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Title: 2 - Houseboy
Author: Haleth
Fandom/Pairing: BHD. McKnight/Grimes
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Kink. More kink. And you should never lick things off floors. Didn’t your mother teach you that?
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.
Beta: stewardess and sundew (lucky me!!)
Note: Grimes and McKnight are making progress.
Houseboy
McKnight sat in the armchair, his armchair, and stared into the fluorescent glow reflecting off the corals and swaying plants of his sister’s aquarium. Neon flashes and smoothly gliding scales slid back and forth behind the glass.
The invisible glass. Spotless now that Grimes was caring for the tank. And the house. And everything.
When Grimes didn’t come back the second night, McKnight was not surprised. He’d probably scared him away when he kissed him. Kissing isn’t always appreciated. McKnight didn’t know why he’d kissed him.
That was a lie. He knew why. He just didn’t want to admit it.
That had been one of the best kisses McKnight had ever experienced. And all subsequent kisses were even better. He liked to kiss Grimes when they were done. He’d never particularly liked kissing before, but Grimes accepted the kisses so perfectly, perfectly submissively. Mouth soft, even when moments before it had been furiously sucking McKnight’s cock or licking Grimes’ own come off McKnight’s belly or the floor or the kitchen table. McKnight could tongue fuck Grimes’ mouth or lick around inside or just run his tongue around open submissive lips. Grimes’ tongue stayed in his own mouth when McKnight kissed him.
McKnight liked the tastes. Liked the pliable lips. The low moans. The way Grimes’ body sagged against his. Grimes in general.
But Grimes wasn’t there the next night. And McKnight wasn’t surprised at all.
The night after that, when he got back from base and Grimes was sitting on the steps calmly smoking a cigarette, McKnight had been surprised. He sat for a minute or so in the car, with the headlights cutting through a warm, early evening fog, illuminating the figure lounging on the porch.
Grimes is sitting on my sister’s porch, he remembered thinking.
Then he got out of the car. Grimes stood up as he approached, cigarette burned almost down to the filter. McKnight walked past him and grabbed the coffee can he’d been using as an outdoor ashtray. Grimes dropped the butt in and rubbed his hand on his jeans.
“I got a job.”
“Already?”
“I start tonight. At midnight. There’s training. But I’ll be trained by morning.”
McKnight only allowed himself one, maybe two seconds to fantasize that he actually had the money to hire Grimes as a permanent employee.
Grimes worked from zero to eight hundred as a dispatcher for a cab company. He had finished training by the end of the first night. It was child’s play after the army. He knew how to use the radio equipment and the computer; he’d done enough stints in communications to run any civilian system.
The pace, which the previous night dispatcher had found hectic, was a cakewalk; it was nothing compared to even the mildest Ranger training exercise. Disgruntled clients and harried drivers were easy to manage; they weren’t pointing loaded weapons at him and they mostly spoke enough English for him to be able to communicate effectively.
And in his second week, when one of the drivers was robbed, Grimes had not only directed four other drivers to the vicinity of the crime, where they tracked down the perpetrator at a flophouse and apprehended him, but he’d also found the first aid he did on the bloodied driver a cinch. He hadn’t done any first aid on the robber. He left that to the cops.
After his shifts were over, he went home to the house he shared with the four guys from the base. It was quiet there during the day, so he slept soundly for six or so hours. Then he got up, took the bus across town and walked the half-mile to McKnight’s sister’s house.
He let himself in with the key McKnight gave him. He cleaned the kitchen and started dinner, fed the cat, vacuumed the cat hair off the furniture, cleaned the exterior of the aquarium and tested the water. After checking on dinner, he went down to the basement, because that’s where the water filtration system was, below the living room. There he followed the meticulous four pages of instructions McKnight’s sister had left behind, which McKnight had skimmed over well enough for the system to function, which was all Linda McKnight expected, but had not studied enough for the system to flourish, which is what it was doing under Grimes’ care.
The tank in the basement wasn’t pretty. All that lived in it were a couple of sea urchins, dark and menacing. But Grimes liked to look at it more, sometimes, than the corals and flamboyant fish above.
That’s where he was when McKnight arrived each evening. He waited until McKnight was home before coming upstairs.
It took two, maybe three days for them to settle into this routine. That was one benefit of time in the army. They could settle into any new routine quickly, once they knew what was expected of them.
At eleven hundred, Grimes would take a fast shower – another benefit of army experience, showers took seconds, not minutes – dress and go to work. That gave them about six hours, on a good night. Six hours to serve and be served.
McKnight watched the colors twinkle and blend and fade. He thought he heard noises in the kitchen. And then Grimes was standing next to him.
“Dinner’s ready,” Grimes said.
Dinner was always ready. It was a miracle, every fucking night. Instead of take-out or a frozen dinner, there was salad and steak, or pasta and fresh sauce, or rice and beans and potatoes. He wasn’t sure when Grimes ate. He wasn’t sure if Grimes ate. But McKnight was eating better than he’d ever eaten in his life. And Grimes appeared to be perfectly healthy and happy.
McKnight really should make sure he was eating - Grimes was awfully thin.
McKnight stood and followed Grimes to the kitchen. Enchiladas, salad and a cold beer were set out on the table. McKnight went to the john off the hallway to take a piss and wash his hands and look in the mirror.
He looked relaxed. For the first time in years. Decades. That was to be expected, one might think, from being stateside for so long with no one shooting live ammo at him.
That was bullshit. It was the last three and a half weeks that had made a difference. He tilted his head up and looked at the scar on his neck. Fuck, even that was lightening up. Maybe from all the licking.
He tucked his semi-hard cock to one side, and went into the kitchen. As it did every night – even on days off because the schedule was always the same, except on days off he went out and did grocery shopping or washed his car and came back around the same time he usually came home – his heart skipped a few beats when he saw Grimes kneeling on the floor next to the chair, which was pulled out exactly the distance it should be for McKnight to sit down.
He sat, with his legs spread a little. He started to eat and the food was really good. Grimes missed his calling when he worked at a desk. Mess would have been far more enjoyable if Grimes had been doing the cooking.
Maybe it wasn’t only how the food tasted, but what McKnight knew came with it. The first half of the meal was nourishment and anticipation. He concentrated on the chow. He tried not to choke when Grimes slid under the table. That signaled the second part of the meal. He was never sure precisely what would happen. So far, no two meals had ended alike. He only knew it would be good.
Warm hands, warm even through sturdy leather boots, grasped his ankles and gently eased his feet further apart.
McKnight took a swig of his beer.
Grimes’ mouth settled, hot, on an inner thigh. He seemed to love the feel of heavy uniform under his lips, to force his breath through the camo to where it heated McKnight’s skin. Lips dragged across thigh up to the heavy ridge of cock under the fatigues.
McKnight couldn’t help shifting a bit, trying to maneuver that mouth so it settled over the head of his dick. He could hear Grimes breathing in, and it made his cock even harder to know that Grimes was inhaling his scent. He hadn’t bothered to shower today, so he knew his scent would be strong. He also knew that Grimes liked variety within his strict schedule. The time might not vary. The setting of the table was the same. But there were always little things, things that brought about subtle changes in Grimes’ behavior, or so McKnight liked to believe.
The night before, he’d been clean and in dress uniform. Grimes had spent most of dinner cleaning his boots thoroughly. Licking every square inch of polished leather before reverently taking out McKnight’s cock and deepthroating him with almost painful precision. McKnight came at the table.
McKnight didn’t want or expect that this evening. His boots were not clean, and he had no desire for Grimes to waste his tongue on them. But he was hoping Grimes would enjoy cleaning the sweat of the day from his cock and balls, maybe his thighs as well.
Grime made no move for his fly. He was rubbing his mouth and cheek all over McKnight’s thighs and crotch, blowing hot air through the cloth, moaning low in his throat. His hands stayed on McKnight’s ankles.
So, he did have something in mind. Something that required McKnight to finish his meal first, then. Fair enough. McKnight wolfed down the last few bites and drained his beer, anxious to learn what was in store. When finished, he pushed his chair back to look down at the scruffy hair above the face buried in his crotch.
He touched it. Soft and starting to lie down on Grimes’ scalp. In a couple of months, he would be able to grab it properly.
He shouldn’t think like that. He had no right to be presumptuous.
He petted the soft hair. “Good boy,” he said quietly.
That was usually enough of a prompt, but Grimes kept nuzzling his clothed cock. McKnight was glad he was wearing shorts, or else he would be leaking through his fatigues. Or maybe he wished he wasn’t wearing them, so the taste and smell of the wet spot would urge Grimes on.
“Sir?”
Grimes’ voice was muffled.
“Something I can help you with, soldier?”
Grimes pulled his head away. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
Being called ‘sir’ had never been so satisfying.
“Granted.” This was going to be good. McKnight knew it.
“Sir, I…”
McKnight was equally aroused and concerned by the hesitancy in Grimes’ voice.
“I’d like to try something new, sir.”
Something new, McKnight pondered. Sooner or later, he’d known from the start, Grimes would come right out and ask for something new. It was inevitable that McKnight would eventually fail to read his mind, or at least fail to read it fast enough. McKnight felt a mild dismay. He stayed outwardly calm and unconcerned. It would be right to show any uncertainty. But he needed time to think.
“After you clean up.”
And who could ask for a better way to think? The dishes were cleared from the table, a fresh beer and clean ashtray placed in front of him. McKnight lit a smoke and watched Grimes wash the dishes.
Grimes wore jeans and a t-shirt, as usual. McKnight knew there was nothing under the jeans except a hard, elegant cock and large – at least in proportion to the slender, long cock – balls. Cock and balls that looked fantastic when the jeans were bunched around Grimes’ knees and the t-shirt pushed up just enough to show a flat, dark-haired belly. Cock and balls that he could see under the jeans whenever Grimes turned to face him. When Grimes turned away, McKnight watched his ass, hugged by the jeans. Jeans that fit his ass a little more snugly than usual? Were they new? Or special? They were definitely a sign, a hint, a request.
Of course, McKnight thought. Grimes wants to get fucked.
That would be new. And McKnight found the prospect most welcome.
But not in the kitchen. He could bend Grimes over the table, he supposed, but he didn’t want to have to stay standing. Not the first time. He wanted to be able to relax and concentrate on the feel of tight asshole around his cock. He didn’t want to worry about staying upright. He wanted to have the wits to make it really good for Grimes. He’d fuck him over the table another time.
Not the living room. They never did anything on the couch. It wouldn’t be right. He’d grown to consider the armchair his own, but the couch was his sister’s.
Not the bathroom. That would be far too awkward. He was too big to be maneuvering around a small room with so many obstacles.
Obstacles that were useful for other things… He thought about the night Grimes had followed him to the john before dinner. Totally contrary to schedule, but Grimes was buzzing with excess energy and the way he’d knelt on the floor beside McKnight’s armchair had been, for some reason, especially enticing - the bow of his head, the clench of his fists over his thighs. McKnight had made a noise.
Grimes interpreted the quiet moan correctly and followed McKnight, who wasn’t so hard that he couldn’t take a piss but was a bit too hard to be able to make it to the end, or probably even the middle, of dinner, without wanting to come. Grimes knelt by the toilet and gingerly held McKnight’s cock for him. McKnight was barely able to get the piss out before he was fully erect. He remembered looking at his hand, wide and meaty, spread out on the doorframe while he fucked Grimes’ mouth afterward.
Grimes had gripped the towel bar with one hand and the sharp edge of the counter with the other to keep his balance while he squatted. The back of his head was cushioned by a towel hanging from the hook on the door, but if he’d stood up the hook would have stabbed his back.
Knowing there were still a few drops of piss on the end of his dick when he shoved it into Grimes’ mouth had shortened McKnight’s staying power considerably. That and the way, when he looked down, he could see the look of concentration on Grimes’ forehead at the same time he watched his cock going into Grimes’ open mouth.
McKnight had leaned against the counter, panting, only just able to muster the energy to tell Grimes to spit it out into the john. Then he’d told him to jerk off into the bowl. His come and Grimes’ come floating on the water yellowed with his piss should have put McKnight off his dinner. But they’d gone back into the kitchen and carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary, with McKnight sitting at the table and Grimes on the floor, cheek against McKnight’s thigh. Sighing. Peacefully.
Grimes scrubbed at a spill on the stove top. McKnight stubbed out his cigarette and downed half the beer. Something special was called for, but he wasn’t sure what. He needed more time. He looked around for clues.
The floor was clean, he noticed, but it wasn’t shining as if polished that afternoon. So, there was none of that expected.
A couple of nights before, McKnight had noticed how amazingly clean the stairs were. They gleamed. Grimes kept looking at them, eyes shifting expectantly. So McKnight had leaned against the banister and told Grimes to kneel with his arms behind his back. McKnight jerked off, fast and furious, watching Grimes lick his lips, open his mouth in anticipation. He reached down with his free hand and pushed Grimes’ mouth closed. He wanted to see all his come on Grimes’ face.
“Jeans down,” he’d grunted and Grimes had complied.
McKnight’d spread his legs and told Grimes to touch himself. They both came at the same time, the only time it had happened like that so far.
McKnight had pulled Grimes up to his feet, stared at his slick face for a minute and kissed him. Impulsively. The come was slippery and bitter on Grimes’ lips. McKnight forced his tongue into Grimes’ mouth, pushing some of the come inside. He liked the way Grimes moaned. Then he sat down a few steps up and lit a smoke while he watched Grimes scrape the come off his face into his mouth, and then clean his own come up off the pristine oak treads, between McKnight’s boots.
McKnight had needed more after that, but it was less frantic, less hurried. He’d sat back in his armchair and Grimes slowly licked and coaxed him to his second orgasm.
Not tonight.
McKnight wanted even more than that.
After Grimes rinsed the dish cloth and hung it on the oven door handle to dry, McKnight stood up.
“Upstairs,” he rasped.
Continued in: Commanding Officer
Back to: Soldier Porn
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