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Title: Video
Rating: R
Warning: Kink. sub/Dom. Self-pleasure, mutual pleasure, and other kinds of pleasures.
Disclaimer: McKnight and Grimes have nothing to do with men in real life of fiction. I mostly made them up, especially the kinky parts, so any resemblance to any such men should be used only as a visual aid.
Feedback: Keeps the Grimes and McKnight muses necking on the couch.
Video
Grimes examined the wall of recent releases. He didn’t come to the video store often; McKnight usually picked up a movie on the way home from work. But that morning a surprise call had come. McKnight had told Grimes he was due home around eight, and could Grimes please pick out a movie.
Grimes had been a little put off at first. They hadn’t seen each other in two weeks – why would McKnight want to watch a movie?
But then he remembered the last time they’d watched a movie together.
McKnight had sat on the couch instead of his usual armchair, and patted the cushion next to him. Grimes had been happy to sit next to McKnight. They’d watched the movie like a couple of teenagers, eating popcorn and drinking a couple of beers. McKnight had inched closer to Grimes throughout the first half, and snuck his arm around Grimes’ shoulder.
Grimes had barely noticed, or pretended not to notice, until McKnight nuzzled his neck, rubbed his cheek against Grimes’ hair, and let his hand drift to Grimes’ knee.
The slow build-up had been delicious. So different from the more usual commands of ‘clothes, yours’ or ‘you know what to do’. Even though Grimes knew exactly what to do, the couch seduction game had made him feel like he hadn’t. Even though every move McKnight made was a textbook example of slightly-awkward high school making out, Grimes had found himself a bit breathless.
Maybe it was the anticipation, the knowing that McKnight would slide his hand up the back of Grimes’ shirt next, the waiting for that first probe of tongue between his lips, the fingers hovering over his nipple like it was on a girl’s breast, the sly insinuation of McKnight’s fingers under the waistband of his jeans. Maybe all that had been what put him off balance like that.
So off balance McKnight had made him come in his pants. And then McKnight had sprawled over him and rubbed against him until he came in his pants as well. Unbelievably sexy.
So, if McKnight wanted to end their long separation with a scene of make-believe adolescent-style groping and necking on the couch, who was Grimes to refuse?
The usual ten-day final training exercise had been extended to fifteen for some reason McKnight couldn’t discuss. Probably the same reason the whole session had been extended until almost the end of the summer. Grimes was happy to see it end. The sooner Captain Steele was out of McKnight’s program, the better. Every time McKnight mentioned anything about Steele it made Grimes’ hair stand on end.
Steele might be dangerous; Grimes felt protective of McKnight; McKnight’s feeling for Grimes were not easily hidden; Steele’s blue eyes saw everything.
Grimes took a deep breath and realized he was in the teen movie section. Couldn’t really picture McKnight watching Pretty in Pink. He moved toward the back of the store.
War movies. Nope. McKnight didn’t much like those. They never got anything right. And McKnight would know. The insubordination and procedural errors of most cop movies pissed him off. You can’t run a law-enforcement agency like that, he would grumble. He liked detective movies, though. Highly stylized films that bore little resemblance to reality. Classics. Like The Maltese Falcon or The Thin Man.
Grimes eyed the x-rated section. Behind a dented, swinging saloon-style door, and a hand-lettered sign that read “twenty-one yrs over”, lay the porn movies.
Grimes suspected McKnight wouldn’t mind porn. McKnight would like it. He would get hard watching sex, straight or just women or men only. He would respond the way just about any guy responds to porn - by wanting to have real sex.
But not if Grimes were there. He wouldn’t want Grimes to see him get turned on by a movie. He wouldn’t want Grimes to think that what he was looking at on the screen was any more interesting or attractive than Grimes.
Grimes wasn’t much into porn anyway. Big tits did nothing for him, and that seemed to be what most mainstream porn was about. At least the soft stuff. He hadn’t seen much in the way of hardcore straight porn.
He’d seen gay porn at the club where he used to go. Impossibly huge cocks and ridiculously muscular bodies and stupidly droopy mustaches. At least, that’s what he remembered most. He also remembered identifying exclusively with the bottoms. Usually younger, slighter and less experienced than the others. And there always seemed to be lots of others. Many others - holding the bottom down, taking turns fucking him, jerking off on him. Grimes had always found himself ashamed by how aroused he got, and by why he got aroused, even though that wasn’t what he wanted to do, or have done to him. The shame would get him more aroused and set up a sort of feedback loop. And he’d end up getting off on something that didn’t ordinarily appeal to him.
But that’s what fantasy is all about.
McKnight wouldn’t like that kind of porn. He wouldn’t like that many tops being around.
McKnight was the only top in the room.
Forget the porn. They didn’t need porn anyway. All Grimes had to do to get McKnight turned on was call him ‘sir’ and kneel. If that didn’t work, he just had to lick his lips or wiggle his ass. In a worst case scenario, he could peel off his t-shirt and run his hands down his torso.
If that didn’t work, McKnight was dead.
Grimes moved on to the other wall of the store. Older films. A few documentaries. Sports movies. He rubbed his beard and considered the choices.
His beard was losing the last of its bristliness. Sixteen days of growth. He hoped McKnight would like it. The only order McKnight had left him with was ‘do not shave’. Grimes had, naturally, obeyed.
It was McKnight who’d done the shaving. It was his last evening home. He’d filled up the tub and told Grimes to strip and get in. McKnight had sat on a stool and washed Grimes’ hair. Then he’d told Grimes to lie back, rest the back of his neck on the rim of the sloped end of the tub, which wasn’t easy because it was a long tub and he’d had to squirm a bit to find a comfortable position. And then McKnight had started to trim Grimes’ beard. Without asking.
He didn’t have to ask. It was his to trim as he saw fit.
Grimes hadn’t anticipated that. He’d had no idea what was coming next. He’d kind of been hoping McKnight might get in on top of him, but the water level was too high for that. Would have been nice, to have McKnight on top of him in the water, slippery with soap, skin warm and pliable.
But instead, McKnight had snipped at the longer parts of his beard with scissors, and then started with the razor.
That had been weird. Unexpected - McKnight claimed to love the beard.
Acceptable - Grimes didn’t mind being clean-shaven.
Sensual - McKnight’s fingers holding Grimes’ jaw still and the slow steady scrape of the razor.
McKnight was scrupulous about keeping the shaving cream away from Grimes’ mouth and eyes, rinsing the razor well after each stroke, and spending extra time on the cleft in Grimes’ chin. A perfect shave. He’d smoothed the skin with a tingly lotion, and kept rubbing his blunt fingertips over the hairless skin.
The water had grown chilly by the time the job was done. Grimes didn’t dare complain. All that focus, all that attention, all that awareness trained on him. On his face. On his skin. It had made Grimes giddy.
Once McKnight had realized how cool the water had grown, he’d hauled Grimes into the warm shower, and Grimes had shown his appreciation by slithering down and sucking McKnight’s cock with every bit of skill he possessed. Which was impressive.
Mm. Grimes really had to stop thinking about things like that in public.
Now.
Or he was going to come in his pants again.
He selected a video and headed for the counter, hoping no one would notice his state of arousal. He had no time to waste. He still had to get to Linda’s house to feed the fish before he could get home to make dinner. Linda and Roz had taken the last two weeks of summer vacation to do a tour of east coast art galleries and summer stock theatre, leaving Grimes to care for the aquarium and house and cat.
Whenever he cleaned the tank or the house, Grimes couldn’t help thinking about the summer before, and the strangely terrifying experience of meeting McKnight’s sister. Terrifying and comforting at the same time. She’d been so intimidating, yet she’d taken to Grimes instantly.
It had made him feel so loved, that first time she lifted Grimes’ chin and wrists and examined him, to make sure McKnight wasn’t doing anything that would leave marks. It made him feel more secure with every withering look she gave McKnight as her understanding of their relationship grew.
She used to ask him questions. “Does Danny treat you with the proper respect?” she might ask, even though Grimes had no idea what the proper respect might be. “I don’t want him taking advantage,” she would say. But after a little time, once she saw that McKnight wouldn’t hurt Grimes, not ever, she relaxed. She would inspect a love bite critically, and Grimes would shrink from her gaze, but then she would smile and say she hoped he’d been enjoying himself.
Actually, it was damn unsettling.
Grimes wasn’t sure if Linda actually believed McKnight would hurt him, or if she was merely gathering evidence from which to draw her own conclusions. But one day after New Year, she’d drawn him aside and said “If anything ever gets out of hand, I will never judge you; I will only offer help. I know you’re safe with Danny, but just in case…”
Grimes had been shocked. What the hell did she think they got up to? He’d assured her that McKnight was fully in control of the situation and that nothing ever got out of hand, and she’d laughed in his face. “Oh, honey,” she’d said. “I don’t think Danny’s in control at all.”
Maybe what Linda meant by control wasn’t the same thing Grimes meant by control.
Grimes thought all this over as he finished cleaning the tank. Of course, McKnight was in control. Grimes was free to make suggestions, and guide the course of events, but McKnight was the top. He was in charge. Wasn’t he?
Grimes fed the fish and made a quick tour of the house to make sure nothing was out of order. The cat had been chewing on a plant in the studio. Grimes moved it to a higher shelf and tut-tutted the cat, which lay on a chair in the corner looking blasé. The cat didn’t come around the cottage much any more. Grimes had always thought that cats preferred women, and this cat seemed to prefer Roz over all other women, which was kind of funny since Roz wasn’t much into cats.
The cat yawned. Must have been boring for it, to have the house to itself. No activity. No noise. No disturbances…
Did the cat watch them? Grimes knew the cat had watched him and McKnight on occasion. It creeped out McKnight every time. Did it watch Roz and Linda? Was that why it was here all the time?
Grimes was ashamed to even think of it. Even though he had to pretend to be Linda’s lover sometimes, it was not his place to be speculating about her love life.
But he couldn’t help it. Grimes peeked into Linda’s room.
It looked normal. Like any normal bedroom of a single woman. The bed was neatly made with a dark bedspread with a geometric print (Roz’s influence he was sure). There was an assortment of lotions and potions on the dresser, along with some jewelry. A pair of plain blue ladies slippers sat on a carpet on one side of the bed. The kind with the terry cloth strap you would slide your foot under.
And on the other side of the bed was a pair of red slippers with what looked to Grimes like a high heel, and feathery trim above where bare toes would stick out.
(Grimes suspected the red ones belonged to Roz, but he was afraid to find out for sure.)
Not a normal bedroom after all.
But nothing wrong with it.
Nothing any more wrong than the well-worn chair in his own living room, and the fact that the only time the couch got used was when there were visitors, or when McKnight was teaching Grimes about football, or pretending to seduce Grimes while watching a movie.
College boy. It was a college boy McKnight had been pretending to seduce. And when their lips had first touched, after half the movie and way too much time, they'd touched a little too hard. Too hard for a college boy, that is. Not for Grimes. McKnight could chew on his face and it wouldn’t be too hard for Grimes.
But a college boy might find that kind of pressure overwhelming after such a slow and careful seduction. Which was, of course, McKnight’s intent all along.
As usual, this line of thought preoccupied Grimes. He didn’t pay much attention as he did the rote things, feeding the cat and stacking the mail on the hall table. He did pay attention to locking the doors, but by the time he was walking through the trees to his house, his mind was once again fully taken up with the heat of McKnight’s breath on his cheek and the feel of a big hand creeping up the back of his shirt.
Going through the motions of making and eating dinner didn’t detract from his recollection of every detail. The taste of popcorn. The bulk of McKnight’s thigh against his. The soundtrack of the movie disappearing under the roar of his heart beating faster when McKnight palmed the bulge in his jeans and licked his ear.
Grimes did the dishes and read the paper and tried not to check the clock every five minutes. Soon enough, he was on the couch with his hand down the back of his jeans. He shoved as much lube up his ass as he possibly could. So much it would leave a stain on his jeans, but he wanted no delays. It was fine for McKnight to play his little games and overwhelm the college boy with slow seduction, but Grimes had needs, and right now he needed more than groping and necking.
He needed to be fucked, and he would make McKnight fuck him, if that’s what was necessary.
Sixteen days and he’d done nothing more than masturbate once a day. Almost all of those times had been downstairs, in the basement, on the weight bench. Grimes loved to rub himself over the bench and imagine McKnight under him, watching him, telling him to come. McKnight liked to know that Grimes was regularly coming on the vinyl. Grimes always cleaned up carefully, but McKnight claimed it made the texture feel better on his back, and the thought of McKnight’s naked back on the spot he was rubbing his cock against always gave Grimes an extra thrill.
On the tenth day, Grimes had succumbed in the shower. He couldn’t be blamed for that. The shower made him think of that last blow job he’d given McKnight, and the tug of McKnight’s fingers in his hair, the shaking of McKnight’s legs, the way McKnight had yelled “Aw, fuck, John!” when he came down Grimes’ throat.
And on the fourteenth day, Grimes had decided to take a break. It was hot out, and he’d been working in the garden. He’d come into the cool, stone house and had a little rest on the couch. He’d rested, that is, until he realized he was lying in the exact same spot he’d been the night of the movie, with McKnight grinding away on top of him.
Grimes’ erection had appeared instantly, to the point of painful, and he’d jerked off hard and fast, like a teenager. He could imagine the smell and taste and weight of McKnight when he came.
He wasn’t jerking off now. He was getting ready. Grimes had to twist to get his fingers positioned correctly, and then he was wriggling two fingers into his asshole and grunting.
He didn’t even hear the car pull up.
McKnight thanked Linda for driving him and his gear to down to the cottage. No, no, I don’t think John is expecting company, thanks, he’d said. Linda’s smirk had followed him all the way to the front door.
Sixteen days without Grimes. How was he going to manage longer absences? And how the hell was he going to tell Grimes about the upcoming 3-month stint?
He’d get to that later. He had a little time before shipping out. He’d think about it in the morning. Right now, he just wanted Grimes.
He hoped Grimes had been lulled into a false sense of domesticity by McKnight’s request for a video. Grimes probably figured McKnight wanted to spend a quiet night on the couch, watching a movie like that time McKnight had taken his sweet time. Grimes was probably expecting a night of necking and groping.
McKnight had no such thing in mind.
McKnight couldn’t remember if Grimes’ night school had started yet. He hoped so. He opened the door quietly, half-expecting to surprise Grimes at his homework. Maybe Grimes would be sitting at the dining room table, or at the computer, wearing his reading glasses, fingers weaving through his hair and tugging gently, as they tended to do when he was concentrating on accounting problems. McKnight didn’t hear the keyboard. Or the TV. Or anything. Except…
Motherfucker.
That was a moan.
McKnight set his duffel down quietly and peeked around the corner through the living room door.
Motherfuckingfucker.
Could he have imagined anything better?
Grimes was stretched out on the couch, jeans open, mostly hard dick hanging out, and his hand down the back of his pants. Moving.
And he was wearing the glasses.
One split second glance. That was all McKnight could spare, and all the time he needed to take in the coffee mug, the newspaper, and the bottle of lube with the flip top open. It wasn’t difficult to deduce that while reading the paper, Grimes had been distracted. Perhaps by some innocent mention of some household item they’d used at some point or other. Perhaps by the feel of his soft, worn jeans on his ass, or the sound of the couch when he sat down. Or maybe by his own thoughts, in anticipation of McKnight’s homecoming.
What McKnight could not deduce was the amount of fingers Grimes had up his ass.
The number was moot. McKnight planned to replace them, pronto.
McKnight knelt beside the couch and put his lips next to Grimes’ ear. “Impatient, much?”
Grimes jumped about eight inches off the couch.
McKnight took advantage of the momentary gap between Grimes’ ass and the cushion. He shoved his hand under and trapped Grimes’ hand in the jeans.
“Don’t stop on my account.”
“Oh, sir, I, oh…” Grimes stuttered.
Jesus, he was beautiful when he was flustered like that.
McKnight could feel the back of Grimes’ hand, his thumb and two fingers. So he must have had two inside. Nicely stretched. But not enough for a cock like McKnight’s.
McKnight squeezed Grimes’ hand. “Come on, fuck yourself good. Fuck your fingers for me.”
Grimes’ hips started to pump up and down.
“Fuck, yeah. Fuck yourself on your fingers. Get ready for me.” He pushed and saw Grimes’ mouth open as the fingers went in deeper.
That had to be hard on Grimes’ shoulder. And McKnight really did want to feel Grimes’ ass for himself. He grabbed Grimes’ wrist and pulled up.
“That’s enough for now.”
Grimes whimpered until McKnight climbed on top of him and shoved his hand down the back of Grimes’ pants. Grimes’ ass felt great, smooth and firm. The crack was wet and slippery. Even better. McKnight wiggled his fingers when he reached hot asshole. Loose enough for one fingertip to slip right in. Tight enough for Grimes to moan against his ear.
“I missed you, sir.”
Prettiest words ever spoken.
“I wanted to be ready for when you got home.”
Okay. Maybe I missed you were the second prettiest words.
“I wanted you to fuck me when you got home.”
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new world champion.
“I love you, sir.”
It all depends on the context, though. And McKnight agreed with everything. There was no need to play favorites.
He wormed two fingers inside so he could hear Grimes moan again. If he did that long enough, Grimes would beg.
The edge of the glasses bumped his cheek. As much as McKnight loved the glasses, he didn’t want them to press too hard against the side of Grimes’ nose, and he didn’t want to break them.
“Glasses off,” he moaned.
Grimes reached up and flipped them off.
McKnight rubbed his face on Grimes’ beard.
Fuck. That was it.
McKnight’s new thing.
Every time he had to go away, whether it was for two days, two weeks, or the three months he was trying not to think about, he was going to shave Grimes’ face the night he left. And when he got back, the beard would be scruffy, or soft, or even full, and it would remind him of how long he’d been gone, and that Grimes was always waiting for him to return.
There was no need for external proof. McKnight knew it in his heart. But this physical sign of it made him feel it to his toes.
Not to mention how enjoyable the actual shaving had been. McKnight really liked taking the hair off, revealing Grimes’ skin bit by bit, caressing Grimes’ newly-smooth skin, the contrast of shaved chin and the wet, dark chest hair below it. Youth and maturity. Boyishness and raw masculinity. Innocence and experience.
With this long hair, Grimes had looked almost angelic when he was clean shaven. His eyes looked bigger, his lips softer, and his chin… McKnight licked bristly hairs and could barely detect the cleft underneath.
Grimes’ lips were a bit swollen from his frantic kisses along McKnight’s jaw with its two days of stubble. Poor lips. Soft lips. Sweet lips.
Pure. There was something about Grimes that was pure. Didn’t matter what they did together, what Grimes’ had done, how dirty he got. McKnight knew that pure center would always shine.
“Sir. God, please.”
Ha! Begging. Hadn’t taken long at all.
Grimes writhed and maneuvered McKnight’s fingers deeper inside. “Oh, yes, sir. Love your fingers in me, sir.”
“But you want my cock in you.”
“Whatever you want to put inside me, sir.”
McKnight’s mind spun with possibilities.
Some other time. Right now, his cock. He pulled his hand out of Grimes’ jeans. He really, really needed that shirt off Grimes. He yanked at it. Grimes helped.
Oh, the chest hair. McKnight wondered if it would get thicker as Grimes’ got older. His own body hair had grown thicker over the years. Whatever happened, McKnight would be around to watch and enjoy.
McKnight would get to tease Grimes the first time a gray hair showed up, in his beard of on his head or his chest. He wouldn’t tease for long. Only long enough to get his hands on Grimes’ ass and pull him close and kiss him until Grimes felt sixteen again.
McKnight knew this sort of relationship didn’t always last, but both he and Grimes had been pretty clear about their expectations. McKnight was hoping for forever, but until the day he died would suffice.
How long this kind of sex would last was another question. The day would come when McKnight would not be erect every single time Grimes needed it.
But it was not this day.
McKnight turned Grimes over on his stomach and peeled the jeans down over his ass. Just like that. Kept the jeans on. In too much of a hurry to get them all the way off. He shoved his pants down to mid-thigh, shucked his shirt, wedged his hard cock between Grimes’ asscheeks.
“I missed you,” McKnight said. “I missed you and it was only two damn weeks.”
Grimes wriggled his ass. Now was definitely not the time to talk about the three months. Now was the time to cant his hips at the exact right angle, nudge at Grimes’ opening, enjoy the feel of Grimes vibrating with need, and to push in slow and easy.
McKnight had one knee between the back of the couch and Grimes’ thigh. His other foot was on the floor. Right hand on the back of the couch, left on the cushion beside Grimes’ head. This gave him a fair amount of control over his own movements. He hoped he would have enough internal control to keep from coming right away. Grimes was incredibly tight, and making the sexiest noises.
“Sir, sir, I’m going to…”
McKnight grabbed Grimes’ t-shirt and stuffed it under Grimes. Just in time. Grimes’ cock started to spurt the second McKnight’s fingers squeezed it through the bunched up shirt. McKnight could feel the heat and the slip of the cotton over the head.
And then Grimes pulled him in.
Literally.
His asshole clenched around McKnight’s cock and the next thing McKnight knew his balls were pressed up against the underside of Grimes’ butt, and Grimes was still spasming around him.
“Ah, jesus, that’s fucking amazing,” McKnight exclaimed.
Grimes whimpered. “Just give me a minute, sir, if you don’t mind.”
McKnight slid his hand down the back of the couch so he could put both arms under Grimes’ chest. “Mind? I could lie like this all night.
Grimes’ fingers tightened on the edge of the couch cushion. “All night, sir?”
“Sure,” McKnight muttered against Grimes’ shoulder. “You wanna see how long I can last?”
How long could he last? It felt awfully good. McKnight buried his face in Grimes’ hair. Not that much of his cock was actually inside Grimes’ body since he’d moved to settle his weight. The rest of it was being hugged by Grimes’ asscheeks. Warm, cozy, but not necessarily orgasm-inducing. As long as Grimes held still.
But then there was the feel of Grimes’ firm ass pressed against him. The way McKnight was still being squeezed, although less rhythmically now. Random little twitches and pulses of Grimes’ asshole.
“Stop squeezing me,” McKnight said.
“I’m not, sir. Not on purpose.” Grimes moved his hips a bit. Enough to send a shock to McKnight’s balls.
“Hey, that’s cheating.”
“Only getting comfortable, sir. For the long night ahead.”
Grimes was smirking. McKnight could tell. He couldn’t see his face, but he could hear the smirk. Cheeky boy.
Mm, yes. Cheeky. Full, smooth cheeks. Grimes was filling out so nicely. His shoulders had a little more meat on them, too.
“You been working out?” McKnight asked.
“Everyday.”
“That’s not healthy.”
“I only lift weights three times a week. Don’t worry.”
McKnight raised his head to study the curve of Grimes’ deltoid. “What are you doing on the other days?”
“Stretching. Sometimes I lie on the bench and meditate. You know. Visualization.”
“You visualize lifting weights?
“No. I visualize you. Lying underneath me, lifting weights.”
Aw. Fuck. All night was NOT going to happen if Grimes kept saying shit like that.
“And I’ve been doing some yoga.”
“Yoga? Isn’t that for girls?”
“No. It’s for flexibility.”
Totally unnecessary. Grimes had always been plenty flexible for McKnight’s purposes.
“And to strengthen my lower back,” Grimes added.
“What’s wrong with your back?” McKnight loosened his hold around Grimes’ chest and braced his elbows against the couch so he could lift his weight off Grimes.
“Nothing’s wrong with my back.” Grimes twisted one arm back to put his hand on McKnight’s shoulder. He pushed down. “But now I can do this.”
Grimes arched. His ass rose up until it bore McKnight’s weight. It kept rising, and McKnight bored into Grimes.
Good trick. Excellent trick. McKnight wanted more.
In fact, fuck the all-nighter. McKnight rocked into Grimes. Faster. Harder.
“More,” Grimes moaned.
More, McKnight gave.
He couldn’t move too much without risking his cock sliding out. Shallow, hard thrusts. Grimes’ ass squeezing. McKnight’s belly slapping against it.
“More more more.”
Eventually, there was no more. McKnight’s cock did spring free of Grimes’ asshole. It smacked up against McKnight’s belly, and then McKnight dropped down so the length of it was cradled in the crack of Grimes’ ass. McKnight’s come gushed between them thickly, spreading across Grimes’ lower back as they both writhed.
“Ah, fuck. Your ass…” was all McKnight could say.
That ass flexed and hardened. Mind-numbing.
Grimes turned his head as far as he could. “You gonna lie in your come all night?”
“Only until I stick to you permanently,” McKnight mumbled. He nibbled Grimes’ shoulder. It wasn’t an ideal position. He would move as soon as his limbs were capable. He pulled one arm out from under Grimes and let if flop off the side of the couch. His fingers hit something hard. Plastic.
“You got a video,” McKnight observed.
“No rush, sir. It’s a five-day rental.”
Well, that was convenient. McKnight had five days before he had to ship out.
Five days. That wasn’t nearly long enough. How could he ever get three months worth of Grimes in five lousy days? He was doomed to failure.
They would have to spend as much time as possible together. In bed. Naked. Naked Grimes, sucking McKnight’s cock, sleeping with his head on McKnight’s chest, resting on top of McKnight, sleeping tucked into McKnight’s side, sitting on McKnight’s cock, spread out on the mattress underneath McKnight… McKnight wouldn’t let him get dressed until it was time to go. He wanted to drink in all that skin, the lean limbs and the sensual curve of his back and the swell of his ass and…
“Where have you been doing yoga?”
“At the community center. There’s a class, two mornings a week.”
“Mornings. People are at work in the morning.”
“Some of us work at home, sir.”
Oops. Grimes sounded defensive. McKnight hadn’t meant to imply that Grimes didn’t work. Grimes worked hard. Too hard. In fact, for the next five days McKnight wasn’t going to let Grimes work at all.
“And there’s free daycare.”
Daycare meant parents. Probably mothers. Grimes had been taking yoga classes two mornings a week with… mothers. Women in yoga outfits. McKnight wasn’t sure what a yoga outfit might entail, but he was sure it would be tight, and there would be long legs, breasts and behinds visible.
Then he relaxed. Grimes wouldn’t pay those sorts of things any attention. Grimes liked thick, hairy legs, and nice big cocks… or at least McKnight’s cock. And McKnight’s broad, hairy chest. And, well, Grimes liked McKnight. Not women. Not mothers. Not people who do yoga.
But the other people in the yoga class, they’d be looking at Grimes. And chances are, they’d like what they saw, because Grimes was really nice to look at.
“What do you wear at these yoga classes.”
“Sweats, t-shirt, loose comfortable stuff.”
That wasn’t too bad. Grimes looked good in anything, but loose clothes would keep people from seeing too much. His back really was spectacular. McKnight pushed himself up higher so he could look down at the line of Grimes’ spine. Even more demarcated than when McKnight had gone away.
McKnight nestled back down onto Grimes, and his hand connected again with the video. Five day rental. Damn. They didn’t have much time. He lifted up the tape and looked at the label.
Motherfucker. Superbowl highlights.
“Football?”
“I thought you could sit in your chair and we could warm up for the regular season.”
Oh. Shit. McKnight had to tell him.
Continued in 40 Yoga
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