, eyes wide open.
But that was then, and now was not the time to be thinking about it because McKnight was getting harder and harder as he crouched behind the just-installed stereo, connecting the last speaker wire.
Linda had stopped looking at the stereo and sat on the couch, which was now kept clear of all papers and photos and magazines and debris so there was always a place to sit, even though Grimes rarely sat there. Grimes had explained his decision to keep the couch clear a few nights before. He didn’t want anyone to wonder about where he sat. He wasn’t ashamed, but he wanted to keep everything between him and McKnight private.
“Sit down,” Linda suggested when Grimes came back from putting on the coffee. She patted the spot on the couch next to her. “Tell me, Mr. Grimes, what kind of music you like.”
Grimes looked a bit adrift. “Oh, I like sort of jazz, you know.”
McKnight was unsure what Grimes meant. “You mean, like Miles Davis kind of jazz? Charlie Parker?”
Grimes shook his head. “Not really. Singers, mostly.”
“Like Louis Armstrong?” McKnight suggested, trying for a bit more exactness.
Grimes blushed a bit. “No. More… Billie Holiday, Sarah Vaughn, Nina Simone. Soulful, bluesy sort of jazz, I guess.”
Linda nodded. She liked that kind of stuff too. “The women put so much emotion into their voices.”
Grimes nodded, sneaking a worried look at McKnight, as if McKnight might not approve.
“I am partial to some country singers as well,” Linda was saying. “Patsy Cline, for example.”
Grimes brightened. “I like Patsy Cline, too. Crazy, and Three Cigarettes in an Ashtray.”
“I have some old records,” Linda announced. “My turntable broke several years ago, but it looks as if Danny has his in working order. We could go to the house and bring them here. I’m sure there is something you’ll like.”
So Grimes made the coffee, excellent coffee, and after a while he and Linda went to the house and came back with two full crates of old LPs. The first was full of Linda’s old records. It looked as if they’d gone through her collection and picked ones Grimes would like best. McKnight leafed through them and sighed. There were an awful lot of hurtin’ songs in the collection.
It bothered him that Grimes seemed to enjoy hurtin’ songs. He didn’t want to think about Grimes identifying with women who had been left or abused or hurt or ignored or rejected. They listened to a few songs, drank some more coffee, and Grimes was quiet when the very sorrowful songs played.
Linda had her hand on Grimes’ shoulder as she said goodbye, and she leaned over and kissed his cheek when she left.
Grimes locked the door behind her. “I’m sorry, sir.”
McKnight looked up from the Edith Piaf album cover he was perusing. “What for?”
“Making you listen to that stuff. It’s not very interesting for you. But your sist… Linda likes it, and it made her happy to loan them to me.”
“You don’t like it?”
“No. I mean, I do. It’s just something I always sort of kept hidden. I mean, I like torch songs, sir. It’s not very, um, army, is it?” Grimes looked a little embarrassed.
McKnight had almost got rid of his hard on, but the slightly embarrassed look brought the blood rushing back to his cock. “Hey, everyone has their own taste. But I’m wondering…” he paused.
“Sir?”
“Why do you like such depressing songs?” McKnight had to ask.
Grimes gave a small smile. “I don’t find them depressing. Bad things happen, but they’re singing about them, so they must have survived, right?”
McKnight could follow that line of reasoning.
“It’s not as if that’s all I like. I like other kinds of music too. Rock. Blues.”
“Janis Joplin?” McKnight asked hopefully. He was greatly relieved when Grimes nodded. They weren’t too far apart after all.
Uh-oh, Grimes was going through the second crate of records, which McKnight now recognized as the records he used to listen to when he was a teenager. Of course Linda had to haul them over here; it was the musical equivalent of embarrassing your little brother by showing his baby pictures to his date.
Grimes flipped through the psychedelia with a smirk on his face.
“What?” McKnight said with obviously fake menace.
“Nothing, sir. Nothing at all. I just never really pictured you into this sort of thing,” he said, holding up a well-worn copy of Court of the Crimson King.
It was McKnight’s turn to be embarrassed. King Crimson wasn’t exactly what you would expect from an officer.
“Oh, I love this album!” Grimes exclaimed.
Now that was the kind of enthusiasm McKnight had been hoping for when he came up with the stereo idea. He looked up sharply and was almost surprised and greatly relieved to see T. Rex. “Electric Warrior? Really?”
Grimes grinned. “Bit before my time, I guess, but I had this friend in high school who as into retro before retro was invented. It was our way of avoiding New Wave. We used to listen to it and, uh…”
“Get stoned?”
Grimes looked down at the floor and nodded. Was there more to it than getting stoned? What more was there other than getting stoned? Did McKnight really want to know? If he didn’t want to know, it was best to take the response at face value.
“S’okay. That’s what I used to do, too. Nothing to be ashamed of. You don’t want to do that now, do you? Get stoned?”
“Do you want to, sir?”
McKnight hadn’t considered it. He didn’t have much use for getting stoned, not since he enlisted. Needed to stay alert at all times. Sure, he got drunk when he was on leave, but drunk only lasted for a short time. Stoned lingered unpredictably. “No. Not unless you want to.”
Grimes slinked over to him. Slinked was the only word for it. He had the record in one hand, and the other hand was on his own thigh, and he moved across the floor with such sinuous grace, McKnight had to take a deep breath. Then Grimes was beside him, mouth hovering inches from his face. “Don’t need to, sir,” Grimes said.
Fuck. Grimes put the record on the turntable and the beat started. Mambo Sun. How long had it been since McKnight had listened to Mambo Sun? He’d never listened to it like this, because Grimes was swaying toward him and then he moved his hips.
McKnight thought he knew all about Grimes’ body. He’d seen him in fatigues, dress uniform, civvies and naked. Really naked. He’d seen him run, shoot, jump, fast rope and dive. He’d seen him crawl in pain. He’d seen him crawl when he was naked. He’d seen him cleaning, cooking, carrying, sitting, standing, walking, washing. He’d seen him twist, bend and fold. In fact, he had personally twisted, bent and folded Grimes. While Grimes was naked. But he’d never seen him move like that.
Grimes rolled his hips a bit, in time to the music. He was fully clothed, but McKnight could picture every inch of him naked, those flat abs and all the muscles leading and pointing down to his cock, the slender hips, the rounded ass, not quite as skinny as the rest of him might suggest - beautiful round ass. His hip bones, sharp when he was bent backward, and the soft dark hair on his chest and belly. The longer hair around his cock, the heavy weight of his balls, the smooth arch of his cock, the shininess of the head when it was hard and stretched.
McKnight was pushed back, down into his chair, hands planted on the arms, and Grimes stood over him, legs spread on either side of McKnight’s legs, hips rolling. Fucking enthralling. Grimes could probably charm snakes with that move.
“Sir?”
“Hmm?” Words were not within McKnight’s reach at the moment.
“I like music.”
McKnight could see that.
Grimes started to unbutton his shirt.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. McKnight could not breathe.
The shirt fell to the floor and Grimes slowly peeled off his undershirt, still rolling his hips. He ran his hands through his hair, down his chest, flickering over his nipples, running over his abs. When he twisted to the side, his ribs were visible, his muscles stretched out tight.
The song changed, the beat changed, and Grimes made adjustments in his hip-rolling. McKnight wondered if he’d had to practice that.
Wait, he hadn’t even known about the stereo until he’d come home with Linda and found McKnight hooking it up. And he certainly hadn’t known there was a T. Rex album within playing distance. So there had been no time for practice. It had to be innate.
For the first time in his whole life, McKnight wondered what it would be like to have a cock in his ass. Because watching Grimes’ hips move made that line of inquiry an imperative.
Grimes would never do it. And McKnight probably didn’t want it anyway, but fucking was definitely on the evening’s menu.
“Two weeks are up,” Grimes murmured, reading McKnight’s mind and unzipping his own fly at the same time.
McKnight made a helpless grunt and dug his fingers into the upholstery as Grimes slid his hands down inside his jeans. Grimes tilted his head back and sighed. McKnight could see his hands moving under the jeans, cupping his balls, squeezing over his cock. Grimes tilted his head forward again and looked down.
“Sir, request permission to return to active duty…”
Fuck, yes! McKnight only trusted himself to nod. He felt ridiculous, immobilised by the sight of a man he’d been fucking for months simply touching himself. But this wasn’t an ordinary man, and the way he was touching himself was no less extraordinary.
The jeans gaped open, and McKnight could see the head of Grimes’ cock, the dark nest of hair, the navel, small and perfect. Grimes’ hand stroked down the length of his cock.
Another new song. Another change of rhythm. Another sultry look.
“Sir?”
McKnight looked up into Grimes’ eyes. He was a snake. He was mesmerized.
“Sir…” Grimes’ hands hesitated, then stilled.
“Granted,” McKnight sputtered. “Fucking granted. Motherfucker. Get those fucking jeans off, and get my clothes off too…” McKnight started yanking at his own shirt.
Grimes wisely helped McKnight out of his clothes first. If he’d taken off his own jeans, McKnight would have ripped his own clothes to shreds. As it was, Grimes pulled his shirt off and deftly undid his fly without even touching his cock, helped him out of his shoes and socks and pulled his trousers down and got him fully naked and sitting back on the chair.
Grimes stood up with his jeans still open, cock poking stiffly out of the opening. He thought to check that the window was closed. There was no need for anyone else to hear what was about to happen.
Motherfucker. The view from behind was even better.
Grimes slowly moved backward, closer and closer to McKnight. When he was a couple of feet away, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his jeans and started to push the jeans down his legs, knees unbent. He got them all the way down to his ankles before McKnight lunged up, grabbed him by the waist and pulled him down.
McKnight positioned his ass at the front edge of the chair, shoulders braced against the back, hands gripping Grimes’ hips. His cock was huge against Grimes’ ass. “Oh, fuck, you are so…” He didn’t want to sound like a bad porn movie so he stopped talking and mouthed the back of Grimes’ neck instead. Grimes twisted on his lap, legs tangled in the jeans.
“Lube,” McKnight grumbled against Grimes’ hair. Fucking lube. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
“It’s okay, sir. I took care of it while you and your sister were finishing your coffee,” Grimes gasped.
“Motherfucker,” McKnight muttered. He thought Grimes’ asshole had looked a little too… inviting. Not like an asshole that hadn’t had anything shoved up it for two weeks, that’s for sure. Dark and open and relaxed - he'd thought he was imagining it. Wishing it. Wishing Grimes' asshole was the way he liked Grimes' asshole to be, which was ready for McKnight to fuck it.
Grimes lifted his hips and reached around to guide McKnight’s cock.
“Not yet!” McKnight warned, but Grimes dropped his weight on McKnight’s lap with a low moan.
Jesus, fucking tight.
“It’s okay, sir. I didn’t just lube it,” Grimes panted. He must have stretched it, because McKnight had just slid right in as if he’d always belonged there. Grimes squeezed his cock reassuringly. “I used the shampoo bottle,” Grimes added.
Everything went tipsy for a second. The shampoo bottle. He had been sitting in the living room, chatting with his sister and drinking coffee, and Grimes had been in the bathroom working a lubed shampoo bottle into his asshole? That was not possible. He would have sensed it.
Grimes was stretched against him, ankles bound together, ass full of very hard cock. He raised his arms and grabbed the back of the chair on either side of McKnight’s head. “I didn’t think you would want to waste any time, sir.”
But he hadn’t stripped the instant Linda left. He’d gone through the records. Looking for something… appropriate… McKnight ran his hands up and down Grimes’ torso. He pinched both nipples at once, then he put one hand under Grimes’ balls and the other on his cock. Grimes was still rolling his hips in time to the music. He was fucking dancing on McKnight’s cock.
McKnight moved his hands to Grimes’ hips to still the movement.
“Grimes.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you have some career as an exotic dancer you never told me about?”
“No, sir. I just like music. This is one of my favorites.”
“You ever fucked to it before?”
Grimes’ breath hitched. “No, sir,” he said slowly. “But I always wanted to.”
McKnight curled his fingers, pressed into Grimes’ hips. “So, there is something you’re doing with me for the first time.”
That didn’t sound very good. It sounded like McKnight thought Grimes was some kind of a slut. He didn’t think Grimes had been a slut. At least, he didn’t want to think that. He did wonder, sometimes, how Grimes had learned some of the things he knew how to do. He couldn’t help wondering. But did it really matter?
Fortunately, Grimes didn’t take it the wrong way. “Oh, sir, everything is new with you. Everything is always new, no matter how many times we do it together.”
Wow.
Grimes started moving his whole body, undulating on top of McKnight, who spread his legs so Grimes could nestle between them, with McKnight’s cock deep inside him. “Good…” McKnight growled. The ‘boy’ part wasn’t necessary.
“Sir, I… I need to come, sir. I haven’t had you inside me for so long, and I’ve been thinking about it all day. You can keep fucking me as long as you want, but I really need…”
No need to ask again. McKnight twirled his fingers around Grimes’ cock and started a steady rhythm, in time to the music. “Me too,” he grunted and twitched his hips up.
Grimes flexed what felt like every muscle in his body, especially the ones deep inside. “That’s good to hear, sir,” he gasped.
“You’re going to come,” McKnight said, “and I’m going to come, too. I’m going to come in your ass, and you’re going to come in my hand, and then you’re going to lick the come off my hand.”
Grimes did that shuddering thing that made McKnight come right away.
“And after my hand is clean, I’m going to lick any come off your belly…”
That was something McKnight had been doing more often. Not always, but he liked the taste and he liked the way Grimes went still under him and he liked to feel the muscles moving under his tongue. It was the only thing he did with his mouth, beside talking and kissing Grimes’ mouth.
McKnight wanted to feel Grimes coming right away, so he tried to think of something that would push Grimes over the edge.
“And then you’re going to clean my cock with that pretty mouth of yours.”
That was enough.
They came together.
The record was over, the needle spinning in the grove around and around, scritch, shhhhk, scritch, shhhhk.
They ignored it.
Continued in: 18 Smoke
Back to: Soldier Porn
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