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Title: 24 - Really Clean
Rating: NC-17,
Warning: Some unpleasantness from the past. Angsty Grimes. Angry McKnight.
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.
Really Clean
Grimes pressed his forehead against the smooth white porcelain, pushed the outsides of his knees against the insides of the tub, forced his ass a little higher in the air.
That did the trick. He was rewarded with the first ‘good boy’ of what he hoped would be many this evening.
It was a special evening. McKnight was leaving in the morning, for ten whole days. Grimes had worked in a frenzy all day to make sure every chore was completed, every room clean, because he never knew exactly what or where McKnight would be in the mood for, so he wanted to be prepared for anything. He couldn’t predict what would happen unless he wanted to make a strong suggestion himself.
McKnight usually went along with Grimes’ suggestions, but on the eve of his departure he deserved to call the shots.
Grimes had made his suggestion the night before. When McKnight arrived home, Grimes had been ‘working’ in a secluded corner of the garden, wearing only a pair of jeans, something he’d been wanting to do ever since the first time they’d done it outside, on the weekend. He really loved it, fucking outside, with the sun shining on them, the smell of the grass and the earth, the way McKnight wanted to stay quiet but couldn’t.
That first time, after McKnight came in his ass and they both fell in the mud, they’d had to shower twice to get rid of all the dirt. So last night, Grimes was careful to be kneeling on dry dirt when McKnight got home. Grimes had been planting bulbs. He’d heard the gate open, the footsteps, and McKnight’s little groan, so flattering, but he hadn’t reacted until two hands were planted on his ass, squeezing him.
One thing had led to another and… fuck, he loved outdoor sex! But it had also led to the current situation, since after McKnight had rammed his cock up Grimes’ ass repeatedly, they’d both been too exhausted for more than a quick shower, before heading right to bed, where Grimes had fallen asleep with his head on McKnight’s chest, listening to the steady thump-thump and twitching his nose against the dark chest hair above McKnight’s heart.
Grimes had risen early, prepared breakfast and started working around the house. He’d discovered a problem in the basement, a leak in the stone foundation, the result of leaving the hose running for so long during their first foray into outdoor sex territory. It was no big deal. He'd only had to call a mason and move a few crates around, but it had thrown off his schedule.
When McKnight got home, Grimes realized he hadn’t taken the time to bathe properly.
McKnight noticed it too.
Grimes found himself pinned to the wall beside the stairs with McKnight’s hand down the back of his pants and McKnight’s fingers in his ass.
“I do love fucking you with that stuff up your ass,” McKnight growled in his ear. “So slippery, and it heats up beautifully. Makes the fucking even better. But I cannot stand the taste of it.”
Hence, Grimes’ current position, head down, ass up, in the bathtub, with McKnight’s soapy fingers playing all over his wet skin.
“Good boy, spread yourself for me.”
Grimes balanced on his forehead and reached back, spreading his cheeks as much as his slippery fingers would let him. He groped himself.
“Ah-ah, no! Your fingers stay outside.”
Damn. Grimes really needed fingers, something, in his asshole.
Fuck! Okay, he had to admit, McKnight’s fingers were the perfect solution to the problem, way better than his own fingers. While McKnight pumped two fingers in and out of Grimes’ ass with one hand, he grabbed a wet cheek with the other.
“Fuck, I love your ass,” McKnight groaned.
Grimes knew that, but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel good to hear it out loud.
McKnight liked to spend ridiculous amounts of time running his hands over Grimes’ ass, and not only when they were having sex. He liked looking at it and touching it and feeling it rub against his thighs or chest, and squeezing it.
And now he was going to lick it.
Grimes’ moan echoed in the iron bathtub.
McKnight was going to rim him and tonguefuck him and fucking feast on his ass, and then he would shove his big cock inside and fuck him until Grimes couldn’t see.
It was always a good idea when McKnight made such a strong and determined calling of the shots.
“Jesus, the shape of it. The firmness, the… everything…” McKnight was mumbling half to himself, half for the benefit of Grimes. Heaping praise on the one part of Grimes that wasn’t really skinny, and even that wasn’t the same as it used to be.
Grimes sometimes felt a wave of panic, fear that there wasn’t enough of him for McKnight. He was eating diligently, or at least he thought he was, but he’d started to lose weight again.
Trauma, the doctor pronounced at his yearly physical. But Grimes’ life wasn’t traumatic. It was the most peaceful it had ever been. Busiest, too, but busy and peaceful could coexist.
Maybe it was the sex. Too much sex. He was burning too many calories.
If he gained any weight while McKnight was gone, he’d have to deal with the calories issue.
Maybe he would have to supplement his diet with taking protein shakes or something.
In the meantime, without any empirical evidence to discourage him, he planned to burn lots and lots of calories having sex, because McKnight was fucking him with three fingers and he wanted even more.
“Rinse,” McKnight said. He tugged Grimes back toward the running water, using the fingers buried deep inside.
Grimes wanted to scream from the overwhelming sexiness of being pulled around by the inside of his ass.
McKnight let the water rush over his hand and Grimes’ ass, then slowly pulled his fingers out, spreading them so some of the water got inside.
Grimes did scream, but in a quiet, encouraging manner.
“Nice and clean, none of that nasty balm. I want to taste you, Grimes. Just you.”
That sounded wonderful.
“I’m gonna lick your asshole, soldier, until you beg me for more.”
That wouldn’t take much at this point.
“And then I’m going to lick you all over.”
Grimes really hoped McKnight meant almost all over.
“I’m going to lick your back.” Thick fingers traced a line up Grimes’ spine. “And your neck.” It tickled a bit, but Grimes didn’t mind. “And your chest.” Oh, yes, please, Grimes wanted to say.
McKnight had this new habit of nibbling on his nipples. Careful sharp teeth and pursed lips, tugging and gnawing and pinching and sucking.
“And I’m going to lick your cock.”
Aw, shit, did he have to say that?
Grimes stopped writhing.
“I want to suck your cock.”
Grimes stopped moaning.
“I want to taste you…”
“Sir.”
McKnight’s hand went still on Grimes’ lower back.
Grimes held his breath.
Why tonight, for fuck’s sake? Why ever? Jesus, he let McKnight to just about everything. Grimes kissed McKnight regularly. He let McKnight jerk him off and eat his come and use his mouth on his asshole. Wasn’t that enough?
Holy shit. Strong hands grabbing his waist hauled him out of the tub. Seriously up and out of the tub, like he was some little kid who’d lingered too long in the bubble bath. It had to be impossible for McKnight to lift him like that; Grimes must have helped unconsciously. He was slender, but he wasn’t a small man.
Grimes was a bit dizzy from being turned upright so fast. He swayed, and McKnight’s face was inches from his.
“It’s not fair,” McKnight said. “You have to at least tell me why.”
No, he didn’t.
“Grimes, everything was perfect. And then you went all cold on me.”
Speaking of cold…
McKnight pulled a heavy bathrobe over Grimes shivering shoulders. Grimes obediently put his hands through the armholes and stood docilely while McKnight knotted the belt for him. McKnight’s hands rested on the knot. “I can’t stand it when you turn off like that. I feel like I’m forcing you.”
There was an easy solution to that; McKnight could simply give up on this whole ‘I want to suck your cock’ campaign and fuck Grimes silly instead.
“At least tell me why,” McKnight repeated.
Grimes thought about it, about telling. There were some things it was easier not to address, but he supposed, even if he didn’t want to address the past, he owed it to McKnight to address the issue.
“I’ll make you a deal,” McKnight offered. He rubbed a towel over Grimes hair. “You tell me, give me a good reason I can’t suck your dick, and I’ll do whatever you want me to do.”
Grimes looked in the mirror. His hair was all over the place. It sounded like an okay deal. He wished there was no reason to make it.
“Anything,” McKnight emphasized.
Fuck. Grimes loved it when McKnight got all raspy like that.
“And I won’t ask again. I promise.”
Grimes found that hard to believe, but he nodded. Shivered. McKnight rubbed his hands up and down Grimes’ arms. That helped.
They couldn’t stand there in the bathroom and talk about it. McKnight was only wearing his khaki pants, and there was the tub and the grab bars and the steam at the edges of the mirror above the sink. Too many distractions.
The bedroom was out. The bedroom was the worst possible place to discuss sexual dysfunction related to power issues, Grimes had read in an article.
Of course, almost all of Grimes and McKnight’s sexual issues, dysfunctional or not, related to power in one way or another.
The living room and the back room were obviously out of bounds for serious discussions, since they contained armchairs. Roomy armchairs. Well-broken-in roomy armchairs.
They settled for the kitchen, with Grimes still swathed in the thick robe and McKnight still wearing only his pants, distractingly bare-chested but Grimes could take it.
Grimes sat in the guest chair, back to the wall. McKnight sat facing the wall, hands gripping the edge of the table.
McKnight got up abruptly, went to the fridge and took two beers out. He put one in front of Grimes, drank half of the other and sat back down.
Grimes didn’t need a beer. He needed more time to think, to figure out what to say.
The silence got to be too much for McKnight. “I want to,” he said. “It is what I want. It isn’t about giving orders or serving. It’s about… it’s about you. I want to touch you and taste you and know you. I don’t want these roadblocks. But,” he raised his hands. Surrender. “Deal’s a deal. You come clean and I’ll accept it. If…”
Grimes figured there would be an if.
“…if it makes sense.”
Oh, great. Now he was supposed to make sense, as well as stripping himself so naked he might never get warm again.
“Sir, it’s not you. I like it when you touch me. No one has ever touched me like you do.”
“You mean you wouldn’t let them,” McKnight said with a touch of bitterness.
“No, I mean no one ever wanted me.”
McKnight rubbed his hand over his face. “That,” he said, “is impossible.”
Grimes caught a drop of water with his fingertip and chased it up the side of the can. “You didn’t want to touch me at first.”
McKnight’s beer can crumpled slightly in his fist. “You don’t know that.”
Grimes didn’t. He’d assumed. Wrongly?
“I couldn’t touch you. I didn’t know what you would accept. I didn’t want to scare you away. And I really like what we did. I still like it. I was happy to do whatever you wanted. I didn’t really think about what I wanted; I just wanted. I wanted you. I don’t even know if it was about sex. I wanted to feel you, and I wanted to make you feel.”
That was ridiculous. He hadn’t even known Grimes then. And of course it was about the sex. It was all about sex. It was still all about the sex. Except now they knew each other more, and they liked each other, and they could sit and talk about stuff like what was happening in the news or people they knew or a movie they saw or music and they didn’t have to actually have sex all the time they were together, but it still took up a fair bit of their leisure time.
“Damn it, Grimes. I want to taste you.”
“You do taste me.”
He did. Often. He licked Grimes’ belly after Grimes came, and he sucked drops of come from Grimes’ fingers and his own hand.
“Not like that!”
“You don’t make it easy, sir, do you?” Grimes muttered. What was he supposed to do in the face of this? He’d hoped this was just about sex, but it wasn’t. It was turning out to be about passion, and need, and that slightly desperate look on McKnight’s face as he looked at Grimes and ignored the beer foaming up out of the almost completely crushed can.
“Easy? You want easy?”
Well. Not really, Grimes thought. But, yeah.
McKnight was on his feet, in front of Grimes. “You want me to give you orders and pet you when you follow them? Keep it simple? That would be easier for you, wouldn’t it?”
Grimes was sure that McKnight had no idea how fucking big he looked, looming over him like that. Grimes was really glad McKnight was supposed to be on his side, because facing that in battle would be worse than intimidating.
And he was so close, Grimes could have tilted his head and nuzzled his cock, but he didn’t want to because he wasn’t sure what would be worse – if McKnight was soft or hard. He didn’t want to know which it was.
“You want me to order you to talk? You need to be forced to trust me?”
God, no.
Grimes stood up, but he couldn’t take a step back because the chair was against the wall, so he stood a few inches from McKnight and had to look up. Not much, but it still made him feel small.
“I want you to be patient!” It just burst out of him.
He immediately realized how unreasonable the request was, under the circumstances, considering what they had been doing when the problem arose, what had been so suddenly interrupted.
He gave in to the impulse to sway forward and rest his forehead on McKnight’s shoulder.
McKnight’s arms came up around him, hands on his back.
“I’m sorry,” McKnight said. “That was really out of line.”
Grimes squeezed his eyes shut and pictured himself younger, smaller, scrawny really. Before McKnight, before the army. Before.
He’d been a kid still, even though he had a failed marriage under his belt. And he’d been searching. Eager. Scared but eager.
“There was this club.” Club sounded too wholesome. “A bar. A place men went to meet other men.”
McKnight must have been to one at some point. He would know what Grimes was talking about. Surely Grimes would not have to describe the narrow staircase down and the crowded dance floor no one really danced on, but on which lots of stuff happened every night. He shouldn’t have to explain about the washrooms and the empty stall at the end, the one with no toilet or urinal, but with the capped off plumbing that made a convenient handhold. He wouldn’t have to go into detail about the back room with the sticky floor and the sickly black light and the neon sign that someone had custom made to read ‘cock on tap’.
“I started to go there on weekends. Didn’t take me long to figure out what I was looking for. There was always someone willing to take what I had to offer.”
McKnight’s hands tightened on Grimes’ shoulder blades.
“So this guy… everyone knew him. He was…” Grimes didn’t want to describe him to McKnight. Vince had been one of the most desired tops at the club, with a flawless, ripped physique and legendary pornstar proportions. He also had a pronounced mean streak..
The mean streak wouldn’t have been a problem if Grimes had been better behaved.
“He took me home on a Friday night,” Grimes said. “And left me on my doorstep Sunday morning.” He could still feel the sun burning his eyes, but not as much as the stares from the neighbors.
Maybe he shouldn’t say too much, give too much detail. It was a long time in the past, before McKnight, before Grimes ever enlisted, and there wasn’t anything that could be done about it. He wasn’t worried about McKnight feeling betrayed, but it would be better if McKnight had as little concrete information as possible, so he wouldn’t go off on a manhunt.
Not that the idea of McKnight beating the crap out of Vince wasn’t appealing. In fact, thinking about it made Grimes feel a bit lightheaded. He sat down.
McKnight followed. He crouched on the floor and looked up at Grimes. Patiently.
“I was young, you know. No self-control. He liked to touch. Hard. And he was into biting and stuff. I couldn’t help responding, but that’s not allowed.”
“What do you mean, ‘not allowed’?” McKnight’s hands were getting tighter on Grimes’ knees.
“I mean, I came in his… too close to his mouth. He went a bit… he screamed at me and shoved me and went a bit psycho.”
Grimes shuddered, even though he tried not to. The rage had been frightening.
“What? He got mad at you for responding?”
“For responding wrong. You don’t do that to a top. It’s an insult. He said it was a just and fair punishment.”
“Yeah, but I would never punish you for anything. Besides, I want you to come.” There was McKnight, being logical. And remarkably innocent, for a man who could smoke a cigarette with brutal nonchalance while having his cock sucked.
“Sir, it’s not a logical thing. It’s like any fear.” Maybe McKnight couldn’t understand that. It was possible McKnight didn’t actually fear anything. At least not anything physical. “It’s… when you put your mouth near me, I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself. It’s not like I really think you’ll actually hit me.”
“He fucking beat you up for coming?”
“No, it was beating, but it wasn’t ‘beating up’; it was punishment.”
McKnight’s lips were tight. Eyes hard. “You… like punishment?” he asked tersely, as if he didn’t want to know the answer.
“Hell, no, sir. Especially not after that weekend.” Grimes’ ass hurt just thinking about it. The back of his thighs stung. He could feel the bruise in the middle of his back, from Vince’s knee holding him down on the floor. The sickly feel of blood between his legs. “I don’t like to be punished,” he said firmly. “I only like to serve.”
There was a big difference. Some people couldn’t see it. That wasn’t Grimes’ fault, was it?
“Why would I want to be punished? I take pride in doing things properly,” he tried to explain. His thing was to obey, first time asked, no questions asked. Except McKnight had been forced to ask many times about this, so maybe he wasn’t as obedient as he thought.
McKnight’s bowed his head. Was silent for a long time. Fingers rigid on Grimes’ kneecaps, but no longer digging in.
“Who was this guy?”
Grimes shrank back from the low, quiet, angry voice.
“I wanna find him.”
Grimes knew it. He knew McKnight would want to protect him, even after the fact.
But it wasn’t exciting like he’d thought it might be. It was scary.
“Sir…”
“Don’t call me that! Not now!”
Grimes took a deep breath. “Danny. Listen to me. Look at me.” He couldn't stand McKnight not looking at him.
McKnight’s eyes were dark when he looked up.
“He didn’t mean it.”
“You can’t beat someone without meaning it.”
But you could. Sort of. “He thought… he chose to believe I’d done it on purpose. To provoke him. That I was asking for it. Like I purposefully disobeyed so he would have an excuse to let loose. That I was asking for… you know…”
McKnight’s whole face darkened.
“…the whip,” Grimes finished faintly.
The burst of profanity from McKnight was reassuring. It meant that he wasn’t too upset to speak.
“He didn’t know. I mean. The stuff I was willing to do, how could he know I didn’t want the other stuff too? I didn’t want it. I hated it. It was wrong, and he was…”
“He’s fucking evil,” McKnight growled.
“Maybe, but why wouldn’t he think I wanted the rest? I didn’t know enough to tell him. I didn’t know how to negotiate the scene.”
“That’s not a scene, Grimes. It’s a fucking crime.”
Grimes almost laughed. “Yeah, well, I’m sure it was illegal for me to even be with him. I was only twenty.” Age of legal consent for homosexual activity and all that. What a joke. “And it’s not like I could have asked for help. The cops aren’t going to be very sympathetic to a dirty fag who likes to get on his knees and suck any…”
McKnight’s hand clamped on his mouth didn’t bother Grimes at all. That was one thing Vince never did. Vince got off on desperate begging. And screaming.
Of course, McKnight liked it when Grimes begged too, but he liked Grimes begging for more, not begging to stop. That was only one difference between them.
McKnight snatched his hand away fast, like he realized what he’d done. “Sorry.”
Grimes licked his lips and tasted beer. “It’s okay. I’m fine with that.” Grimes kind of liked it, actually. It made him want to lick. But McKnight couldn’t know that. He had everything all lumped together and was probably hating himself for his own tendencies.
“Danny, listen. It wasn’t that bad.” Now wait, Grimes thought, there was no reason to lie. “Okay, it was bad. But I survived, no permanent scars.”
“On the outside,” McKnight said.
“Yeah. Well. He was an asshole, and everyone knew that.”
“So why did you go home with him?”
Grimes didn’t want to have to explain. How could he explain it? If McKnight had been there, if McKnight had walked into the bar that night, would Grimes have still let Vince lead him out by the scruff of the neck? He couldn’t even say.
“Sorry, that was out of line, again.” McKnight said.
Grimes sincerely hoped he would have gone home with McKnight.
“I never lost my desire to serve. I never feel threatened by you at all. That’s not what we do. What we have is totally different, and I never, ever compare the two. What happened back then doesn't rule my life. After time I just considered the whole thing a lesson well learned.”
“A little too well learned,” McKnight grumbled.
“Look, I had to learn what was acceptable behavior. And I did. The next week… okay, two weeks later, because I didn’t go out for a while… I met Patrick. He was a nice man, older, experienced. Patrick was furious with Vince. I’m not sure how they knew what happened, but everyone knew. Vince actually had to stay away for a while. And Patrick sort of claimed me. He offered to keep me safe and teach me. Taught me how to serve better.”
Grimes hoped McKnight wouldn’t be too jealous. But he’d wanted to hear the whole story, and that was part of it, because there was no way Grimes was going to tell the bad part without the somewhat happy ending.
“I liked it. I felt wanted and needed. Patrick was patient and firm, he never yelled or hit. He was a gentleman. And he trained me well.” Grimes had been so sad when Patrick left the States to go back home.
McKnight was sitting back on his heels, staring somewhere in the vicinity of Grimes’ chest.
“That thing,” he said slowly, “with your arms behind your back, holding your elbows…”
Grimes nodded. When Patrick had taught him that, trained him to present himself and keep himself restrained so the master wouldn’t have to, a whole new world had opened up for Grimes. To willingly serve. To willingly submit. With a measure of elegance and decorum. It was like finding part of his soul that had been missing.
“You don’t do that so much anymore,” McKnight observed.
Grimes hadn’t really thought about it. He supposed McKnight was right.
“You want me to?” Grimes asked. It had been something Patrick insisted on.
“No,” McKnight said quickly. “Yes.” Even quicker. He looked up with a helpless expression on his face. “It’s really fucking sexy, but…”
Grimes tried to smile. “Maybe on special occasions. Like smoking.”
McKnight groaned.
“You need a cigarette?” Grimes was careful not to say ‘sir’, not wanting to freak McKnight out.
“No,” McKnight said hoarsely. “I only want you.” He leaned down, with his forehead on Grimes’ knee. “I can’t believe you would ever think I would do that.”
“I told you, I don’t.” Grimes started to feel the panic again. Maybe McKnight didn’t understand. Maybe he would never understand.
“I don’t ever want to punish you. I don’t ever want to hurt you. I want to make you happy. I want to give you pleasure, no matter what things I can or can’t do. Jesus, John, I couldn’t hurt you. I love you.”
Grimes did not just hear that.
“Don’t you know that? I love you.” McKnight looked up again, and it was obvious he was telling the truth.
Grimes went limp, slid right off the chair into McKnight’s lap. McKnight was kissing his face. Not his mouth. His cheek, his forehead, his jaw, his closed eyes.
“I love you,” he whispered again, the words lost in the disheveled hair at the top of Grimes’ head.
Grimes pressed his lips to McKnight’s neck, weakly.
“And it’s okay. I won’t ask again. I wish you’d told me earlier. Hell, I wish I’d told you earlier; I love you.”
Fuck. Grimes wanted to hear it again, even though he’d already heard it four times.
McKnight crushed Grimes to his chest, and McKnight’s raspy voice and hot breath warmed Grimes to the core.
“Now, deal’s a deal. What do you want?” McKnight asked.
“I want to say that back to you,” Grimes said truthfully.
McKnight shook his head. “No way. I don’t want to think you said it just because I did. I don’t want you to feel obligated.”
Grimes didn’t feel obligated; he felt compelled. There’s a difference. “But I really mean it.”
“I know you do.”
“So, why can’t I say it?”
McKnight pulled away and kissed the tip of Grimes’ nose. “Jesus, Grimes, would you let me be the commanding officer?”
Grimes grinned. “Yes, sir.”
“Good.” McKnight looked relaxed. Like he’d been the one who got something off his chest, not Grimes. He looked clean. Really clean. Purified, somehow.
“And you’re still okay with me calling you ‘sir’?”
“Fuck, yeah. Gets my dick hard every time. Just not when…”
“Okay,” Grimes agreed happily.
It was okay. McKnight knew a lot now. He knew just about everything. And he still wanted Grimes. He knew Grimes had been young and foolish and had been damaged for it, but he didn’t stop wanting Grimes.
Grimes had the most perfect commanding officer in the whole fucking army.
McKnight ran his thumb under Grimes’ eye, tracing the dark half-circle there. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
McKnight didn’t buy it.
“A little tired.”
“You haven’t been sleeping well.”
Grimes didn’t think McKnight had noticed.
“I need you to promise to take care of yourself while I’m gone.”
Grimes promised.
McKnight pulled Grimes close again, so he was sitting on McKnight’s cock.
Grimes ground down, and felt the thick, hard cock.
“Good boy,” McKnight said.
Grimes rubbed himself across McKnight’s chest and practically purred.
“Motherfucker,” McKnight cursed when Grimes squeezed his thighs around his waist.
“Yes, please, sir,” Grimes cooed when McKnight grabbed his ass.
“What…” McKnight groaned as Grimes shimmied in his lap. “What do you want?”
“Oh, sir, I want you to suck my cock!”
Next: 25 Let Go
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