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Title: 35 - Home Sweet...
Author: Haleth
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, McKnight/Grimes
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sub/dom, Kink. Power dynamics, rimming and dirty talk.
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.
Home Sweet...
McKnight watched as Grimes wandered from room to room, touching familiar objects, moving things that had been put back in the wrong places. Breathing deeply.
The air was different. No matter how clean the house used to be, there had always been a slightly musty smell to the air. It hadn’t been particularly unpleasant, more of a reminder that it was a very old house. McKnight could not have imagined how dangerous it would turn out to be, but he’d always noticed it.
Now, with the rebuilt basement and the cracks in the plaster sealed, and fresh paint on everything, it was like a new house. The paint smells were already fading, and everything the fresh. The walls. The floors. The stairs.
The. Stairs.
The stairs were rebuilt. The old wood sanded and refinished. Solid and shiny and smooth.
But the finish would be curing for another four to six weeks, so McKnight wasn’t going to think about the stairs until it was safe.
Safe to… he couldn’t even think it. He would want it too much.
And, also, he couldn’t think it because it was just too… too…
Kinky. That was the word. Kinky. Depraved. Perverted. Kinky. He should be ashamed of how hard he got when he saw, or even thought about, Grimes licking come off the floor. The fucking floor. Off McKnight’s boots. God. How sick was that?
What he really couldn’t face was not the fact that he wasn’t ashamed, but that he was incapable of feeling ashamed, mostly because of how fucking hard his cock go when he thought about it. The shame center of his brain became disconnected. Faulty. There was no shame. No shame was allowed.
Except for the blush Grimes would get when McKnight ordered him to do something particularly shame-inducing. That shame was allowed.
Grimes didn’t have remarkably high or defined cheek bones, not when he was healthy, but when he got that little ashamed blush, his rosy cheeks stood out so nicely.
“Sir?”
McKnight blinked. Busted. He was standing in the front hall daydreaming. Grimes had finished his inspection tour of the property, and was leaning on the stair railing. There was a hint of a smirk around his lips, and his eyes were sparkling.
He was probably wondering why McKnight was standing there, looking like an idiot with an enormous hard on.
“Everything in order?” McKnight asked, as if that was what he’d been thinking about all along.
Grimes stared rather openly at McKnight’s cock. “I’d say so, sir.”
Cheeky bugger. Too cheeky. This whole illness thing had changed the power dynamic.
McKnight frowned. He’d obviously been spending too much time conducting leadership training exercises if he was thinking words like ‘dynamic’ in reference to his private life.
“Sorry, sir,” Grimes said, looking a bit meek.
Aw, damn, that frown hadn’t been meant for Grimes! The result of it, though… it may as well have been. Grimes was standing beside, not leaning on, the railing, looking down at the floor, or McKnight’s boots, and his hands were at his sides, but McKnight could see they were beginning to drift back a bit.
So maybe Grimes mistaking the meaning of the frown wasn’t so terrible after all.
“We’re home,” McKnight said quietly.
Grimes nodded.
“You’re fully recovered.”
Grimes looked up. Eager, but a touch tentative. Fuck, he was beautiful like that.
“And we’re really alone.”
Oh, that slow, graceful slide down to his knees. McKnight could watch that for the rest of his life and never get bored for a second.
McKnight thought about having Grimes crawl to him, but Grimes’ arms were moving back, an automatic response to being on his knees like that. McKnight wouldn’t have thought to order it, but Grimes was doing his best to anticipate.
McKnight would do him one better. He walked across the hall so he was standing right in front of Grimes.
He unzipped.
Grimes licked his lips.
“Don’t suck it, soldier. I don’t wanna come in your pretty mouth.”
Grimes breathed out over McKnight’s thick cock.
“Yet,” McKnight finished.
Grimes pushed his arms back, grabbed his elbows, opened his mouth, kept his eyes open and looking up at McKnight, licked elegantly.
“Good boy.”
Too soon? Had that come out too soon? Hard to judge, with his head feeling sort of hot and swollen, although not as hot and swollen as the head of his cock. It was always good to encourage, but if he said it too soon, Grimes might slack off.
Ah! No danger of that, McKnight quickly discovered. Grimes worked as hard as always, licking around McKnight’s cock, dragging his tongue up and down, teasing the slit, caressing the parts of his balls that were accessible through his fly. Moaning and kissing the blunt head with a delicacy that sent a wave of heat through McKnight’s guts.
“Upstairs,” McKnight ordered. “Hands and knees.” No need to entirely deny himself the pleasure of watching Grimes crawl.
Grimes made his way up the stairs with a wicked grin. Slowly. Fuck, his jeans fit so perfectly. McKnight followed, but far back enough so he could see everything. Grimes kept going after he reached the top, all the way to the bedroom. Anticipating.
McKnight tucked his cock back into his pants and followed. He paced himself, stalling, using the time to think of something really good. Something that would make Grimes tremble.
He stopped just outside the door. “I’m going to get myself a drink,” he said loudly. “You get yourself ready for me.”
The slightly muffled ‘yes, sir’ that came back through he closed door was clipped. Excited.
It was the best thing McKnight could think of – he would let Grimes set the stage. Grimes would be thinking right now, thinking of what he wanted, what he thought McKnight wanted. McKnight would let him take the reins. And then, when Grimes least expected it, McKnight would take back control. That would make him tremble, all right.
McKnight went to the kitchen and poured a shot of bourbon. Downed it. Poured another.
There hadn’t been any sex since the night on the stairs. After a workout like that, he figured Grimes needed a little break. Deserved it. But McKnight really should have asked for a blow job that morning, since he knew they’d be alone in their own house for the first time in so long, and he was too damn horny to think clearly. It would take all his discipline.
He went upstairs.
Motherfucker.
Grimes was ready, all right. He was kneeling. On the floor. In the middle of the floor. And he was wearing the jeans.
Not the fuck-me jeans.
Not the perfect-fitting, low-cut, sinfully tight fuck-me jeans. No, Grimes wasn’t wearing those.
He was wearing the jeans with no ass.
And that was all he was wearing.
McKnight gulped the second shot of bourbon. Took a deep breath. Reminded himself that he was a fucking Colonel in the goddamn U.S. Army, and he was not going to be rattled by the sight of an ex-Ranger kneeling half-naked in the middle of a bedroom, lit only by a half-dozen candles, and wearing a pair of old, ripped jeans.
With the best ass that had ever served in the U.S. Army completely exposed, exquisitely framed by the torn denim. It might not have been facing him, but he could see it clearly in the mirror, and it was, indisputably, the finest ass he’d ever seen. Or touched. Or fucked.
No, that wasn’t going to faze him. McKnight was in charge.
“You’re all dressed up,” he observed, as casually as possible under the extreme circumstances. “Going out somewhere?”
Grimes looked up at him through his eyelashes. “You want me to go out dressed like this, sir?”
Hell no. This was… if anyone else ever saw Grimes like this… McKnight circled Grimes, stood behind him so he could look down at Grimes’ back, gracefully arched, his neat hands gripping his elbows, his ass hanging out the back of the shredded jeans.
“If anyone ever saw you in those jeans, I’d have to kill them,” McKnight said. Truthfully.
And McKnight was not a violent man.
Grimes did that thing he did sometimes, pushed his head forward a bit, leading with his chin, like he’s just been petted. Except McKnight hadn’t touched him.
Yet.
Well, this presented several options. Grimes was on his knees already, so he could suck. Actually, that went without saying. Grimes could suck very well. More precisely, he could suck every drop of come out of McKnight’s balls.
But he was wearing the jeans, so fucking was called for. Really. It was obviously what Grimes wanted.
But McKnight was in charge. It was his job to turn the tables, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t give in so easily. He had to assert his authority.
But fucking Grimes’ ass while he was wearing those jeans was tempting. More than tempting. It was an imperative.
Hell, it was early. Only twenty-one hundred. They had lots of time.
McKnight stood a couple of feet away from Grimes. In front of him. “Don’t move,” he said, and he pulled out his cock. “Don’t speak.”
Grimes’ eyes widened in disbelief as McKnight began to slowly, deliberately, even leisurely, stroke his own cock.
“Sir?”
“Shhhh,” McKnight answered. He kept jacking off, watching Grimes’ tongue dart out, watching Grimes swallow his saliva - saliva that should have been coating McKnight’s cock, would have been if McKnight would only let it. But McKnight stayed dry, and he slid the skin up and down his cock, enjoying the familiarity of his own hand, the ability to adjust his grip with every stroke, the dryness that only increased his intense need, until he felt the slow spread of wetness at the tip.
Grimes kept swaying forward. Hungry.
“Patience,” McKnight whispered. He though he might have seen Grimes’ cock move when he spoke, but it was hard to tell from this angle. Grimes’ cock was tucked to the right, a nice bulge that filled out the jeans to perfection.
“You hungry?” McKnight asked.
“Famished, sir,” Grimes whispered.
“I said shhhh. No talking from you.” But that didn’t mean McKnight couldn’t keep asking questions. “You want this cock?”
Grimes made a little whimpering sound.
“You want this cock in your mouth?”
Grimes opened his mouth invitingly.
“You like a nice, fat cock in your pretty mouth, don’t you?”
The noise Grimes made was high pitched and urgent.
McKnight made himself think about Grimes’ mouth on his cock, hot and wet. He made himself think about his hands in Grimes’ hair. He made himself think these things without doing them, which wasn’t easy but he could do it. He was seasoned.
He made himself think about turning Grimes around and sliding into his ass. Not right away. Grimes would be dry and tight. That wouldn’t be any good. He would have to prepare him.
Or not.
McKnight noticed that the lube was on the dresser, and the cap was open. There was a wad of tissue in the wastebasket by the door. McKnight did a little reconstruction.
Grimes had crawled in here, stripped off his clothes, retrieved the jeans from the back of the second drawer on the right, wriggled into them, which couldn’t have been an easy task, slicked up two or three fingers with the lube, reached around and stuck them in his asshole to get himself stretched and ready, wiped his fingers on the tissue, and then knelt, facing the door, arms clasped behind him, breathing a bit ragged because he was still able to feel his slick fingers stretching himself open, and he probably had a wet crack, which was cooling now because the… Jeans. Had. No. Ass.
McKnight groaned and shot his load. Shot it all over Grimes’ face. Motherfucker. That was good. So good.
So good McKnight stumbled. Grimes leaned forward and braced his shoulder against McKnight’s thigh to hold him up. McKnight ran his hands through soft hair. Grimes trembled. McKnight clenched his fists and Grimes whimpered.
“Thank you, sir.”
McKnight fell. The whole world slipped out from under him, and he was on his knees, kissing Grimes, not even noticing the come. Kissing him and touching his hot skin and grabbing his ass and pulling him close.
Grimes kissed back fiercely. He sucked McKnight’s lower lip into his mouth and bit. McKnight had to slide his fingers into the ragged edges of the jeans to hold himself up, backs of his fingers pressing into the sides of Grimes’ ass.
Grimes stopped kissing and started yanking McKnight’s shirt open.
“There’s a bed,” McKnight said. Needlessly. Grimes knew all about the bed.
“I know, sir. I need to get you in it.”
Good boy. Always thinking ahead. Always taking care of his CO.
McKnight did get to the bed. He collapsed on it, right after Grimes got him out of his clothes. He was naked, and Grimes was still in the jeans. That was wrong.
Not entirely wrong. Grimes being dressed wasn’t much of an issue when his jeans were only half-there anyway, and the best part, or at least one of the best parts, of Grimes was naked and so sexy and so available. But McKnight couldn’t reach it because he was lying on his stomach, face down on the bed, and he couldn’t move. Not yet.
He groaned. “Aw,” he swore, “fuck me.”
Grimes did not take it rhetorically.
He shoved the jeans down to his knees and nestled his hard cock in the crack of McKnight’s ass, dragged it up and down the crack, letting his chest rub against McKnight’s back. He ducked his face down and McKnight’s come smeared between Grimes’ chin and McKnight’s back.
“Fuck me,” McKnight said again. Only this time it was an order.
Grimes plastered himself across McKnight’s back. He could put his whole weight on it and McKnight wouldn’t even… okay, maybe he would make a noise. But it was not a noise of strain or discomfort.
In fact, at this moment in time, McKnight wished Grimes weighed a whole lot more.
“Fuck me,” he ordered again, not entirely sure of what he was ordering, but fuck it felt good to have Grimes on him, and Grimes’ cock against his ass, and Grimes’ hands on his shoulders, and Grimes panting across his back.
“John,” McKnight moaned.
Grimes stopped moving.
“John!” McKnight insisted.
Grimes stopped breathing.
“John?”
Grimes might not even exist anymore. He was that still.
“John, I want you to fuck me,” McKnight said, figuring that if he spelled it out clearly enough...
“No you don’t,” Grimes said quickly. “You’re just a little overwhelmed, sir. It’ll pass.”
No, it would not.
“It’ll pass when I’ve got your cock up my ass,” McKnight barked.
“Sir, I can’t.”
Oh, Grimes had said that before about orders. He always came around. Eventually.
“John…” McKnight said with the intention of sweet-talk.
“I mean it, sir.” And Grimes pushed up and off, rocked back on his heels, panting.
Shit. That wasn’t what McKnight wanted at all. And not what Grimes wanted, either, because he had that pained look on his face, the one only men get, and he was rock hard. McKnight craned his neck to get a better look.
“Your cock wants it,” he observed.
“My cock doesn’t understand,” Grimes wailed. Panicked. He tried to cover his cock with his hand, but the contact seemed to make it worse. Or at least, that’s how it looked to McKnight.
McKnight would have asked what the fucking problem was, but he already knew. Grimes didn’t think he should fuck. He couldn’t fuck. And he especially couldn’t fuck somebody who had just come on his face.
McKnight rolled onto his side, and Grimes sank to the bed beside him. McKnight reached up to wipe some come off Grimes’ cheek. “John?”
Grimes shut his eyes and shook his head.
“What if I order you to do it? Would that make it okay?”
No dice.
“I know I want it, John.”
“You’ve never bottomed before, sir. You don’t know it you want it. You can’t know.”
And there was only one way to find out. He crept his hand down to Grimes’ chest. “Well, you sure as hell like it.”
Grimes smiled. It was a reluctant smile, but McKnight knew he wouldn’t be able to resist. Of course he liked it when McKnight fucked him. He liked it better than almost anything else.
“Tell me why you like it,” McKnight said, inching his hand down to Grimes’ belly.
“Feels good.”
Not very specific, but McKnight wasn’t terribly articulate when his cock was that hard, so he let it go. On with the argument.
“So, why don’t you want me to feel good?” he asked. A bit of a roundabout argument. Not terribly logical. But it would do.
“I do want you to feel good. I want you to fuck me!” Grimes usually didn’t make demands, so that was exciting in its own right. “Doesn’t that feel good?”
Better than good. So far beyond good it wasn’t funny. He abandoned his stalking of Grimes’ cock to put his hands on Grimes’ shoulders, pulling him close, pinning his arms to his sides, tucking Grimes’ head under his chin. Grimes’ cock, still hard, found the space between McKnight’s thighs. McKnight lifted his top thigh then lowered it, trapping Grimes’ cock.
Grimes moaned.
“You like that,” McKnight noted.
Grimes had to be aching to come. McKnight held his cock fast between his thighs and rocked back and forth a bit. Delicious friction. McKnight hoped his leg hairs weren’t too coarse.
“Being inside would be like that, only better.” McKnight stroked Grimes’ back and rubbed his face against Grimes’ soft hair. “It would be tighter, like when I grab your cock with my hand. And hot all around.” McKnight had never tried to put it into words before. He didn’t think he would be able to give and accurate description, but he could try.
He reached around to grab a handful of ass. Beautiful ass. “You’re so tight at the opening,” he whispered. He pulled Grimes up so his cock was squished up against McKnight’s balls. He was whispering so close to Grimes’ ear, he could flick out his tongue as he spoke and tickle the top curve. Taste. Nibble, even. “And inside, you’re soft and hot. You hold my cock so tight at the base, hold me inside you, and then you clench your muscles and massage me right to the tip.”
Describing it was making McKnight want it badly. But he wanted to do the same thing to Grimes too. He squeezed his thighs together as tightly as he could. “You can feel it, can’t you? You can feel my cock in your ass, and you can feel yourself clenching around me. Feels good, doesn’t it? Being full like that.”
Grimes made a strangled sound and his hips pulsed against McKnight’s thighs.
“I want you to feel what I feel,” McKnight said. “Not dry fucking between my legs. I want you inside me.”
Fuck. It was dry enough to cause irritation, warm enough to cause melting.
Grimes gasped and shook all over.
Couldn’t rush him. He needed time. That was fine. They had all the time in the world. “But this is good for right now,” McKnight said aloud, gripping Grimes’ ass and forcing him to thrust harder, faster. “This is good. You can come like this, can’t you?”
Could he? Grimes didn’t say. He was moaning.
“You can come between my legs.”
It was obvious Grimes wanted to.
“Then you can lick it up.”
Grimes opened his mouth in a needy moan. He needed to.
Time to make Grimes come.
“And then you can lick my asshole.”
And Grimes did.
McKnight held on tight as Grimes bucked and ground and came, wetness between his thighs and on his neck. Was Grimes crying?
“Sir, I couldn’t help it,” Grimes gasped.
Well, good. McKnight would hate to think he couldn’t make Grimes come.
And had Grimes ever come. On a forward stroke, hands digging into McKnight’s back, whole body trembling, mouth working against McKnight’s neck, weak noises coming out.
McKnight wanted to comfort him somehow, let him know he was safe, but Grimes knew he was safe, and what he needed more than comfort was distraction.
McKnight pulled away and settled down on his stomach. Most of the come was on the back of this thighs. He spread his legs to make this easier and clearer for Grimes. Keep him moving, keep him active, don’t let his thoughts seize his brain.
Motherfucker. Grimes’ mouth was hot on his thighs. His tongue was almost rough against skin that hadn’t experienced much in the way of tongue in the past.
Grimes licked diligently, as always, slurping up every drop, sucking the hairs until they were clean. It tickled. It made him spread his legs more because he suddenly wanted much more, and ordering Grimes to lick his ass was no longer compensation for not getting fucked, or for Grimes having to compromise this ridiculous notion he seemed to have that he wasn’t the one to do the fucking. He wanted tongue. Period.
“That’s it,” McKnight said, trying to keep his voice casual. Failing, but it didn’t matter. “Lick me clean.”
Grimes went ‘mmmm’ and burrowed. They were cheeks to cheeks, but Grimes was going to suffocate if McKnight didn’t raise that leg so Grimes could make proper contact.
Motherfucker. Contact achieved.
Jesus. Fuck. Goddamn. Motherfucking hell.
Grimes groaned. Loud. So loud McKnight felt it. In his asshole.
Circles. Tiny circles in a place McKnight had never… flat swipes of wet tongue against his… lips pursing, kissing, caressing, nipping, sucking his… McKnight didn’t know he had nerves that were so sensitive, that did that.
There!
McKnight struggled to arch his back, get his ass higher in the air, give Grimes better access. It wasn’t easy. How the hell did Grimes do it so gracefully? McKnight had seen him do it dozens, maybe hundreds of times. Grimes just arched his back and his ass rose up to meet McKnight’s tongue or fingers or cock. But McKnight was afraid he wouldn’t be able to do it without pulling a muscle.
“Fuck!” McKnight roared. In frustration. Because it felt so good. Because he wanted so much more.
Grimes’ hands pushed against his ass, guiding him up and more open. Ah, that was the trick. He’d just needed a little expert advice. Subtle guidance. Not something you know how to do naturally. Grimes could give seminars in how to get your ass licked.
And how to lick ass.
Motherfucker. Now he was fucking with his tongue, steady even thrusts that made McKnight want something substantial inside his body for the first time ever.
It was easy to imagine Grimes sliding something other than his tongue inside. Especially when Grimes did that fucking swirling thing with his tongue. God, yes. His asshole was so wet and relaxed, opening up to Grimes’ tongue like it was crying more, more. A finger would barely be noticed. From there, it didn’t take much to imagine Grimes’ cock in his ass.
Visions of Grimes’ hips rolling when he danced, when he fucked, when he thrust his cock into McKnight’s hand and begged to be allowed to come. Okay, maybe that didn’t happen often, but it had happened, and McKnight could remember studying the muscles in Grimes’ hips and stomach as he fucked McKnight’s fist. Grimes would be a champion fucker.
Nice, slender cock. Maybe not slender, but certainly more streamlined than McKnight’s. How much could it hurt?
No, not tonight. He couldn’t push Grimes too far. That would be unfair. And it didn’t seem as if Grimes wanted to stop what he was doing any time soon.
God, the sounds he was making. Feral moans. Sounds of pleasure. As good as the sounds he made when McKnight licked his asshole. Added to the noises McKnight was making – noises McKnight was trying to ignore, because they weren’t very dignified. In fact, they sound an awful lot like…
Yup. Definitely. Begging. He was begging. McKnight was pleading with Grimes. “Good boy, oh, please, fuck, good boy. Don’t stop. Ahh, yes, please.”
So much for showing Grimes who was in charge.
McKnight rose right up onto his hands and knees. Grimes’ mouth didn’t break contact for a second. He was slowing down now, kissing and tonguing McKnight’s asshole like it was a mouth. Electricity shot out in every direction, shorting out all of McKnight’s control, making him tense and relax and tense again, all over his body, but his asshole felt like it was only going in one direction, getting softer and softer all the time.
Grimes licked in slow circles and put enough space between his lips and McKnight to let his breath out in a hot rush.
It was great except for one thing.
McKnight wasn’t going to come from it.
And why should he? Asslicking was something he had never done on its own. It was, practically by definition, a preliminary. There should be more.
The problem was, he didn’t ever want Grimes to stop. He couldn’t tell Grimes to stop. The only thing his brain and his mouth could cooperate on was begging.
He was in limbo.
The most fantastic limbo imaginable, with Grimes rimming him like a pro and writhing on the bed, desperately rubbing his cock against the blanket, and digging his fingers into McKnight’s ass, moaning.
But it wasn’t going anywhere. It wasn’t progressive. The need to progress battled with the need to feel Grimes tongue do that thing, when he curled the tip of it and pressed…
Grimes moved at the same time McKnight’s eyes rolled back in his head. He dropped to the bed and wriggled between McKnight’s legs, under his body, until McKnight’s cock was poking between his ass cheeks.
Aw, fuck. When the hell had Grimes found the time, energy and wherewithal to pull the fucking jeans back up?
McKnight’s inner thighs were scraped by denim seams, and he could feel the waistband against his belly, just above his cock, and the hot, bare ass under him, and his cock sliding in a lubed crack.
“Oh, god, please, sir. Fuck me. Please. Make me come in my pants.”
Definition of a no-brainer.
Grimes was well-lubed, but he was not very well-stretched. His voice strained as he begged McKnight to keep going, to keep fucking, to fill him up completely. He had buried his face in the pillow, so McKnight had to latch onto the back of his neck. He sucked hard, hoping to hold off on his orgasm until he could make Grimes come.
In his pants.
Jeans, actually.
Jeans McKnight had ripped the ass out of.
McKnight made a fist hard enough to hurt, digging his nails into his palm. He didn’t want to hurt Grimes, so he stopped sucking his skin. He grabbed a hank of hair with his teeth instead. Grimes’ head lifted, lifting the pillow with it. McKnight tried to think about work and training exercises and crawling around in cold, clammy swamps in the wintertime.
But all he could think about was Grimes saying ‘You want me to go out dressed like this?’ and looking at him with those sparkling gray eyes.
“No,” he groaned into the back of Grimes’ skull. “No one,” he moaned, “will ever see you like this.”
Grimes started to shake under him.
“Mine, mine, mine,” McKnight growled. “Forever.” He drove hard into Grimes’ ass, and muscles clenched around him brilliantly.
“This is MY ass.” McKnight punctuated the statement with a sudden thrust.
Grimes squeaked. “Yes, sir, your ass. All yours, sir. Your ass, your mouth, your cock, your everything.”
That was good. No, it was great. So great, he wanted to hear it all again. He heaved Grimes up off the mattress onto his knees, so he could reach around.
“Whose cock it this?”
“Sir! Your cock, sir.”
“And what do I do with it?”
“Anything you want, sir.”
“I want it to come.”
“So do I, sir!”
“In my ass!”
“Can’t do that, sir.”
Oh, for fuck’s sack. If it was his cock, and he could do whatever he wanted to do with it, he should be able to have it come wherever he wanted it to come.
“No time, sir!” Grimes elaborated. He panted and fuck, he was coming. He was coming on McKnight’s hand and around McKnight’s cock and all over the bed.
McKnight had to grit his teeth to keep from screaming. Jesus, Grimes was clenching his fists in the sheets. His hair was plastered to his scalp with sweat, except for where McKnight had sucked it into stiff tufts at the back. His eyes were squeezed tight and his jawline stood out sharply, because of the way his was biting the pillow again.
“Pretty,” McKnight said, even though Grimes wasn’t really pretty at that moment. He was more like… fucking sexy. But pretty was a better word for it. It was a word that made Grimes’ eyes flutter open. Or at the least the one eye McKnight could see. Stormy gray, with hints of blue and green.
McKnight rolled off Grimes and lay on his back. “Sit on my cock,” he ordered. “I want to see your face.”
Grimes whimpered and crawled onto McKnight, lowering himself onto the fat, hard cock with a groan.
“Oh, good boy,” McKnight rumbled. “Let me see your pretty eyes.”
Grimes looked at him. If anyone on earth could look at you shyly while your raging erection was up his ass, it was Grimes.
“Sir,” Grimes whispered, starting to rise and fall on McKnight’s cock in a slow rhythm. “Oh, sir.” He was still coming, still clenching and massaging McKnight’s cock deep inside. He slumped forward and draped himself over McKnight’s chest, nuzzled his neck. The new angle pulled on McKnight’s cock and made him moan. Grimes’ knees dug into McKnight’s ribs. McKnight ran his hands down to hold Grimes’ stretched taut ass. He lifted slightly, and Grimes shuddered.
“Can I really be yours forever, Danny?”
McKnight settled Grimes back down on his cock and rumbled even deeper in his throat. Grimes held on tight.
Everything became perfectly clear. All of McKnight’s senses were suddenly attuned. The shadows on the walls were crisply outlined. Grimes’ shuddering breath, the heat on McKnight’s neck, the pressure on his cock, the taste of Grimes’ skin on his lips, the smell of Grimes’ hair.
Forever.
“If that’s not enough time,” he said, “You always have my permission to re-up.”
And he emptied himself into Grimes.
Continued in: 36 Pumping Iron
Back to: Soldier Porn
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