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Title: 19 - Fire
Author: Haleth
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, McKnight/Grimes
Rating: NC-17,
Warning: Sub/dom, Foot!sex. Fetishization of a common article of clothing. (You may never look at hooded sweatshirts the same again...)
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.
Dedication: To anyone who like the feet. (And/or hooded sweatshirts.)
Fire
Ten days without Grimes felt like eleven days too many.
After his first weekend away, in early January, McKnight had been convinced he wouldn’t survive the ten-day February ordeal. He’d been busy the whole time, supervising training exercises and evaluating performances, so he hadn’t had much time to pine, but as soon as he walked back into the cottage he’d realized how much he’d missed Grimes. And he’d started to dread the upcoming ten-day exercise.
It was part of the job. He had to do it. It was the end of the first group session, and the team had carefully planned the ten-day excursion to test the participants. And to test the training. But it seemed more like an endurance trial designed to drive McKnight to desperation.
Every single night, after saying a brief thank you to whatever deities might exist for the private quarters to which his rank entitled him, McKnight jerked off thinking about Grimes. He’d barely touched his own cock since Grimes had come into his life, and there he was, masturbating like a teenager.
Well, maybe not entirely like a teenager. He doubted many teenagers jerked off while thinking about a younger man licking come off the floor, or about sucking their own come out of said young man’s mouth.
McKnight thought about New Year’s Eve a lot. He thought about how passive Grimes had been when McKnight kissed him. And he thought about the way Grimes moaned when he realized McKnight was sucking their combined come out of his mouth. And how suddenly, without any warning, Grimes’ mouth had stopped being passive when McKnight had sucked on Grimes’ tongue.
Fuck, it had been dizzying. It was still dizzying, just thinking about it. Soft, submissive lips swiftly turned hard and possessive. Grimes had reared up off the floor and pinned McKnight to the chair, devouring his mouth, grinding against him, gripping his shoulders tightly. McKnight had spread his legs and pulled Grimes close, grabbed his ass, tried to be as encouraging as possible.
Grimes was fucking strong. It was intoxicating to feel that wiry strength in action.
Grimes had disengaged just as suddenly, and then McKnight found himself on the floor, with Grimes on his hands and knees. McKnight knelt at his side, rubbing Grimes’ shoulders and back as Grimes panted as if he’d just run a marathon, gasping for breath.
“Shhhh, I’m sorry,” McKnight said automatically. “I…” What the hell was he sorry for? The sex was fucking great, the flavor of his come mixed with Grimes’ was better than anything he’d ever tasted, and having Grimes kiss him like that was out of this world.
But it had been a bit too much for Grimes.
“I pushed too hard, I’m sorry,” McKnight had added. Grimes had nodded and heaved a huge breath. McKnight had gathered him in his arms and actually rocked him, and that had been almost as good as the sex, because Grimes had relaxed in his arms. They’d gone upstairs and slept, entwined, skin on skin, Grimes’ face buried against McKnight’s neck.
They hadn’t talked about it, of course. What could he say that wouldn’t embarrass Grimes? McKnight had caused him enough anxiety already. The next weekend had been the first training exercise, and McKnight had fucked Grimes in the morning and ordered him not to touch himself all weekend.
Of course, Grimes had obeyed and was practically bursting when McKnight returned late that Sunday night. McKnight had come home to find Grimes sitting on the rug in the back room with his cheek resting on the chair, knees spread wide to accommodate his raging hard on. A space heater had been on long enough to raise the temperature of the room so Grimes was only wearing a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. Grimes had been more than happy to strip and drape his lithe body over the chair so McKnight could kneel on the soft, thick rug and bury himself inside.
“Missed me?” McKnight had growled, knowing the answer but wanting to hear it anyway.
Every man should, at some point in his life, know the utter joy of hearing someone moan, “Oh, yes, sir. I thought about you every moment you were gone.”
This time he had not ordered abstinence. That would have been cruel, because Grimes would have obeyed. Instead, on the night before he left, McKnight had said, “You’re not to touch yourself during the day, no matter how hard you get. But at night, every night, when you take your shower, I want you to think about me fucking you just like this.”
Grimes had been, at the time, bent over as much as the shower stall would allow, with his hands on the grab bar and his forehead against the tiles. The warm water pounded his lower back. McKnight had spread his legs and bend his knees to get the right angle, so he was as far inside Grimes’ ass as he could get.
“Yes, sir!”
“And then you’ll grab your cock. Do it now – I want to make sure you’ll do it right.”
Grimes did it.
“And you’ll make yourself come, thinking about my cock in your ass.”
And they had both come, almost violently.
He stood at the front door, wondering if Grimes might be in the shower right now, thinking about McKnight’s cock in his ass, wishing McKnight were there.
McKnight was early. He wasn’t supposed to get home until two in the morning, according to the schedule, but he’d postponed the final debriefing until tomorrow afternoon. Everyone was so tired and cold and miserable, they were happy to agree to meet in the warmth and comfort of a dry building by the light of day. Most of the outdoor activities had been at night, in the snow and rain. Miserable time of year to be doing that sort of shit, but war doesn’t follow a schedule and soldiers have to be prepared for anything, whatever their rank might be.
McKnight had never been so cold. The only heat he’d felt in ten days was the sear of his own come on his belly. And he always let it land on his belly, because it reminded him of Grimes’ come hitting his cock and belly, and that made it easy to clearly remember Grimes licking him clean.
McKnight opened the door as quietly as he could and crept into the hall. He couldn’t hear any water running and the kitchen light was on. Grimes must be awake. It was only twenty-two hundred hours. McKnight put down his bag silently and went to the kitchen doorway.
He was stunned into absolute stillness by what he saw.
Grimes had taken his shower. His hair was still wet, and sticking up in as many directions as were possible. It was getting longer now, but at some point in the last ten days he’d trimmed it, so all vestiges of the Ranger cut were gone. It was all the same length, growing in soft and thick, and getting lighter the longer it got. The more it grew, the more the red came out in it. The red had always been there, noticeable in his eyebrows and in the thicker curls around his cock – his body hair was dark but when the light hit it a certain way it looked burnished, coppery. Now the red was noticeable on his head, too.
Grimes’ face was freshly shaved, and his skin still a bit pink, either from the heat of the water or from the jerking off in the shower.
McKnight knew Grimes had jerked off in the shower, because he’d ordered him to.
Grimes sat at the table, so absorbed in his work he didn’t notice McKnight at first. He was staring at a piece of paper with a grid drawn on it, and he was chewing on the end of a black marker, with his face screwed up in concentration.
The little lines of consternation on his forehead were endearing. He looked… boyish.
McKnight had always realized how much younger Grimes was, but he’d never really thought of him as boyish until now. But there was something about the way he was sitting with one leg tucked under him, and how earnestly he was trying to finish his task, and the tousled hair and smooth smooth face.
And the shirt. Jesus, fucking hell, Grimes was wearing a hooded sweatshirt.
It was light blue-gray, the pullover kind, and the hood wasn’t up, but it was bunched behind his neck as if it had been pulled up at some point, and it had the name of something on the front, but McKnight couldn’t see it well enough to read what it was because right in front of it Grimes had one hand holding the marker pen. The other hand was crammed into the front pocket of the sweater. They used to call those kangaroo pockets. McKnight didn’t know if they still were still called that.
McKnight must have made some kind of a noise, because Grimes looked up abruptly, and McKnight could see that Grimes’ eyes looked the exact same blue-gray as the hooded shirt.
“Sir!” Grimes scrambled to get up quickly, but the way he’d been sitting on his leg made it awkward. The top of his thigh bumped the table and it made a screech as the feet jerked across the floor a few inches. The pen rolled off the tabletop and Grimes grimaced as he stood. “You’re early, sir.”
McKnight nodded. He’d imagined this moment. He’d been planning on slamming Grimes into the nearest vertical surface, or across the closest horizontal surface, and kissing him so hard Grimes would feel obliged to kiss him back. And then he’d planned on ripping Grimes’ and his own clothes off and rubbing their naked bodies together until he felt warm, which he was sure would not take very long.
But he hadn’t counted on Grimes looking like this. Looking so… normal. As if he’d never been in the army at all. It made the ‘sir’ sound perverted.
Grimes was looking at him expectantly.
“You look…” McKnight stammered.
Grimes raised an eyebrow.
“…edible.”
Grimes grinned, a real grin, one that made his eyes crinkle with lines curving both up and down from the corners, and showed dimples on both cheeks.
That made him look even younger.
McKnight didn’t know what to do. He felt like his head was floating two feet above his body. He’d had that happen one time when he took a bullet in his shoulder. He wondered if he was injured somehow, if Grimes’ smile had injured him.
“I, uh, changed the schedule a bit.”
Grimes nodded, and that worried look reappeared in his eyes.
Jesus, Grimes was looking younger every second. If McKnight didn’t do something - fast - he was going to have a teenager on his hands.
“Were you… good?” McKnight asked. It felt weird to talk like that when they weren’t actually having sex. It was easy when they were in the middle of sex. The words flowed then. But in the light of the kitchen, him in a dirty, damp uniform and boots, with Grimes in that fucking hooded sweatshirt and clean, faded jeans and thick wool socks, hair grown in so he could pass for a college student…
“Yes, sir,” Grimes said, wiping the grin off his face and assuming a more formal stance.
That wasn’t exactly what McKnight had wanted, but it was pretty good in and of itself.
“You jerked off every night?”
Grimes nodded solemnly.
“Me too,” McKnight admitted. He didn’t have to, but he wanted to see the look on Grimes’ face. Confusion, disbelief, horniness, maybe even a little bit of jealousy.
Jealous of McKnight jerking himself off.
Grimes should know by now he had no reason to ever feel jealousy, but the thought made McKnight shiver, which made the back of his clammy shirt stick to his skin between his shoulder blades.
“Sir, you’re…” Grimes leapt forward and touched his arm tentatively. “You’re freezing, sir! And wet. Come in the bathroom.”
McKnight did a bit more that let himself be led to the bathroom. He reveled in it. Grimes tugged his sleeve gently but firmly, and was starting to fuss. Warm water was filling the tub, towels were laid out, a bathrobe appeared from somewhere, along with slippers. Slippers! What the fuck…
“Oh, I got these for you so you don’t have to walk around in bare feet if we, um, take a shower without any warning, no clean socks available, you know, sir.” Grimes didn’t look up as he unbuttoned McKnight’s shirt.
He was acting just shy enough to make McKnight really really hard.
When Grimes got on his knees pulled down McKnight’s fatigues, he let out a long ‘oooooh’, as if he’d just opened a present and discovered it was what he’d always wanted.
It probably was what he’d always wanted. A nice, big, fat, hard cock. Grimes stuck out his tongue and leaned forward. McKnight backed away.
“I haven’t had a proper shower in a long time,” he said.
At the mention of the word ‘shower’, Grimes squirmed. “Doesn’t bother me at all, sir.”
McKnight shivered again. Fuck, his cock was burning but the rest of him was fucking freezing. “Matters to me.”
Grimes looked terribly embarrassed as he got up and tested the bathwater and got a bar of soap from the shower stall. McKnight felt awful. Cold and awful.
“I’m sorry, I just want to get clean and warm and…”
“I understand, sir,” Grimes said a bit stiffly.
“And then I want to go to bed.”
“Of course, sir.”
“And feel your whole body against me.”
The bar of soap flipped out of Grimes’ hand and landed in the bathwater with a splash.
“Every inch of it,” McKnight added, just to clarify.
Grimes allowed himself a smile at that. He held himself back from helping McKnight into the tub, but as soon as McKnight was settled in the water, he hovered by the edge of the tub. He rolled up his sleeves and picked up a washcloth.
“Your hair…” Grimes murmured.
McKnight rasped his fingers across the shaved sides and the slightly longer top. “We all did it, first night of the camp.”
All the Rangers involved, that is. The Deltas and Seals hadn’t shaved their heads. They didn’t have to do that sort of thing. McKnight thought they should have, since the whole point of the project was to get the different branches together to work as a team. The shared bad haircut might have encouraged a little more camaraderie. The Marines had shaved their heads, but Marines will shave their heads for any reason.
“How, um, was the exercise?” Grimes was working shampoo into McKnight’s scalp. There wasn’t much hair left to be cleaned, but the scalp would feel better after the massage.
McKnight wasn’t at liberty to say much. Grimes knew it was a training program, and that it involved different branches of the military, and that McKnight was coordinating things. He knew the purpose was to work out field procedures for coordination of the different units. That was all he was allowed to know. Maybe a little more. Hard to judge, these things. “Good. There were a few rough spots, but this was the first rotation, so that’s bound to happen. And the weather wasn’t exactly ideal. But it was okay.”
Grimes made a sigh that sounded suspiciously like one of relief. “Glad to hear it, sir. So you’ll be training another group, then?”
Oh. Grimes wanted to make sure the project would keep going so McKnight would stay in Columbus. “Oh, yeah. For sure. Tomorrow is the debriefing, the next day is the final report and then…” Should he tell him now or surprise him later? “I have a week off before I have to prepare for the next group.”
Grimes’ fingers tightened on his scalp. “What do you mean, ‘off’, sir? Like… you’ll be doing paperwork?”
McKnight smiled and ducked down under the water to rinse his head. He sputtered mildly when he surfaced. “No, I’m home for a week.”
Grimes stared at him, wide-eyed.
Motherfucker, McKnight would have to do something, again, to keep Grimes from looking so goddamn young. “The whole week,” he added, with a hint of a growl.
Grimes swallowed. “Sir, I, um… that’s incredible.”
And it was. McKnight hadn’t had a whole week off since just after Mogadishu. He hadn’t even taken a whole week off when he broke his arm. He hadn’t wanted a whole week off. It had been too exciting to go to sleep after being with Grimes and then get up to go off to work and come home to Grimes again. To have a week off now, when Grimes was with him full-time, was almost too good to be true.
“I’m much warmer now,” McKnight said. He stood and the cool air felt good as the water dripped down for the few seconds it took for Grimes to fetch a towel. Grimes’ hands shook slightly as they patted him dry. McKnight had to step out of the tub, because if he stayed standing in it for one second longer, he was going to have to drag Grimes in with him, and that would be sure to result in contusions or drowning.
“You should still get into the warm bed,” Grimes said seriously. “You don’t want to give yourself a chill. I put the heater in the bedroom an hour ago so it would be perfect for when you got home later.”
McKnight accepted the offer of the robe and even put on the slippers. They were thick and soft. As he walked up the stairs, he realized that the roughness of the wood, damaged by some ill-advised carpeting at some point, did not bother him. And he wouldn’t get any stray bits of dirt on his feet even though, no matter how clean Grimes kept the upstairs hall, it couldn’t help the fact that the ancient linoleum was disintegrating around the edges.
The bedroom was warm, as Grimes had promised.
Grimes turned down the covers. “I’ll go get you a drink, sir,” he suggested.
“Hell, no,” McKnight said, and pulled Grimes close to him. Grimes smelled clean and fresh, and that damn sweatshirt was soft. “If I want a drink later, I’ll get it. Now I want you.”
Grimes made a little whimper.
McKnight thought back to his original plan. The bed was the nearest horizontal surface. He pushed Grimes down, shrugged off the robe, dropped to the mattress and started kissing.
Grimes didn’t respond at first. He did the passive thing, parting his lips and letting McKnight do whatever he wished. McKnight pushed his hips into Grimes. His cock had never softened, so it poked Grimes in the thigh. He kissed a little harder and reached down to rub the ridge in Grimes’ jeans.
Grimes kissed back. He thrust his tongue into McKnight’s mouth, and McKnight pursed his lips around it and sucked gently. Grimes bucked and moaned, clutching at McKnight's back furiously.
McKnight tore at the button fly of Grimes’ jeans. No underwear. Fuck, Grimes was just perfect. Grimes wriggled like a fish to get the jeans off, and toed off his socks, still kissing. He grabbed the edge of the sweatshirt, but his hand was stopped by McKnight.
“Keep that on,” McKnight growled against Grimes’ cheek.
Grimes, of course, obeyed, as McKnight knew he would. It had to feel awkward, wearing nothing but a sweatshirt, with his hard cock sticking out like that, but it was the kind of awkward that tended to make Grimes’ cock even harder, so the kissing resumed, better than ever.
McKnight stopped kissing to rub his cheek, rough with four days of growth, over Grimes’ perfectly smooth face. Grimes rubbed back eagerly, almost like the cat rubbed your leg when it needed you to fill the bowl.
Eventually, Grimes started to slide down the mattress. McKnight pinned the edge of the hood to the mattress, so it had slipped over Grimes’ messy hair by the time Grimes’ lips reached McKnight’s cock.
Fuck, yeah, Grimes took McKnight all the way into his mouth and McKnight gripped the edge of the hood, pulling it tightly around Grimes’ head.
McKnight had been with one guy, once, who liked having something over his head. It creeped out McKnight, even thought it was clearly a fake suffocation fetish, not a real one. But the hood covered Grimes’ head without cutting off his nose or mouth. Not that his mouth was any good for breathing, as it was crammed full of McKnight’s cock. But when McKnight pulled the hood down it covered Grimes’ eyes and that made Grimes suck even harder.
“Good boy,” McKnight located the wherewithal to croak.
Grimes hummed around his cock.
“Stop!”
Grimes pulled away on command. A string of saliva still connected McKnight’s cock to his mouth.
McKnight pushed the hood back, and Grimes looked up at him with impossibly clear eyes. McKnight ran his thumb over Grimes’ fascinating, wet lower lip. Grimes stayed perfectly still. He didn’t even close his mouth or try to lick off the dripping saliva.
McKnight moved his thumb up Grimes’ cheek, circled the dark mole under his eye. Grimes squirmed. McKnight wanted to find and touch every mole or scar or alleged imperfection he could find in an attempt to convince himself that Grimes was real. If he were imagining things, he wouldn’t imagine that slightly off-center, raised mole on his forehead, would he? He would imagine a man with flawless, perfect skin. He wouldn't have imagined a that cleft in Grimes' chin, because he hadn’t known how sexy it was until the first time he licked it. McKnight ruffled Grimes’ messy hair, which stuck up at ever-odder angles the more McKnight played with it.
“Sir?”
McKnight returned his gaze to Grimes’ lips, swollen from cocksucking. Perfect from cocksucking. “I missed you,” McKnight said quietly. His cock was throbbing painfully, but it was easy enough to ignore. He was intent on staring at Grimes’ face.
It was beautiful. Not pretty in a girly way like some guys. Not handsome in a masculine, granite-jaw way. Somewhere in between. His features were too coarse to be feminine, but more beautiful than any man McKnight had ever seen, and that included all the pretty young Rangers he’d ever commanded or served with, all the D-boys and Marines and Seals combined.
“I don’t just want to fuck you,” McKnight said. “Well, I want to fuck you, but I want more.” Or was that ‘more often’? McKnight didn’t know what the fuck he was saying. It was like he was delirious. He hoped he hadn’t caught anything from all the cold and wet. He would hate to spend his vacation sick in bed.
He wanted to spend it other ways in bed.
“You want me to suck you,” Grimes purred. “You want me to touch you. You want me to serve you.”
Jesus. That made McKnight shiver again.
Grimes put his lips on McKnight’s hip and moved them gently. It wasn’t sucking; he was mouthing the skin, worrying it with his lips and tongue. He slid his mouth further down McKnight’s leg, licking and kissing, tugging on hair with his teeth. His tongue swept across the back of McKnight’s knee. McKnight had never realized how sensitive he was there. Grimes kept licking down, flicking the slippers all the way off, wetting the skin, murmuring things McKnight couldn’t be bothered to understand.
Grimes nipped at his ankle and McKnight jumped. His feet? Motherfucker.
McKnight had been in the army since he got out of high school. The army opinion of feet was they were something to be kept dry, treated vigorously at the first sign of infection, and otherwise firmly ignored. But Grimes was doing things to them with his mouth, and, fuck, it felt good.
Grimes’ tongue on the top of his foot tickled.
Grimes’ lips sliding under, following the line of his arch, was excruciating.
The inside of Grimes’ mouth around his big toe was unbearable.
McKnight’s feet were not made for this sort of thing. They were far too sensitive. His cock felt like it was going to break free from his body and start jumping down the bed to Grimes’ mouth. “Motherfucker!” he groaned.
Grimes crawled back up and clamped his mouth around McKnight’s cock. Oh, that was so much better. McKnight needed that so badly. How could Grimes make his cock feel that neglected and desperate by licking his feet? Maybe it wasn’t just from the foot thing. Maybe it was the whole evening. He’d planned, after all, to fuck Grimes right away, but he’d been home long enough to talk and have a bath and get sucked and he still hadn’t come. That had to be why his cock was so achingly hard.
Plus, Grimes lips were moving up and down it. Grimes was bobbing his head now. The hood caught on the covers and pulled itself up over Grimes’ head without McKnight even touching it.
And, when he looked down, past Grimes’ hooded head, he could see the sweatshirt had crept up his torso, revealing the long lines of his back. When Grimes arched his back like that, there was a clear line down the middle flanked by strong, finely carved muscles. It dipped in at the bottom and swelled out, and his ass was so round and perfect McKnight wanted it.
Now.
“Have to fuck your ass,” he almost yelled.
Grimes stopped sucking immediately. His head popped up, still in the hood, his face looking as fresh and freshly mouth-fucked as McKnight could ever hope for. “How, sir?”
McKnight was momentarily at a loss. He could only see blue gray eyes and soft red lips and the ass he wanted so badly.
“How do you want to fuck me, sir?” Grimes’ voice had a shrill note of urgency to it.
McKnight’s mind went completely blank. “You choose,” he said quickly.
Grimes bit his lip.
Fucking little boy.
“Good boy,” McKnight said reflexively. “However you want.”
Grimes groaned and made up his mind. He shimmied up the bed, pushed McKnight on his back, planted his knees on either side of McKnight’s thighs, reached for the lube.
“Oh, fuck, yes,” McKnight moaned when Grimes tilted back and reached behind himself with three heavily lubed fingers. “Fuck yourself,” he said. “Fuck your ass.”
Grimes wiggled his hips and made his cock bob in the air.
“Get your fingers up inside your ass,” McKnight growled. He could see Grimes from mid-torso down. His upper chest was covered by the pushed up sweatshirt.
The hood fell off when Grimes tilted his head back and moaned, “Sir, please, I’m ready for you.”
“Do it,” McKnight answered breathlessly.
Grimes walked forward on his knees until McKnight’s cock prodded the back of his hand. He threw his upper body forward and pulled his fingers out, using them to lube McKnight’s cock. “Oh, sir, I’ve been wanting your cock. Every night. I’ve been touching myself and thinking about your cock inside me.” He jerked his whole body onto McKnight’s cock and shouted, “Yes!”
McKnight put his hands against Grimes’ chest and rubbed the soft sweatshirt across his nipples. When Grimes’ writhed, his asshole squeezed McKnight’s cock and it made Grimes tremble.
McKnight was more than warm now; he was on fire. From head to toe, he burned for Grimes. From the very inside of his gut, he felt the heat overflow. He closed his eyes and let the liquid fire rush out of him, into Grimes.
Grimes was still hard, and his hands were fluttering in the air, unable to do anything without permission but desperate to give his cock relief.
“Show me,” McKnight managed to groan. “Show me how you jerk off when my cock is in your ass.”
Grimes’ hands flew to his cock. One hand flattened across his belly, showing tufts of reddish dark hair between splayed fingers. The other grasped his cock firmly and tugged.
McKnight kept his hands on Grimes’ chest, but his eyes were on the cock, as Grimes jerked himself rhythmically and rocked on McKnight’s still-hard cock.
“Oh, yes sir, yes…” Grimes babbled.
McKnight yanked the shirt down and covered Grimes cock with it, pushing Grimes’ hands away. He shoved one hand inside the pocket and grabbed the cock through the fleece.
“I wanted to fuck you every night,” McKnight said truthfully.
Grimes shook, too close to speak.
McKnight dug the fingers of his free hand into Grimes’ thigh. “So fucking good,” he said. “Such a good boy.”
Grimes came, and McKnight could feel the come soaking through the shirt, into the pocket. His whole body went a bit wobbly, so McKnight pulled him down, careful not to hurt his ass. There was a wet noise as McKnight’s cock slowly pulled out. McKnight kept Grimes on top of him.
The fire within was banked. Manageable now. He was perfectly, ideally warm all over.
“Jesus, Grimes. That was…” McKnight rubbed his hands over the soft sweatshirt.
Grimes licked McKnight’s shoulder sleepily and reached up to rub his fingers over McKnight’s shaved scalp. “Mmmm,” he murmured.
“Where the hell did this come from?”
Grimes yawned and reached down to pull the quilt over the two of them. “What? The shirt? Oh, Roz gave it to me.”
McKnight pulled the blanket around Grimes’ shoulders and spread his legs, so Grimes could settle between them and rest his head on McKnight’s chest. He stroked Grimes’ hair, marveling at the softness.
Wait.
Roz?
Roz gave Grimes a sweatshirt?
A blue-gray sweatshirt that matched his eyes?
Roz??
Continued in: 20 Charting Progress
Back to: Soldier Porn
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