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Title: 20 - Charting Progress
Rating: NC-17,
Warning: sub/Dom, Sweatshirt!porn. Kissing!porn. Serious cigarette!porn. Name!porn!
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: If the image of Grimes merely pushing a grocery cart isn’t enough to do you in (it did me in – I wrote the first sentence and had to have a little lie down) there is other stuff that might be. Enough. To do you in. How can two men be so pervy?
Dedication:missmishka sent me a fantastic list of ideas and requests and reminders of things that have been somewhat neglected of late *kisses her to death*, and I’ve incorporated a few of her ideas here…
Charting Progress
Grimes pushed the grocery cart past the ice cream and pre-fab dinners. He didn’t buy that crap. He did pick up two cans of frozen orange juice and some sole fillets.
Eating healthy. It was a worthwhile goal. McKnight’s annual physical, which had happened two days ago, on the first day of McKnight’s vacation, had been acceptable, but not ideal. McKnight was fit enough, but his blood pressure was a little higher than usual, and he needed to quit smoking, or at least cut down. But Grimes knew that already. That’s what he’d been working on when McKnight came home early and…
Grimes looked down at the minimalist line drawing of a dolphin leaping out of the water and the words ‘Dolphins Swim Team’ written beneath it on his hooded sweatshirt.
It was, and always would be, he realized, a mistake to wear this shirt in public. The feel of the soft fleece on his arms, the weight of the hood at his neck, the pocket… oh, the pocket. It all reminded him of McKnight going kind of wild, grabbing the hood and making Grimes do things. And McKnight’s hand in his pocket.
Grimes slid his hand into the pocket and pressed his splayed fingers against his belly, as if he could stop the roiling within from without.
He was still a little pissed off that McKnight’s physical had taken place during his vacation time, time that would have been better spent in bed.
McKnight in bed last night. He’d put Grimes on his hands and knees and fucked him from behind while they both watched in the mirror above the dresser.
He really had to stop thinking about things like that in public.
There was a woman at the check-out counter and she was sneaking looks at Grimes. At Grimes’ sweatshirt.
Grimes supposed it did look funny. He had a boyish sort of look, but he didn’t look anywhere young enough to belong to a swim team. He’d never been on a swim team in his life. He could barely swim at all.
He had, briefly, been on the wrestling squad, but it had become obvious quite early on that being pressed up so close to virile, athletic men was not conducive to keeping his as-yet unexplored but terrifyingly elaborate and forbidden fantasies at bay. He’d joined the long-distance running club, but all those skinny, pale legs did nothing for him. He preferred meatier men. A semester spent as the equipment supervisor in the weight training room had solidified his taste for solid, masculine flesh. He loved the weightlifters, with their barrel chests and tree trunk thighs. They didn’t care about sculpting their abs or preening in front of mirrors. They were serious about shifting iron.
Grimes had never had the nerve to ask one of them to shift some iron in his direction. But their bulging muscles and strained grunts greatly to his masturbatory fantasies. He imagined McKnight might make some of those grunts when he worked out at the gym on the base, but he couldn’t exactly go to watch.
He wasn’t in that army anymore.
That was okay. They were probably much like the grunts McKnight made when he was close to coming in Grimes’ ass, or when he was lifting Grimes up and down on his cock, or when…
The woman openly stared.
Grimes fervently hoped he hadn’t made any anti-social noises while he’d been thinking about McKnight.
He paid for the groceries, placed them in his pack and left the store. He had a prickly sensation, as if someone where watching him from behind, or whispering about him. He re-adjusted the straps on his shoulders, hoping it was just the weight of the food tugging at his hair.
It was unseasonably warm. Grimes had only an unlined leather jacket over his sweatshirt and t-shirt. He wasn’t wearing anything under his jeans, which was another thing he shouldn’t be thinking about in public, because that brought to mind the morning after the sweatshirt incident, when he’d bent over to pick up his black marking pen from the floor and McKnight had crept up behind him, put his hands on Grimes hips, and nudged him, almost playfully.
Grimes paid his bus fare and pretended he wasn’t thinking about being bent over the kitchen table with his pants around his knees.
He walked from the bus stop to the post office, bought some stamps, and managed not to think about anything related to sex at all.
It was a short hike to the driveway, and then he was in view of the cottage. It was starting to get dark, and the light was on in the kitchen. That meant McKnight was home.
Of course, he was home. He was on vacation. He’s been home every day this week, except for the physical and this afternoon, when he’d gone to meet with an accountant about his taxes.
Grimes had hoped to be home first. He didn’t have anything in particular to do, since they were going out for dinner with McKnight’s sister and Roz, but he liked to be there to welcome McKnight.
His own work had suffered a bit since McKnight’s return from the ten-day exercise. There wasn’t much time, or motivation, to work. McKnight’s sister didn’t mind at all, since the week before he’d discovered a response to a fan letter Mildred had written to John Lennon about one of his poetry books. It included a little drawing of a bee with its butt in a flower. Linda thought it would fetch enough money at auction to pay the taxes on Mildred’s cottage for at least a decade.
McKnight was standing in the kitchen, holding the graph Grimes had half-finished.
“Hello, sir,” Grimes said cheerily.
“Hi. What’s this?”
Grimes slipped the groceries off his back. “Oh, nothing. Just a chart.”
“What kind of a chart?”
Grimes started to put away the groceries and wondered how long he could pretend not to have heard.
“Is it some kind of a secret?”
McKnight was standing with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, as if expecting a fight. Grimes didn’t think he was expecting a fight, really. That sort of stance was second nature to McKnight after logging so many combat hours.
“It’s um…” Grimes figured he should come clean. “It’s for smoking. Or not smoking. You record how many cigarettes you smoke in a day, set goals, you know. Something I read about in a magazine.”
“I couldn’t tell what it was. There’s no names on it.”
Yeah. Well. That’s why Grimes had to stop making the chart. “I wasn’t sure what to put.”
“McKnight” and “Grimes” had seemed weirdly impersonal. He could use full names, but “Lieutenant-Colonel McKnight” was even more formal and weird, and “Specialist Grimes” didn’t apply anymore.
He’d toyed with the idea of “Sir” and “Good Boy”, but that was a wild fantasy, not destined to be, because Linda and Roz and other people might happen to see it, since you were supposed to post it in plain sight on the fridge. Grimes didn’t like the idea of cluttering up the door of the fridge with a chart, but it made sense to keep it handy.
He was still deciding what to put on the chart.
McKnight stared at the chart, which was neatly divided into days, a.m. and p.m., with a column for each of them. “You want me to quit smoking?”
“Oh, no, sir. Maybe, I thought, cut down. For health reasons. Moderation.” Grimes eyes wandered to the door to the back room. “Maybe save it for special occasions.”
McKnight’s eyes grew darker and slightly dangerous. “I think I feel the craving for a special occasion coming on.”
“Me too, sir. But we have to go out for dinner soon. Remember?”
“Damn,” McKnight said. “Linda and Roz.”
Grimes unzipped his jacket.
“Why did Roz give you that?” McKnight asked in a harsh voice.
Grimes felt a quiver in his stomach. McKnight sounded a bit… jealous. “I don’t know, sir. She’s a nice person?”
McKnight shook his head. “Yeah, but that’s not even from her school. It’s from the high school where Linda teaches.”
Grimes hadn’t known that. Funny. He hadn’t thought of it at all. Roz was the librarian at a middle school. It was probably a fundraiser and Linda had asked her to buy it. “Maybe she thought it would look good on me.”
Fuck! For a big guy, McKnight sure could move fast. He was up against Grimes with one hand in his pocket and the other in his hair. “It does,” he said. “Matches your eyes.”
“My…” Grimes felt the quiver turn to all out fluttering. “My eyes?”
McKnight nodded and kissed Grimes.
Maybe a little bit of jealously was a good thing. Grimes relaxed his mouth and felt McKnight’s lips and tongue and teeth for a while. Then he took a tentative swipe at McKnight’s tongue. Not sucking. Not hard kissing. He simply curled the tip of his tongue over McKnight’s.
McKnight made a rumbly sound.
The phone rang. Linda. Picking them up in twenty minutes. Grimes got the feeling she knew what he and McKnight had been doing, and was giving them enough warning to tidy up.
Grimes went upstairs and changed into a fresh pair of black jeans and a dress shirt, gray with a pale blue stripe. He tried to get his hair to look neat, but whenever McKnight grabbed it like that, he could never get it to calm down until he washed it.
Dinner was at a steak house. Grimes sat next to Linda and watched Roz flirt with McKnight.
Why did McKnight have to let her do that? He wasn’t exactly flirting back, but he wasn’t pushing her away either. Grimes hoped he was just being polite.
Her hands kept touching McKnight. On the shoulder, on the arm, on the forearm, where they weren’t only touching, they were touching bare skin, since McKnight had his sleeves rolled up. At one point she touched him near his waist.
Grimes fidgeted and McKnight’s sister told him to relax. She complimented him on his shirt, which she said suited him. Roz agreed. McKnight grinned at him from across the table. Grimes was made so uncomfortable he wanted to squirm.
He was relieved when dinner was over and he could go home and be alone with McKnight.
McKnight was acting as if there was nothing wrong. And there wasn’t. He was going home with Grimes, and there was nothing wrong with that at all. Grimes was pretty sure McKnight had no intention of following up on all the flirting, a conviction strengthened when McKnight pinned Grimes to the wall with his whole body as soon as Grimes had locked the door behind them.
McKnight’s cock was hard. Had it been like that all night, or had Roz’s flirty touches brought it on?
“I’ve been wanting to do this since you came home with the groceries.
“Ahhhh,” Grimes gurgled.
“Roz was making me crazy.”
Grimes froze.
“All those touches, rubbing against me, whispering in my ear…”
He was frozen from the inside out.
“So… you liked being touched by her?”
“Hell, no. It only reminded me of how much I wanted to touch you.”
Grimes wriggled to get some feeling back in his extremities.
“I have zero interest in her.”
“Well, she seems to like you, sir.” Grimes felt compelled to get this out in the open.
“Too bad,” McKnight growled and moved his hips in a circle against Grimes. “I only want…” He stopped grinding. “Were you… worried?”
“No, sir,” Grimes lied.
“Grimes, there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I know that, sir.” Grimes was still lying, but not quite as much.
McKnight backed up. “I don’t want her any more than you do,” he said seriously.
“I don’t want her at all, sir.”
“I know.”
Grimes hoped so.
“She should know that by now,” McKnight said. “And so should you. Do you need proof?”
Grimes coughed. He didn’t need proof, but he wanted it.
McKnight walked to the back room. He kicked off his shoes. He stood by his chair, took off his belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants. “Take off your jacket,” he said.
Grimes took off his jacket, hung his and McKnight’s jackets on the hooks by the door, returned to stand in front of McKnight.
“What about this new system? What do I have to do to get a cigarette?” McKnight asked.
Grimes was staring at the gaping opening of McKnight’s trousers, and McKnight’s hard cock sticking out of it. “Nothing. Just mark it on the chart later,” he said.
McKnight sat in the armchair.
Grimes took off his good shirt, but kept his t-shirt on because it was a bit chilly. He removed his shoes and his belt, for good measure.
“Where’s the lube?” McKnight asked.
Grimes leaned over and fished the bottle out from between the arm of the chair and the cushion. His cheek brushed against McKnight’s shoulder. McKnight didn’t move a muscle.
“Put it on the table.”
Grimes did.
“I want you to sit on my cock,” McKnight said.
Lightning bolts shot through Grimes’ pelvis. He started to reach for the lube. “Do you want me to…”
“No, stay standing and turn around.”
Grimes turned his back to McKnight and closed his eyes as McKnight slid his jeans and boxers down to his ankles.
“When did you start wearing underwear?” McKnight asked casually, reaching for the bottle.
“We were out, sir. In public With your sister. I was afraid you would make me hard.”
“Did I?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Bend over. Hands on your knees.
Grimes complied with a small moan.
He couldn’t see McKnight’s lubed fingers, but he sure could feel them.
“Motherfucker. I love how it feels inside your asshole,” McKnight growled.
Grimes tightened his grip on his knees and wondered if his blush extended all the way down to his ass.
“So smooth. So hot.” McKnight rotated his hand and his fingers brushed over Grimes’ prostate. “Makes me want to fuck you so bad.”
“Please, sir,” Grimes squeaked. He was teetering, too over-stimulated to keep his balance.
McKnight grabbed his hip. “Steady.”
Yeah. Right.
Three fingers slid in and out.
The hand on Grimes’ hips moved to cover one side of his ass, squeezing lightly. “You want my cock in your ass?”
Grimes did. More than anything. He said so.
McKnight pulled his fingers out. “Don’t move.” He wiped his fingers on Grimes’ t-shirt, then picked up the pack of smokes.
Oh, Jesus, he wouldn’t.
But he would.
He did.
McKnight lit a cigarette.
Grimes remained as still as he could. He was aware, intensely, of his position, his proximity. McKnight had to be looking at him, at his asshole, wet and a little open, twitching erratically in anticipation. At his whole ass, naked in the cool air. At his balls hanging heavy between his legs.
McKnight settled back in his chair, one toe absently rubbing up and down the back of Grimes’ calf. Grimes’ legs were spread as wide as they could be with the jeans restricting his mobility. McKnight kept smoking, without saying a word, smoke curling around Grimes’ thighs, until the cigarette was gone.
“Good boy,” he announced as he stubbed the filter in the ashtray. He grabbed Grimes’ hips and pulled him down fast.
It was a shock, the fat, heavy cock pushing into his ass. Grimes couldn’t stop his arms from flailing a bit, or his mouth from opening and saying “Ah, ah, ah,” but he already knew McKnight liked all that. He was, as always, completely helpless at the moment of penetration. As soon as he felt the head move past his tight ring, he started to regain his senses, but the helpless feeling lingered.
McKnight pulled him firmly down until he was fully seated. Strong hands held his hips in place.
“Would you like a cigarette?”
“N-n-no thank you, sir.” Grimes shook his head. Grimes was shaking all over.
“Sure you do,” McKnight said in a wheedling tone. He let go of one hip and retrieved a smoke from the pack. He reached around and slid the filter between Grimes’ lips. “Light it.”
Grimes groped for the lighter. His hands were shaking so much it took three tries to get the damn thing lit. He inhaled. The smoke didn’t penetrate nearly as deeply as McKnight’s cock did.
“Good boy,” McKnight purred in his ear. “Now, share.”
Grimes twisted awkwardly, half-wincing at the rotation of his asshole around McKnight’s cock, and held the cigarette gingerly in front of McKnight’s mouth. McKnight’s lips gripped the filter. The heater flared. McKnight’s cheeks hollowed slightly. Grimes whimpered.
“Finish it,” McKnight said.
Grimes twisted back so he was facing away from McKnight. Every drag was sheer torture, because McKnight was not moving. Not at all. The hand on Grimes’ hip was inches from his cock, but it didn’t move. McKnight’s cock was fucking impaling him, but McKnight stayed still. The last thing Grimes wanted to be sucking on was a cancer stick.
But the smoke did relax him, strangely enough, and as the heater burned down, the burn of his stretched asshole went down too.
McKnight’s hand, not the one on his hip, the other one, started to move slowly. Fingers tripped over his thigh, traced the crease at the top where his thigh met his pelvis, ran up his belly, under his shirt, across his chest, brushed over nipples.
“You’ve got the sexiest body,” McKnight murmured against his neck.
Grimes choked on the smoke.
“So lean, so strong, so fucking limber.” Pushing Grimes' shirt up.
Dear God, Grimes silently prayed, if I survive this I promise to quit smoking forever.
The hand moved from Grimes’ chest to his cock, wrapped around it hotly. “Nice cock. Pretty cock. I love the curve of it.”
And I’ll do charity work, Grimes’ added. With widows and orphans.
“So, does this count as a special occasion?”
Grimes could only nod.
“You finished?”
Grimes barked a hoarse laugh. “What do you think?” He dared to move his hips so his cock jabbed up between McKnight’s fingers.
“The cigarette,” McKnight clarified. “I wouldn’t want you to burn yourself.”
“Oh, I think I’m already burning up, sir.”
“You’re hot enough to burn,” McKnight agreed. “Deep inside. I think my dick might catch fire.”
Grimes wanted to say ‘Well then fucking move!’ but that would have been totally unacceptable. He tried desperately to think of something he could say. “I could help with that, if you want, sir,” he offered. “I think a little friction might do the…ah!”
McKnight bucked his hips up and groaned. Grimes was lifted up, and stayed up, arms braced on the chair, when McKnight dropped back down until only the head of his cock was inside. McKnight drove up into him again and Grimes lifted his legs off McKnight’s so he was hanging in the air.
“Motherfucker!” McKnight roared. “You are so fucking… fuck!”
Grimes wanted to know what he was ‘so fucking…’ but it wasn’t important enough to warrant disturbing the actual fucking. He gritted his teeth and locked his elbows and spread his legs so his knees were braced between the arms of the chair, which kept him from rocking from side to side and made it easier for McKnight to slam into him hard.
The helplessness was still there, but it was being overtaken by need. The need to come. The need to make McKnight come. The need to scream with pleasure and fulfillment.
“Oh, fuck me,” he ground out, substituting swearing for screaming. “Fuck my ass hard, sir. Ah, I love your cock in my ass, yeah!”
McKnight was swearing too, and soon the air was bluer from the profanity that it had ever been from the cigarette smoke.
“Never wanted to fuck anyone so much,” McKnight was growling. “Fuck, Grimes…”
Grimes’ breathing grew very harsh.
“John…” McKnight moaned against Grimes’ back.
Grimes almost didn’t catch it. But then McKnight said it again. And again. He was speaking Grimes’ name to his skin and pulling Grimes back down onto his lap.
Grimes resisted at first, but his elbows gave out and he fell back onto McKnight, so McKnight was once again buried deep inside him.
McKnight had a hand on Grimes’ shoulder, pushing him down, even though his cock couldn’t go any further. He voice was strangely choked in Grimes’ ear. “Make yourself come. I want to feel you come.”
Grimes put a hand on his cock. “You want me to jerk off?” he asked, trying to sound innocent, knowing that saying it out loud would be almost enough to make McKnight… no, enough to make McKnight moan.
“Fuck, yeah. Grab your cock. Jerk yourself off. I want to feel you come around my cock.”
Grimes did exactly as he was told.
McKnight slid his hands around to Grimes’ inner thighs and pulled them apart, hooking them over the arms of the chair. Grimes had never been so stretched before.
Grimes howled and jerked faster.
“Good boy, good fucking boy. So good. Such a good soldier…”
Grimes bore down on McKnight’s cock and shrieked. The come couldn’t shoot out of him fast enough. It was like something exploding in his balls. He could feel McKnight’s cock pulse inside him steadily.
McKnight was moaning, mouth wide open, lips glued to the center of Grimes’ back.
When the shaking started to fade, Grimes had to move one leg at a time off the arms of the chair. He moved stiffly. “I think my hips are stuck like this,” he joked feebly.
McKnight pulled Grimes' shirt off him and wiped his stomach, then pushed Grimes off him and to the soft rug. Grimes lay on his stomach, and McKnight was rubbed his tender hips, massaging the limberness back into them.
“Better?”
Grimes nodded.
McKnight gingerly spread Grimes’ leg and ran his thumb over Grimes’ slick hole. “Okay?”
Grimes felt woozy. “Fucking perfect,” he mumbled.
McKnight lay beside Grimes, with his face rubbing against Grimes’ hair, which was sticking up in every possible direction. “How could you be worried?” McKnight asked softly. “How could you even think…”
Grimes rolled to his side to face McKnight. “Well, how could you? About the sweatshirt? It’s just a sweatshirt, you know.”
McKnight shook his head adamantly. “No, it’s not. It’s the sexiest fucking sweatshirt on the planet.”
Grimes couldn’t help beaming.
“That fucking Roz. You’d think she was trying to cause trouble.” McKnight’s voice trailed off at the end of the sentence. “Goddamn!” McKnight winced as if what he was thinking was physically painful. “Motherfu…”
“Sir?”
“Linda.”
“Huh?”
“Roz.”
“What?”
“Linda and Roz.”
Grimes tried to figure out what McKnight was talking about.
“Goddamn. She wants a merkin.”
“Sir? What’s a…”
“Cover, Grimes. And she’s supposed to be my beard.”
Beard Grimes understood. But merkin? McKnight was supposed to be Roz’s fake boyfriend? But that would mean Roz needed cover. And that she was a lesbian. That couldn’t be. She flirted with McKnight all the time. She flirted with Grimes.
“And the sweatshirt! She wants everyone to think Linda gave it to you.”
“Me?” Grimes squawked. “Your sister and me?”
Come to think of it, that would explain the woman at the grocery store. And the smirk from the clerk at the post office that time he picked up a package for Linda. And…
“She’s your sister, sir!”
“So?”
“Your sister is gay?”
“Why do you think Mildred left her this house?”
Grimes hadn’t known why. And now he didn’t want to know. “Mildred?” he said, bewildered. He’d seen no evidence of lesbianism. But now that he thought of it, maybe there was. The autographed picture of Greta Garbo by the bed. The complete first editions of the works of Colette. The women’s softball team Mildred had sponsored. Holy shit.
“They were lovers when we first moved here,” McKnight continued. “I think Linda was Mildred’s last lover. Mildred thought she was too old for that sort of thing, but they stayed very close. They never told me about it, but I figured it out. Linda’s had other lovers since. She was even engaged to a guy one time. But Roz…”
“But she’s so much older than Roz.”
“I’m older than you.”
“Not that much older.”
“Age doesn’t matter.”
Apparently, neither did gender.
“Why didn’t I see it before?” McKnight wondered.
Why hadn’t Grimes seen it at all. But then, his ability to recognize people of his ilk only extended to people of his ilk, and women were not generally his ilk.
“There has to be some other explanation, sir.”
“I bet Roz’s car is parked at Linda’s house right now. Right behind mine, for everyone to see.”
And that’s how Grimes and McKnight ended up in the woods in the middle of the night, sneaking up on Linda’s house to see if Roz’s car was there. But they didn’t have to go as far as the driveway, because they saw Roz through the kitchen window, rinsing out two wineglasses at the sink.
Linda walked up behind her and bent to kiss Roz’s neck.
Not only was the age difference greater than that between McKnight and Grimes, the height difference was also more pronounced.
“Damn!” Grimes exclaimed.
Linda looked up sharply at the noise.
McKnight grabbed Grimes by the sleeve and dragged him through the hedge, into the woods, off the path. They ran blind until they thought they wouldn’t be heard or seen by anyone.
“Oh, my god, sir, your sister! And Roz!”
McKnight laughed. “Jesus, I feel like a teenager, sneaking around spying on girls.”
Grimes laughed too.
“Motherfuck, where’s the path?”
“I’m glad it’s not too wet out tonight,” Grimes said, worried about mud on shoes. It was fairly dry, and not too cold.
McKnight moved forward, and Grimes had to take a step back to avoid falling. And another. And another. Until his back was against a tree.
McKnight put one hand on the bark above Grimes' head, and the other on the side of Grimes’ face.
“Um, sir, we’re outside.”
“I know.”
“In public.”
“Not really. No one can see us, and this is private property.”
Grimes closed his eyes, a moot gesture, since it was so dark. He’d been fantasizing about this, but he’d hoped for warmer weather and maybe some more leaves in the trees for even more privacy.
McKnight’s mouth was hot and coffee-cigarette flavored. The coffee at the steak house had been good. But not as good as what Grimes made. And McKnight had said so. In front of Roz.
“Only you,” McKnight whispered against Grimes’ cheek. “Oh, fuck, yes. You.”
Their lips met again, and Grimes tried using his tongue again. Softly. He ran it over the backs of McKnight’s teeth. McKnight lifted Grimes’ leg up, as high as he could, and held it firmly against his thigh.
Grimes vision went white.
As if a bright light were being directed at his eyes.
McKnight took his hand off Grimes’ thigh to shield their eyes, but Grimes couldn’t bring himself to move his leg.
“Aren’t you a little old to be making out in the woods?” Roz asked from behind the flashlight.
McKnight cleared his throat.
“Spying on your older sister. Danny, you should be ashamed of yourself.”
“Grimes didn’t believe me about you two!”
Roz clicked off the light. “Oh. Well. Now you know. Was it the shirt that tipped you off?”
“That, and you playing footsie with my sister in the restaurant. I thought you might have been aiming for Grimes…”
Roz laughed. It was a loud laugh. “God, no, Danny. Making a play for your boyfriend would be suicide.”
Boyfriend?
“Does Linda know you’re spreading rumors about me and you. And her and…” McKnight hesitated.
“Linda and John?” Roz finished for him, putting a great deal of emphasis on Grimes’ first name. “Not entirely. But it’s for her own good. And yours too, as well as John’s. Besides, the whole faculty is envious of her. You’re a very lucky man, Danny.”
“That’s very comforting. Now, could you please leave us alone so I can make out with my boyfriend in peace?”
Boyfriend.
“Good-night, Danny. Good-night, John.” She went back to the house.
Grimes shivered.
“It’s getting colder,” McKnight said, just as a soft rain started to fall. He stroked Grimes’ hair. “Don’t want you getting cold.”
“I’m okay, sir.”
McKnight shook his head. “No, you’re cold. I couldn’t stand it if you got sick.” He held Grimes’ hand and led him out of the woods.
Grimes cleaned the mud off their shoes and made sure the coats were properly hung up. When he went into the kitchen, McKnight was at the fridge, hanging up the smoking chart. Grimes peered at it.
The top row, in McKnight’s clear, slanted handwriting, the chart was filled in.
It said ‘Danny’ and ‘John’.
Continued in: 21 Oral Fixation
Back to: Soldier Porn
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