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Title: The Future, Army of Two final chapter
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not the movie, not the real guys, not intended to infringe on anything but the bounds of decency.
Note: This is the final chapter of the Army of Two series. I wish to thank the many loyal readers for their support and generous feedback in the form of comments and emails. It has been a real pleasure perving with you.
Please note that this is by no means the end of the characters, only of this particular series. After all, what else is there to say?
Army of Two, Chapter 50 – The Future
January
Linda McKnight sat at her dining room table sorting tests and essays, calculating final percentages. Midterm reports were tedious, but she recognized their necessity.
Grimes came in holding a wooden box. “I found this,” he said.
Linda did not stop punching the numbers into the calculator. “Then it is yours, John. I told you we were done months ago. The estate is settled. Anything else you uncover is for you.” She looked up over her reading glasses. “Unless it is of impeccable and significant literary value."
Grimes placed the box on the table. The joint between the upper and lower halves was not parallel to the bottom of the box, so when Grimes opened the box, the joint followed a continuous slanted line, forming a continuous slanted writing surface. At the high side there were compartments for two ink bottles and a pen. The surface was leather-covered and hinged in the middle.
“It’s beautiful, John.”
Grimes slid his hand down to the lowest edge to grasp a velvet tab. He lifted it and that side of the box opened.
Linda dropped the calculator on the floor. The box was stuffed full of letters, neatly preserved in their original envelopes, and the topmost letter was addressed to Mildred in Linda’s own precise, sloping hand.
“I didn’t read them,” Grimes said. “I knew what they were right away.”
Linda had asked about personal correspondence many times. She’d given up hope of finding it and assumed that Mildred must have chosen to burn anything remotely incriminating. She fought to compose herself. “Wherever did you find it?” she asked.
“In the ugly thing,” Grimes said with a grin. The ugly thing, as they’d been calling it for some time, was a huge, cumbersome poorly made buffet. Or perhaps it had been meant as an armoire. “I took pity on it and decided to oil the wood so at least it could have a nice texture. When I was doing the inside part at the bottom, I banged the back of my head on the inside top. I must have hit just the right spot, because the bottom popped right open. I was wondering why the inside seemed so much smaller than the outside. It’s no wonder the thing was so heavy.” Grimes rubbed the back of his head. “And it’s just lucky Danny is out of town for another week, because he would freak out if he felt this bump on the back of my head.”
Linda stared at the box, trying to sort things out. It had been hidden in the ugly thing all this time. The ugly thing had been designed by someone, Mildred’s great great great uncle whatever, to hide things. It was probably so ugly on purpose, so people would think its poor construction was responsible for the odd proportions. Mildred had hidden all her old letters, at least some of them love letters, inside it. And yes, Danny would be furious about the bump on the head because that was the way her brother was about John Grimes.
Grimes closed the lower compartment and opened the upper one. “That’s not all,” he said. He held up a small leather-bound book of the type Linda had seen in Mildred’s hands a hundred times, and of which she’d long since despaired ever seeing again. Her eyes filled with tears, and Grimes, being a gentleman, brought a box of tissues to the table before he left her alone with the priceless treasure of Mildred’s diaries.
* * *
June
McKnight came home at the usual time but this was anything but usual. He carried a bottle of expensive dry white wine, Grimes’ favourite, and a bulky, soft package wrapped in brown paper.
Grimes was in the parlour, curled up on the couch he’d found at a yard sale and covered in a plush, dark blue upholstery that brought out the blue in his eyes, especially when he was naked and lying on the couch with McKnight on top of him. Grimes was not naked. He was wearing jeans and a t shirt, which McKnight could not see clearly because the newspaper was open and blocking McKnight’s view of Grimes’ upper half.
McKnight put the wine on top of the ugly thing, put the package next to it and turned to face Grimes. Grimes kept reading the paper, not something he was prone to doing when McKnight got home, and especially not on a special occasion like this. McKnight cleared his throat. “I brought you a present,” he said.
Grimes made a little noise and lowered the paper.
“Motherfucker,” McKnight swore.
Grimes had cut his hair. That in itself was not shocking. Grimes had trimmed his hair several times. But Grimes had cut his hair a lot. Enough so it looked like a Ranger cut that had been growing out for a few months, longer on the top, still short enough to bristle at the sides. Exactly like his hair had been on the night he’d been discharged and had come home with McKnight. Exactly three years ago this night.
“Hello, sir,” Grimes said.
McKnight should have known something was up. Grimes had been pretending to read the sports section, and Grimes never read the sports section. Also, he wasn’t wearing his reading glasses, but McKnight hadn’t known that because the paper had been hiding his face.
“Jesus, John. Are you trying to do me in?”
Grimes pouted. “You don’t like it?”
McKnight flew across the room and ran his hands over the short hair. The freshly cut hair pricked sharply at his palms. The tufts glowed coppery between his fingers. “I… I…” McKnight gave it up and pulled Grimes forward so he could kiss him. Grimes obviously knew what day it was, but McKnight wanted to say it out loud anyway. “Three years,” he said after wrenching his lips away.
Grimes blushed brightly. A little too brightly. McKnight felt his forehead for signs of fever.
“I’m not sick, Danny.”
“I know. I just can’t be too careful.”
Grimes beamed.
There had to be another reason for those rosy cheeks, McKnight thought. Sports section his ass. Grimes was up to something. He’d been doing something just before McKnight arrived, and it had nothing to do with the haircut.
Motherfucker. McKnight was not going to survive this night. He knew exactly what Grimes had been up to.
“Wine?” he croaked. He needed something wet in his mouth. Fast.
Grimes’ tongue was wet. And in McKnight’s mouth. McKnight opened his mouth and stopped feeling parched.
Grimes stopped kissing him and rose slowly. “Wine would be nice.” He got up and fucking sauntered over to the ugly thing, the way he only sauntered when he was good and stretched and lubed and ready to fuck. He bent, a little too obviously, to retrieve two wine glasses from inside.
McKnight didn’t need the wine anymore. He was salivating. But he took the glass from Grimes and drank, if only to calm his nerves.
Grimes sat gingerly on the arm of the chair. He must have overdone it with the sauntering and was worried the lube would leak out and stain the couch.
“Hungry?” McKnight asked casually.
Grimes shook his head. “You?”
“Fuck, no,” McKnight answered. He put his hand on Grimes’ hand and slid it up.
There was a knock on the door.
“Ignore it,” McKnight ordered.
“Sir, that’s rude.” Grimes got up carefully. “I’ll deal with it.”
McKnight crossed one leg over the other in an attempt to keep his erection from bursting out of his pants.
It was Linda. She came in carrying a large wooden box McKnight had never seen before. “I’m returning this to John,” she announced.
“No, keep it. It’s for you,” Grimes said.
“No, it is for you. You found it. I kept most of the contents.”
Grimes took the box and put it on a low coffee table. It looked weird. The lid was crooked. Grimes opened it and McKnight saw that it was a portable writing desk. It even had ink wells. Clever.
“Thank you. It’s beautiful,” Grimes said, kneeling in front of the box.
“Your surprise is inside,” Linda said.
Grimes lifted a panel and pulled out a sheaf of papers. He glanced over then first page and his mouth dropped open. “You can’t,” he said.
“I already did,” Linda replied. “Sign it, and it’s official.”
McKnight reached for the papers. “The deed to the cottage?” he asked.
Linda pulled a black book from her purse and opened it to a page marked with a crumpled letter. She cleared her throat. “I do love the view from the bend property,” she read, “but it is not a proper part of the estate. Papa bought it as a bribe, to get me to marry. He offered to build a brand new house for me. I refused, no matter how many suitors he paraded past me. How it must have irked him to die so young and have me inherit it all with no strings attached – a twenty-eight year old spinster, despite his wheedling and bullying.”
McKnight knew the property Linda was reading about. It was beyond the trees, further along the waterside. It was cut off by the trees and by a housing development on the hill above it back in the seventies. He and Grimes had gone there a few times – once at night so they could lie in the tall grass and fuck without anyone seeing them. But that was dangerous. Teenagers liked to sneak through the backyards above and go there to drink. There were always beer empties along the bank.
“I shall take Mr. Beauford’s offer for it after all. It would make a lovely inn, with the restored mill across the water and the trees to keep it separate from the cottage. At least the visitors will enjoy it as I never could. It only makes me think of my father trying to force me to conform to his wishes…” Linda looked up. “Well, you get the idea. This is dated a few months before she became very ill. She was planning to sever the property and sell it, but she didn’t get a chance to change the will.”
McKnight stared at the deed. It was in the name of John Grimes.
“I took it to three different lawyers for opinions. They all said since it was bought separately from this part of the estate, and since she clearly intended to sell it, I am free to dispose of it. As it happens, Mr. Beauford is was still interested. He’s bought up the entire housing development too, which is just as well. It’s an awful eyesore. He’s putting in a resort and a spa, but he can’t cut down a single tree on this side. The woods will remain. And he’s promised to build a stone wall to keep guests off your property.”
“It’s your property, Linda,” Grimes protested.
“Well, yes, I own the lot still. I could have just left the cottage to you in my will, but there’s no telling when that might happen and I wanted to make sure.”
McKnight blinked. The deed was in Grimes’ name.
“The lot also goes to you when I die,” Linda said.
To start with, Linda could not die. McKnight would not allow it. She was far too young to be talking about such things. Secondly, what the fuck was going on? He felt dizzy.
“Relax, Danny. It won’t be for many years,” Linda said.
“You should give it to Danny,” Grimes said.
“John, giving it to you is the same as giving it to Danny. And if anything ever happened… no matter what happens, you’ll be set.”
If anything… McKnight had to agree. He was in the army, after all. Anything could happen, and frequently did. And when it did, common-law spousal rights were tricky enough without the added complication of Grimes being a man.
“Sign it now, John. I’ve got an appointment with my lawyer in an hour.”
Grimes shook his head. He was probably in shock.
McKnight could see Linda had made up her mind. “Sign it,” he said.
Grimes shook his head again.
“Do it for me,” Linda said.
“Sign it,” McKnight said.
Grimes signed.
Linda kissed McKnight’s cheek. “I love you,” she whispered. She stood up and assumed her no-nonsense English teacher demeanor. “Property values have risen considerably since Mildred was young. I’m considering early retirement.”
“What?” McKnight and Grimes exclaimed in unison.
“I’m a very rich woman, thanks to you finding that box,” Linda said. “But I won’t decide just yet. Roz and I are going to Rome for two weeks. Please take care of the house and the fish, John.”
“Of course,” Grimes said, and handed her the signed papers. He opened his mouth and closed it and then ran from the room.
McKnight stopped Linda from following him. “He doesn’t want you to see him cry,” McKnight said. “He’s never had much of a family. He’s not used to this kind of… He doesn’t know what to do.”
Grimes’ father had taken off early. That much McKnight knew. And he knew Grimes’ stepfather had never had much use for him. His mother made her final choice when she found Grimes, sixteen years old and locked in an embrace with his older boyfriend on Grimes’ bed. Fully clothed, on top of the covers, but that didn’t make a difference to her. Grimes had been on his own ever since. McKnight only knew that much because Grimes had told him, and he would never tell the details to anyone but he told as much as he did to Linda so she would understand.
“I’d better go, then,” Linda said. “I’ll come back tomorrow to see him.” She spotted the wine and the package. “Is it… oh, my goodness, it’s your anniversary, isn’t it?”
Shit. Linda loved that sort of stuff. “Yeah, and you’ve made my present look pretty lame, so get out of here!” he said gruffly.
Linda laughed and kissed his cheek again and ran her hand over his hair. “Danny,” she said. And then she turned and left because what else was there to say? She taken care of the one person Danny cared about more than anyone else, and she was the best damn big sister anyone could ask for, and McKnight was going to fucking cry if she didn’t leave.
Grimes came back, bright-eyed and freshly scrubbed, a few minutes later. “Sorry, sir. I got overwhelmed.”
Jesus, he looked so young and confused and boyish like that, with that fucking haircut. That haircut that made McKnight’s dick hard.
It was, for such an ugly haircut, indescribably beautiful.
Grimes ran his fingers through his hair. “You like it?”
McKnight nodded.
“The lady at the salon thought I was crazy. Took her three tries to get the sides short enough. I think it’s almost like it was the first we ever…” Grimes looked down. “I was sort of hoping we might be able to…”
Ah, a little historical recreation. Nice idea. Very nice idea.
“Is that for me?” Grimes asked, pointing to the package on the ugly thing.
“Yeah, but it’s nothing.” Not important. Not much of a gift. Not after Linda had given him a whole fucking house. And the haircut, that was a better present anyway.
“But Danny, if you bought it for me…”
“Not exactly bought. More like called in a few favors. And a bit of subterfuge.”
Grimes’ eyes got even brighter. “Really?” He brushed past McKnight and stood in front of the ugly thing. Grimes opened the package and gasped.
“For me?”
“Wouldn’t fit me,” McKnight joked. No joke, actually. McKnight didn’t think it would have fit him when he was twelve years old. But man, he would have killed to be allowed to wear something like that when he was twelve years old.
“Can I try it on, sir?”
McKnight settled on the couch for the show. “Permission granted,” he said magnanimously.
Grimes shed his clothes in a blur. McKnight savored every glimpse of naked skin, but he didn’t fret when it was covered up just as quickly. And there stood Grimes, in a brand new, perfectly-fitted desert cammo BDU. It fit like his old uniform had never fit him before.
Grimes ran his hands over the heavy shirt front. “Oh, sir, it’s beautiful.”
Nowhere near as beautiful as the man inside it.
McKnight swallowed a gulp of wine. Grimes was barefoot, which spoiled the effect just enough. McKnight would not have survived seeing him in that uniform with the pants tucked into the boots, knowing that he was wearing precisely nothing underneath the jacket and pants.
Grimes wriggled and sighed. He walked over to the ugly thing, unbuttoned the pants, pushed them down to his knees, folded his arms on the wooden top of the ugly thing and bent over to rest his forehead on his arms.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” he said, and he went up on his toes so his calves stood out and his buttocks tightened and McKnight choked on the wine.
McKnight lost the feeling in his extremities. He moved fast to stand behind Grimes and fumbled with his own belt. “Fuck!” he muttered and finally got his pants loosened. He ran his thumb down the exposed crack.
“No need for preparation, sir. I’m fully prepared. You can fuck me, sir,” Grimes panted.
But McKnight wanted to see his fingers disappear inside Grimes’ body first. Wanted to watch Grimes as he shivered and wriggled his ass like that. Wanted to hold his cock in his hand and tease Grimes’ opening with it, rubbing it over and around his slick asshole. Wanted to check exactly how much Grimes had stretched and lubed himself.
McKnight reached into the side pocket of his cammos. He pulled out a packet of lube, just like the ones Grimes had used on the night McKnight fucked him for the first time. He squirted it on Grimes’ ass and rubbed his cock in it until he was thoroughly coated.
“Danny, Danny, Danny,” Grimes moaned.
McKnight pushed in.
Grimes flailed.
It could not have been more perfect.
* * *
Grimes’ fingers gripped the edge of the wood and tried to dig in. It was possible McKnight had never fit him so snugly before, despite all that prep. Need need need was his first reaction and he was stretched open. Once McKnight slid home, the need turned to pure pleasure. McKnight was touching him – his hips and his thighs and his cock and up under the uniform, up his spine, under his arms, around his chest, down to hold his waist on both sides.
“Stay on your toes,” McKnight groaned. “Fuck! Your ass is… fuck!”
McKnight squeezed Grimes’ waist and slid both hands front and up to cup his pecs. He hunched over Grimes’ back and Grimes had to grit his teeth. His guts were on fire. McKnight’s big hands clawed at him, pinched his nipples, raked over him and down to his cock.
“Sir,” Grimes gasped. “Sir, permission to speak.”
“No!” McKnight growled. “You have permission to get fucked.”
Talking is overrated. Grimes wailed, “Thank you, sir,” and held on tight, knowing that the only things keeping the two of them upright were his arms on the top of the ugly thing. McKnight had one hand on his cock, the other under his balls, and he was biting Grimes’ shoulder through the uniform like he was trying to get everything he wanted at once.
The muscles in Grimes’ calves were screaming almost as loud as the nerves in his asshole and his cock and his brain. He had to end this somehow. If this kept up, he would pull a muscle and McKnight would never forgive himself.
Grimes pushed off the ugly thing and stood upright against McKnight’s chest. McKnight took a second to figure out what had changed, but once he did, he reacted with his usual efficiency. And ferocity. He widened his stance and pulled Grime’s arms up and back around his neck. One strong arm held Grimes across the chest, the hand of the other gripped his inner thigh.
The ugliest feature of the ugly thing had to be the mirror above it, warped and decorated with a misshapen sliver leaf floral motif. Grimes watched in a daze as his face contorted, unsure if it was the fun house mirror that made his mouth open that wide or if he really had opened it that wide because it was the only way to get any air into his body. McKnight lifted his feet off the ground so Grimes was suspended on his cock.
Grimes started to come.
He didn’t stop.
He could have been impaled on McKnight like that for three minutes or three hours and he wouldn’t have been able to tell. McKnight fucking roared and pushed even deeper and then he bit the side of Grimes’ neck and everything went black.
* * *
Grimes opened his eyes.
He was on the couch, on top of McKnight. He was still wearing the top part of the uniform, but he couldn’t feel the pants around his ankles anymore. Or maybe he didn’t have any ankles anymore. Or legs. The only thing he could clearly feel was the heat in his pelvis and McKnight’s chest under his cheek.
“Sir,” he croaked.
McKnight drew Grimes closer.
“Danny,” Grimes said. It was possible McKnight had inadvertently bit into a pressure point and caused Grimes to go unconscious. Or maybe his consciousness had shot out with his semen.
McKnight stroked his back and said, “Shhhhh.” Just like that. Shhhhh. As if there was nothing out of the ordinary.
Grimes moved his legs. There was a blanket thrown over them, so his naked ass wasn’t showing. Not that anyone was looking. Not that he would have cared.
“You wanna tell me what you wanted to tell me?” McKnight asked.
Grimes took a shuddering breath.
“Fine, I’ll say it, then.” McKnight’s voice was impossible smooth for someone who had been shouting hoarsely not so long ago. “It’s been three years. Your stint is over. You want to re-up.”
Grimes realized his right hand was on McKnight’s forearm, so he squeezed it. “I was thinking of a life-time commitment.”
They’d had that for a long time, but it was so much fun to say it all out loud. Grimes couldn’t resist. He wanted to re-enlist every fucking day for the rest of his life. And he would spend the rest of his life here, in this house, their house.
His eyes wandered over to the ugly thing. There were his pants on the floor. They must have slid off him when he was suspended in the air with McKnight holding him securely. He must have kicked his feet or something. He could also see the streaks of his semen drying on the oiled would. That would probably stain if he didn’t wipe it up soon.
“You know I’m in it for the long haul,” McKnight said, the smoothness tightening. “No need to ever sign up again.”
“But I like to,” Grimes murmured, and twisted his head to look up into McKnight’s eyes.
“You can enlist all over again any time you want,” McKnight said. “Just don’t expect that every night.” His eyes moved to indicate the scene of the crime. “I might have broken something. He patted Grimes’ shoulder. “Not really, but I’m beat.”
McKnight’s heart was slowing, but the pound of it was still hard.
Grimes lay quietly and the sensation flowed back to his limbs.
“Oh, shit!” McKnight started to sit up. “Your come is going to stain the wood! You want me to clean that up?”
Grimes put his hand over McKnight’s heartbeat. It didn’t take much force to push him back down on the couch.
“It’s okay if it stains. That can be permanent too.”
The End.
Many thanks to the loyal readers of this series. It’s been pleasurable in the extreme.
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