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Title: 36 - Pumping Iron
Author: Haleth
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, McKnight/Grimes
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Sub/dom, Kink. Improper use of weight training equipment.
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.
Pumping Iron
Grimes stood five feet away from it and looked. He took six steps to his left, and eight to his right, and two back to where he’d started. He squinted at it.
It stayed still. Unchanged. Eternal.
Grimes looked and pondered the possibilities.
A weight bench.
McKnight’s weight bench.
From when McKnight was a teenager.
Grimes had spent the morning moving the bench and bars and weights over from McKnight’s sister’s house. And she’d told him all about it over lunch.
She’d bought the set for Danny after he’d experienced an astonishing growth spurt. Five inches in as many months. And he’d bulked up a lot too. Linda didn’t want him to be ashamed of his size. She knew what it was like to be taller than your peers, bigger than all the rest. She wanted McKnight to stop slouching, to carry himself with pride.
If that meant working out and getting on the football team so be it. Linda McKnight was not fond of contact sports, but she recognized the need for a goal, for discipline, for teamwork. So she bought the equipment and McKnight used it diligently and he became the best middle linebacker his high school had ever seen, and people still talked about how McKnight could read any quarterback’s mind.
Or maybe Linda was exaggerating a bit. Big sisters sometimes do that.
Didn’t matter.
There was a weight bench in the basement and McKnight could do at least some of his workouts at home.
Did his sister have any clue at all about what she was enabling?
Didn’t matter.
She went home and Grimes looked at the bench. It was set up with a bar on the rack and a reasonable amount of weight on the bar. Not too much, because heavy weights could cause damage if the lifter were to be distracted, and Grimes had every intention of distracting McKnight during his very first workout.
Grimes stepped forward and straddled the bench. He sat down and the dark red vinyl gleamed at him enticingly.
He’d seen pictures of McKnight as a teenager. Six feet of barely controlled aggression, with wicked eyes and a mouth that made Grimes want to…
The aggression was better controlled now. But the rest – the height, the size, the eyes, the mouth – and oh, how Grimes wanted to…
A bit bulkier. A little gray in the hair. A lot more scars. But it was all essentially the same.
Except now it all belonged to a Colonel in the U.S. Army. Ranger. Elite.
Grimes tipped forward and laid his cheek on the cool, smooth vinyl, inhaling deeply.
Vinyl conditioner. Of course, Linda had cleaned the bench thoroughly before putting it into storage all those years ago, after the first time McKnight had shipped out. And again when she pulled it out of storage.
But if Grimes closed his eyes, he could imagine the smell of McKnight’s sweat.
He rubbed his cheek against the now-warm surface. He was going to sit like this, only McKnight would be lying on his back on the bench. Grimes’ cheek would be rubbing against McKnight’s neck, and their chest hairs would tickle together. Grimes would grip McKnight’s sides with his thighs, and ride hard. Grimes would reach up and grab the barbell to steady himself. McKnight would hold Grimes’ hips and guide him up and down.
Grimes pushed himself up to sitting and grasped the bar. The lines etched in the metal gave him a sure grip. He arched his back as if trying to find the most comfortable position. The most comfortable way to sit with a beercan cock wedged up his ass, that is.
McKnight would let one hand brush against Grimes’ stiff cock. Just enough contact to make Grimes whimper. He would run his fingers over the tight skin of Grimes’ thighs, silently urging him to plead for permission to touch himself. Please. Please, sir.
Granted. Grimes reached down with one hand to unbutton his jeans. Got disoriented. How could he still have his jeans buttoned when McKnight had that huge cock inside him? Maybe he was wearing the assless jeans.
Didn’t matter. Now he had his hand on his cock and McKnight’s imagined cock in his ass. And the barbell was solid in his other hand. He could smell McKnight’s sweat, feel McKnight’s thighs tighten under his ass, taste McKnight on his lips when he bent down again and brushed them against the vinyl, hear the roughness in McKnight’s voice as he ordered Grimes to jerk off, squeeze his cock, squeeze me with your tight ass, fuck yourself on my cock, good boy.
So close.
And the phone rang.
Grimes didn’t know why he’d had a phone installed in the basement. He only came down here to do laundry. And now for workouts. McKnight would come down for workouts. Grimes would watch. Maybe participate. Maybe do a workout of his own. So why the phone? He did NOT want to be interrupted during workouts!
“Hello?” A little breathless.
“Are you—?”
“Sir!”
“Grimes,” McKnight’s voice said, “did I interrupt you in the middle of… something?”
He knew.
He always knew.
“Oh, no, sir. Nothing important,” Grimes lied. Casually. Almost blithely.
Not well enough.
“You didn’t finish without me, did you?”
Grimes played dumb. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”
“Don’t!”
“Huh?”
“Don’t. And that’s an order.”
“Don’t what, sir?” Maybe if he kept playing dumb…
“Don’t finish. I’ll be home in twenty minutes. Do not touch your cock.”
Twenty minutes. Grimes looked down at his cock, which was sticking straight out of his jeans. In twenty minutes, he might pass out from lack of blood to his brain.
“But, sir, I’m—”
“Doesn’t matter. Sit down, close your eyes, stay calm. No hands on your cock. Got that?”
Grimes’ cock was dark, angry-looking, and the head was glistening wet.
“Yes, sir,” he said, a little sullenly.
Damn. How could he not touch that?
Sit down.
He walked back to the bench and straddled it again. Probably not the wisest move, sexual-torment-wise, but he wasn’t going to outright torture himself. He wasn’t going to move. Only settle his ass on the bench comfortably, so that he balls were pressed against it nicely. Comfortingly. Holding things off.
Close your eyes.
No good at all. As soon as he closed his eyes, he could see McKnight’s tensed stomach flanked by his own tensed thighs, and his own cock staring up at him, begging him to move on McKnight’s cock, which he could feel stretching his ass again, prying him open, filling him up.
Close your eyes and stay calm.
Calm. Calm like cold, clean water with a glassy surface. A pond. A lake. On a breezeless day. Sitting by the water on a warm, still day.
Naked.
McKnight’s tongue wending its way down the center of his back, approaching his waist, the swell of his ass.
No, no, no! Get up, he told himself. Dive into the cold water.
Grimes’ eyes flew open from the shock of the cold water. He pitched forward and grabbed the bar. Calm, John, calm. Deep breaths. Slow, even, deep breaths. That’s it. Relax.
Relax so that fat cock can slide into you easier. Open up. Get filled.
No hands on your cock.
He couldn’t even tuck himself back inside his jeans. Not if he was going to follow the order to the letter.
But he could keep his hands safely on the bar and lean forward until his hands were over and behind his head, until his legs were spread wide and his back curved, until smooth vinyl and soft belly trapped a hard cock between them.
He only had to move his hips the slightest bit and blessed friction would occur. Did occur. He bit back a moan and slid a few inches. The head of his cock caught for a second or two before dragging on the vinyl. He hunched his hips and forced his cock forward. Dry enough to be painful if it didn’t feel so good.
Heavy hand on his wrist.
Fingers sliding under the back of his waistband.
Lips moist against his ear.
“Are you disobeying an order?”
Teasing tone. Flick of the tongue.
Had it been twenty minutes? It couldn’t have been twenty minutes. Fuck. “Ah, sir, I thought you said… didn’t you say twenty minutes?”
“I lied.”
The last part of ‘lied’ was growled in such a way, it made Grimes’ asshole actually twitch.
“You weren’t going to finish without me, were you?”
Grimes hadn’t planned that far ahead. “No, sir!” But it would have happened sooner rather than later.
“Good boy.” McKnight slid his hand down Grimes’ arm, around his ribs, under his shirt, close to his cock, radiating heat.
“Ohhhhh, sir. Don’t.”
Closer.
“Why not?”
Even closer.
“I can’t take it.”
Honestly.
“Who says you’re supposed to?”
Touching almost. Closer. Touching actually.
Grimes looked down and watched himself spew all over the weight bench like a teenager. Hard, short bursts that made his balls hurt.
Arms came around him to hold him upright while the orgasm traveled to his brain. It took a while. His head floated above his body, held up by McKnight’s tongue making broad swipes on his neck.
“Ahhhhhhhh.” Long breath.
The voice in his ear rumbled through his skull. “You made a mess on my weight bench.”
Yes, he had. A glorious mess that swam in and out of view.
“You’d better clean that before it gets cold and sticky.”
Good idea.
“Hate for my back to get stuck to the bench when you sit on my dick.”
Grimes slid down and licked.
McKnight crouched beside the bench and watched. Avidly. Eyes bright and dark at the same time. Licked his lips. Made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a purr. Or maybe he was really hungry.
“Get it good and clean. Don’t want to be feeling it on my naked skin.”
Oh, no. Grimes wouldn’t want that either.
Lick. McKnight was undressing. Lick. Broad chest. Lick. Huge cock wavering in the air. Lick. Poking him above his ear.
“I don’t know if I wanna fuck you or jerk off in your hair”
Grimes gasped. He wouldn’t. Would he?
“Actually, I do know. I wanna fuck your ass.” Hands in his hair, turning his head. “After you suck me.”
Grimes opened his mouth. It was weird, having McKnight’s cock go in sideways like that. The angle was wrong. He wouldn’t be able to get it very far into his throat. But at least he now knew that the weight bench was at the exact right height for McKnight to kneel and fuck his mouth.
Good to know.
Grimes’ cheek slid on saliva-slick vinyl and he had to open wider to fit all that cock inside. McKnight’s thumb was on his cheek, caressing the bulge made by the cock and judging. Always judging. Calculating how much Grimes could take.
“Motherfucker,” McKnight groaned. “You’re fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth.”
And McKnight was so sexy when he fucked Grimes’ mouth. He really was. His hips were tense, holding back, keeping him from choking Grimes, feeding him the exact right amount of cock.
McKnight pulled out abruptly, and hauled Grimes up by the shirt. “Naked,” McKnight said. He sat on the bench while Grimes threw his clothes on the floor. “Faster!” Grimes kicked off the last leg of his jeans.
“Sir!” Grimes said, presenting himself.
“You prepared?”
Shit. “Uh, no, sir. You sort of surprised me.”
McKnight scowled. Not a real scowl – his forehead wasn’t scrunched up enough for that. But he made a good show of it. “I said I was on my way home.”
“And it was only five minu—”
“So what were you planning to do? Dry hump my weight bench for fifteen minutes and then get ready for me?”
Grimes bowed his head. Good question. What had he been thinking? But he couldn’t have prepared himself. One touch of his lubed finger to his asshole and he would have been coming all over the place. He could tell his face was red when he looked up again. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I was being selfish.”
McKnight grinned at him. Leered. “Good,” he said.
Grimes wasn’t sure what that meant. But he knew he liked it.
“Don’t tell me you went to all the trouble of dragging this shit over here, and setting it up in the basement, where we have total privacy, and you didn’t think to supply lube.”
“No, sir. I didn’t forget. It’s behind that stack of twenty-pound plates.”
McKnight jerked his head in the direction of the lube.
Grimes jumped.
McKnight settled back on the bench. He wrapped his fingers around the bar and tested the weight. Obviously, Grimes had chosen well. McKnight smiled and braced himself and started to…
Grimes stood frozen, naked, lube bottle dangling from his fingers, mouth a little bit open. Probably drooling.
McKnight was doing bench presses.
Slowly, carefully, with attention to perfect form. Naked. And hard. So fucking hard. Big. Lying on the weight bench Grimes had just come all over, and even though Grimes had just come all over the bench, he was getting hard, too.
Grimes wasn’t sure what he was supposed to look at. Chest, hard and thick as McKnight raised the bar. Triceps bulging, the lines of his shoulders when he lowered the weight to his chest again. Or his feet, planted firmly on the floor. The strain in his spread thighs as he used quads and glutes to keep his lower back stable. McKnight’s cock.
Cock, Yeah, that was a good thing to look at. Heavy and fat and Grimes wanted to suck it again. More. Always.
“Sir,” he let himself exclaim.
McKnight settled the bar back on the rack. “Get over here and straddle the bench.”
Grimes did.
“No. Other way around,” McKnight said as he took the lube from Grimes’ hand.
Grimes swallowed hard and turned around, so he was facing away from McKnight, looking down at McKnight’s thighs and the foot of the bench.
“I shouldn’t have to tell you to bend over,’ McKnight said.
No, but Grimes enjoyed it anyway.
“Grab the end of the bench and do not let go.”
Yes! Grimes’ fingers curled over the round edge. McKnight hadn’t touched him yet, but he could feel eyes on his ass. Grimes steadied himself. Tried to stay calm.
Ah! Fuck! McKnight curled up and his mouth was on Grimes’ asshole. His tongue was in Grimes’ asshole. The only thing that mattered in the whole world was what McKnight was doing to Grimes’ asshole.
McKnight stopped rimming long enough to say one word. “Talk.”
Grimes talked. “Fuck, sir, I can’t!”
McKnight stabbed him with his tongue.
“Sir, sir, sir.”
What the hell was he supposed to say? “Oh, sir, that’s so…” What? Good? That wasn’t enough. What could you possibly say to someone who had their tongue up your ass like that? Skilled? That he was. Brilliant. That’s how it felt. But, instead, Grimes talked about the bench.
“I was so horny when I was bringing this here,” Grimes panted. “I kept thinking about surprising you, about you using it… using me on it… my cock got so hard when I put the weights on the… thinking about you lying on the bench… me on the bench…sir, please, I want you to…”
McKnight bit the inside of Grimes’ thigh and flipped open the lube. “Don’t move,” he said, and slid a finger inside.
Grimes struggled to keep his hips still.
“I wasn’t sure where you were.” McKnight put a second finger inside. “Thought you might be upstairs, on the bed, holding the bars to keep from touching your cock.”
Different bar, Grimes thought. But he didn’t speak because he always had trouble making words when McKnight added that third finger.
“Then I thought you might be taking a cold shower.”
Grimes winced at the thought.
“But then…” McKnight wriggled his pinkie inside and Grimes choked on the air he’d been breathing at the time. “The basement.” Jesus. When McKnight flexed his fingers like that… “Imagine my surprise.” McKnight brushed his lips and hot breath over Grimes left cheek. Grazed it with his teeth.
Grimes wanted to be bitten. He shifted his ass and squeezed McKnight’s fingers.
McKnight bit. Not too hard. But enough.
McKnight teased the stretched skin with the pad of this thumb. Tickled the edge of Grimes’ opening. Wiggled the fingers already inside. Went “hmmmmmm.”
Please please please please please.
But McKnight thought better of it. He pulled his fingers all the way out, lay back on the bench and pulled Grimes down on his cock all in one movement.
“Fuck! Sir!”
McKnight rumbled. Chuckled. Curled his hips up.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Grimes flailed.
Too much. Surely it was too much to be putting into his ass all at once.
But he always thought that.
And he always flailed.
And McKnight always loved it.
“I want to see your hands on the bar,” McKnight said.
Well, yeah, so did Grimes, but he was facing the wrong way for that. Until McKnight put his hands on Grimes shoulders and forced him down.
More flailing. The angle. The sheer size. The solidity of McKnight’s bare chest under his back, and his ass pressing into McKnight’s groin and that fucking beercan cock up his ass.
McKnight grabbed Grimes’ flailing wrists and planted his hands on the bar, shoulder-width apart. Grimes’ shoulder-width, that is. Put his own hands a little wider than his own shoulder-width.
“You ready to pump some iron?”
Jesus. Fuck. No.
“Yes, sir!”
And McKnight lifted the bar off the rack and pressed up.
Grimes wasn’t even taking a third of the weight and his arms were shaking. But that was probably because of McKnight’s chest going so hard under his shoulder blades. And the smell of McKnight’s sweat, fresh and sharp. And the slight curl of McKnight’s hips, meant to keep his lower back protected but also useful for filling Grimes’ asshole to an extent that made him want to howl.
McKnight lowered the bar to Grimes’ chest. “Your turn.”
He couldn’t. He would drop it.
“I won’t let you drop it,” McKnight promised.
Grimes pressed up. He couldn’t tell it he was raising the bar or pushing himself into McKnight’s body.
Didn’t matter.
After a half dozen reps, McKnight reached his limit.
Grimes had reached his after two. He was whimpering and squirming on McKnight’s cock.
McKnight pushed Grimes up to sitting. He put his hands on Grimes’ back and felt all over. “I don’t want you lifting anything too heavy,” he said. “I like this. I love it.” He ran his fingers down Grimes’ spine. “I like your shape. Your size. Your hardness.”
Hardness. Speaking of hardness…
“You’re not supposed to jerk off without permission,” McKnight added. “I’ve told you that before.”
But Grimes had always thought of them as short-term orders.
“If you’re horny, you can wait until you get permission. Do you need me to check in more regularly?”
McKnight hardly ever called during the day. And Grimes didn’t like the idea of being monitored. As long as the rules were going to be that clear, he preferred the honor system. “No, sir. I wasn’t aware it was a standing order.”
He could write a field manual. It would probably sell for a lot of money. But it would be illegal in fifty states.
“I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
He hoped he wasn’t going to be punished. He hoped he was, though. He knew McKnight would think of a way to do it without hurting him.
“Turn around.”
That wasn’t punishment! Grimes raised himself slowly, dragging himself up off McKnight’s cock. Oh, that was punishment. Lifting off was the last thing he wanted to do. He contemplated disobedience. Faking a cramp or weakness. Dropping back down. Slamming onto McKnight’s cock hard.
McKnight read his mind – again – and put his hands on Grimes’ hips. “Up,” he urged.
Pulling off McKnight’s cock was one of the hardest things McKnight had ever ordered Grimes to do.
A hardship immediately mitigated. Grimes stepped to one side of the bench, turned, straddled, sat, was impaled, howled, settled, and soon had McKnight so far up inside it made his balls squash flat and Grimes couldn’t stop his legs from shaking.
McKnight had his hands on the bar.
Oh. Shit.
“One,” McKnight said smoothly.
Fuck. It had been good the other way around, but now every rep punctuated by that curl of the hips made Grimes see stars. He had to drop his hands to McKnight stomach to keep from falling over. Oh - the sheer mass of muscle tissue tensing with every press… the way McKnight was so solidly built, shoulders to waist, solid fucking torso, not with a little girly waist like Grimes had.
“You don’t have a girly waist,” McKnight had told him a few nights before, while licking said girly waist as Grimes held onto the headboard as he'd been ordered to do and wailed. “You have a sexy waist.” And then he’d sucked a round, dark purple mark onto the peak of Grimes’ hip bone, and Grimes would see it, fading but still visible, if he looked down but he couldn’t because if he did he would see his cock rising up from McKnight’s pubic hair, and he’d already lost it like a teenager once this evening.
“Two… three…”
Oh, God, this was worse than physiotherapy. Or better.
“Touch yourself.”
Perfect. He squeezed the base of his cock brutally.
“…four…five…”
How much more could either of them take?
“No, John. Jerk off. Squeeze me with your tight ass, fuck yourself on my cock. Good boy.”
Grimes opened his eyes. Had he said all that out loud earlier? Wait, wasn’t that before McKnight called?
McKnight couldn’t have been spying on him. He must have said the thing Grimes imagined because he knew it was what Grimes wanted. Or maybe Grimes had imagined it because that was the sort of thing McKnight would say.
Or maybe they were just perfect for each other.
McKnight put the bar on the rack.
“You gonna come on my belly?”
Grimes could only whine.
“No, wait, I want you to come in my mouth.”
Grimes’ dick was not long enough for that.
“Get up here.”
Hell, no. Cock in his ass. He had McKnight’s cock in his ass and he wasn’t letting go. He gripped the base hard with the ring of muscles around his opening, gripped with his thighs against McKnight’s sides, grabbed the bench on either side of McKnight’s head.
“Are you disobeying an order?”
“Yes… no… I can’t… I just can’t…. I need your cock in me, sir!”
McKnight roared and put both arms around Grimes, pulled him tight to his chest, crushed him. He bucked his hips up and Grimes rode him, with their lips pressed together. No tongues. Too much risk of inadvertent biting. McKnight kept thrusting up into Grimes, rumbling in his throat, clutching Grimes’ shoulders.
Grimes doubted he would last long.
And he was right. Like a teenager. Warm, wet, slick, across McKnight’s belly, up to his chest even, and his asshole squeezed the length of McKnight’s cock as McKnight kept fucking, another ten or so thrusts, until McKnight grabbed Grimes’ hair from behind and tilted his head and shoved his tongue into Grime’s mouth and moaned into Grimes’ throat.
Grimes sucked on the tongue and enjoyed. It was possible he’d never enjoyed anything so much in his life. But it always felt like that. Until the next time.
He didn’t even care that when McKnight’s cock eventually slipped out of his ass, it left a trail of cooling lube across his balls. And he didn’t’ care about the itch of the come drying between them, gluing their chest and belly hairs together, to their skin, to each other. Neither of them had noticed that Grimes had bumped his head on the bar when McKnight pulled him down like that, until McKnight ran his fingers over Grimes’ face and felt the swelling.
He freaked out.
“Sir, I’m okay.”
“John, you’re hurt. I hurt you.” McKnight grabbed towels from the laundry room and wiped them both and got Grimes into the kitchen with ice on his forehead and McKnight hovering and… fussing.
“It’s my own fault, sir.”
“I pulled you down.”
“I let you.”
“Like you had a choice.”
True.
“But it was my idea,” Grimes protested.
“No, it wasn’t.”
“I was fantasizing about it, when you called.”
“You were?”
Grimes tossed the ice into the sink. “Yes, sir. I wanted to sit on your cock. On the bench.”
“But that was my fantasy.”
“Well, I was thinking of it when I was setting up the weights. So I thought of it first.”
“I don’t think so.”
Grimes touched his forehead. It wasn’t too bad.
“I’m pretty sure I thought of it first,” McKnight was saying.
“How could you? You hadn’t even called me yet. You didn’t even know…” Grimes stopped talking. He thought about the bench. McKnight’s weight bench.
Come to think of it, it had been kind of weird, the way Linda had phoned him all of a sudden and suggested he come over and get the weight bench that morning. Without warning. Like she’d just remembered it was there. And had the spontaneous, out of the blue idea that Danny might like to do some workouts at home.
Grimes looked up at McKnight. “Sir. You didn’t.”
McKnight shrugged.
“You did. You called your sister.”
McKnight screwed up his mouth and said nothing.
It was a set up. Damn.
“Danny.”
“Yes, John?”
“You…”
“Yeah, but I didn’t mean to hurt you like that.”
“But you did mean to fuck me like that.”
“Oh, yeah. And I mean to keep doing that on a regular basis. We’ll just be more careful of your forehead in the future, okay?”
“Should I get a helmet?”
“Naw.” McKnight put his hand over Grimes’ forehead. “I think I can keep you safe.”
Grimes closed his eyes and savored the feel of McKnight’s tongue on his lips. And thought about all the other things they could do on the weight bench. Hoped he wasn’t able to think of every single possibility. After all, McKnight did like to surprise him.
Continued in: 37 The Fundamentals of the Game
Back to: Soldier Porn
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