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Title: 7 – McKnight’s Sister
Rating: NC-17
Warning: New POV switching off with Grimes’.
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.
Note: I know no one wants to know about McKnight’s sister, but Grimes needs to know more about McKnight and McKnight isn’t talking much, so…
McKnight’s Sister
Linda McKnight sighed and sat back against the cracked faux leather seat of the taxi cab. She found travel tedious and tiring. On the way out, the destination made it worth the effort, but the journey home was always a disappointment. No more would she enjoy the warm sun and atmosphere of Florence. She now had the stifling heat of the last week of the summer vacation at home with which to contend. She stared at the back of the driver’s head, with its irritating corporate logo shaved into the short hair.
The driver was an immigrant from Somalia. She had discovered this when he lifted her case into the trunk and she, out of habit of the last eight weeks, had thanked him in Italian. He had responded in a gregarious fashion, chattering away in Italian far too accented and fast for her to follow. Many Somalis, having grown up in a country colonized by Italy, were fluent in the language. She had never been particularly good with languages other than English; the combination of the speed and North African inflection rendered the driver unintelligible to her ears.
She wondered if she should tell him her brother had served in Somalia. Judging by his passable English and seemingly thorough assimilation, as evidenced by the haircut and his clothing, he’d probably come to America before the conflict in his country involved Rangers. And if he was a more recent immigrant, it would serve no purpose to bring up the painful past. She had no way of knowing what part of the country he hailed from, or if he or his family had been involved in the conflict in any way. She wasn’t sure why she even considered mentioning it. She let the driver prattle on as she stared at his shaved head and thought about her brother.
There was a reason she’d thought of mentioning it; the issue of Somalia prickled at her consciousness. Her brother had had been subdued when she left for Italy, not his usual self. He had not revealed many details about Mogadishu, but she suspected his moodiness was related. Even for someone as tough as Danny, Somalia had been grueling. It was over, but he still felt it. She read it in his posture, in his eyes. He was stationed here now, at the training base, and she wondered if that was what made him so downcast. What is worse for a soldier, to be in the thick of life-threatening battle, or to be taken out of it? Did the prospect of being sent back into that sort of danger at some point in the future vex him, or was he unhappy about being out of the game right now? Was he still in the same state of mind after these last two months?
The taxi pulled up to the curb. As she expected, this early in the afternoon, there was no car in the driveway. There was, however, a young man on the steps. He wore a faded tan t-shirt and jeans, and had dark, short-cropped hair, a little longer on top than at the sides. Unless Linda was mistaken, it was a Ranger haircut grown out for about two months. He had a pleasant face, lovely hands, and a lean, fit body.
He was standing on the top step of her porch with a coffee can in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. The door behind him was open, as were most of the windows, all of the windows, in fact, even the two to her bedroom. The panes gleamed in the late afternoon sun. The lemony smell of wood polish wafted out the front door, with an undertone of glass cleaner.
Whoever he was, he did windows.
The cab driver opened her door and she rose, towering over him. Linda was accustomed to towering over people. She towered over her colleagues. She towered over her students. She towered over her brother. She did not tower over some of her brother’s colleagues; she had met a few who were quite large. This one, however, the one on the porch with the cigarette, she would tower over quite handily.
The young man scurried down the steps. He seemed to know who she was. His eyes darted nervously to and fro, but he held his ground bravely. “Ma’am,” he said, with a northern accent. “Can I carry your bags?”
Linda McKnight raised one eyebrow. She had thought she might return to find the house messier than usual, since her brother had not seemed terribly eager to keep up appearances. She had feared she might return to find him drinking more than usual, in a sad echo of their father’s last years. Of all the things she had anticipated on her return home, a bellboy was not among them.
“You may,” she nodded, and gestured toward the two large cases the taxi driver had taken from the trunk. She watched the man lift them easily and carry them up the stairs. He knew where her room was. The driver finished unloading the trunk and waited courteously as she counted out the bills and paid him, with a fifteen percent tip. The young man returned and picked up the easel and paint-spattered wooden case beside it.
“Do you know where the studio is?” she asked, knowing that he did, but curious about how much information he would volunteer.
“Yes, ma’am, top of the stairs and to the left, at the back.”
She nodded and let him take the luggage, which left her with only her purse and carry on bag. She thanked the driver and mounted the steps.
The woodwork in the hall gleamed as it never had before. The living room was spotless, the aquarium vivid with life. There was not a speck of dust nor a fingerprint on the entire expanse of polished glass. The young man softly padded into the room behind her.
“The orange crab had that fungus, so I put him in the hospital tank with the medicine for a week like you said in the instructions.”
“As I instructed,” she automatically corrected him.
“Yes, ma’am.” No annoyance at all at the correction. “I reintroduced him two days ago. He seems fine.”
She nodded. The tank looked perfect. It was better than when she left. The colors were vibrant, the animals were in excellent health, everything sparkled.
She sniffed the air. He had been using a range of cleaning products; floor wax, bleach, powder, oven cleaner. On top of all that, though, was the delicious scent of food. “You made dinner?” she asked, wondering at the extent of his duties. Had her brother hired him to do all this in preparation for her homecoming? No, that was impossible. He claimed to have placed the crab in the hospital tank for a week, which meant he must have been at the house for at least nine days.
“I made a big pot of chili, ma’am. You, uh, you weren’t supposed to be home until tomorrow, and I thought you’d want dinner when you got here but…” He stalled.
“My brother does not cook, so you made enough for today and tomorrow.”
He nodded.
“What is your name, young man?”
He straightened his shoulders. He was a Ranger, that was certain. Or he was an ex-Ranger.
“Grimes, ma’am.”
“Grimes?”
Grimes nodded and smiled.
He had a warm smile, almost seductive. Linda was amused, but only slightly so. He was not hired. Could it be that he was her brother’s… friend? She looked up and down his slender frame. There were muscles there, not bulging or prominent, but strong. The snug jeans hugged his hips almost obscenely. He had a confidence in the way he held himself that belied the nervousness in his voice. He was cautious of dealing with a new person, particularly his friend’s older sister, but he had no discomfort with his body. If he was Danny’s friend, she could count her brother lucky.
“What do your friends call you?”
He seemed confused for a second. “Um… Grimesy?”
“What does my brother call you?” She stared at him, right in the eye. Who was this young man and what was he doing cleaning her house?
Grimes had scrubbed the kitchen cupboards, walls and floor, washed, dried and ironed all the curtains in the house, swept washed and polished the wood floors, dusted and vacuumed the living room furniture, made the chili and cleaned the three bathrooms. The third bathroom didn’t need to be cleaned much, since it hadn’t been used, but he figured McKnight’s sister would appreciate it being freshened up a bit.
There wasn’t much left to do, so he went outside to have a smoke before giving the dusting one more pass. And then the cab pulled up.
Shit. He froze for a few seconds, on the steps. It was her. He’d seen the picture of McKnight and McKnight’s sister on the mantle. Tall, a bit stern, with incongruently thick, wavy, dark hair with lighter, graying streaks. Like something lush and romantic topping something eminently practical. The curls were pulled back into a tight bun, but a few escaped. Renegades.
It was her, and she was getting out of the cab. The trick was to stay cool. Let nothing ruffle him. He put out the cigarette and descended the stairs. Greeted her cordially. Took the bags and carried them upstairs.
He was barefoot. He wiped his feet on the little rug by the door, but was that enough? He was sure he hadn’t tracked anything into the house. He opened the door to her room. He’d never been in there before this morning. Should he have gone in? Would she be upset about him dusting and vacuuming and washing the curtains? Would she see it as a violation of her privacy? Shit. She might.
Too late now. Her room was aired and fresh and clean. Fresh, crisp sheets. He didn’t know if she appreciated things like that, but he knew her brother did.
He calmly went back downstairs and outside. He took the easel and paint box, took them up to the studio. It was a long, thin room that took up the whole back of the house. Windows lined it. He supposed it was originally intended to be a sun room. The paintings in progress were covered with white sheets. He hadn’t disturbed them. But he had washed the windows and changed the burnt out light bulb and cleaned the floor. He had not touched the paints or brushes or other art supplies. He knew that would be seen as more of an imposition than the cleaning of her bedroom.
He went downstairs and saw her looking into the aquarium. He was proud of the way he’d kept the tank. He told her about he sick crab and she seemed pleased with his efforts.
Then she wanted to know his name. Asked him more than once. It was her business, he supposed. He was in her house, cleaning her floors and making food on her stove. She had a right to know his name.
He gave her his most engaging smile. The one he used to win people over. The one he kept for special occasions. Her eyes were all over him, assessing him and judging him. He wondered how much she knew, how much she would guess, how much she would understand.
How much she wouldn’t understand.
He shifted from bare foot to bare foot.
If he’d done that in front of McKnight, it would have produced an instant erection. In both of them. McKnight loved it when Grimes showed any hesitation or uncertainty. He loved it when Grimes was vulnerable.
He also loved it when Grimes was certain. And assertive. Like when he climbed on top of McKnight and rode his cock.
It was a mistake to think about that. His cock was twitching. Like it always twitched when he thought about McKnight’s cock going into his ass. Grimes couldn’t help it. It was as if McKnight’s cock had been designed with Grimes’ ass in mind. The perfect length. The perfect hardness. The perfect width. Glorious width. Fat and snug and it filled him to perfection.
Now his cock was beyond twitching. It was hard, pressing against his thigh uncomfortably. McKnight’s sister gave no indication that she noticed it. She stopped quizzing him about his name and went back out on the porch.
Grimes took a moment to calm down, to will his erection away. He didn’t want McKnight’s sister to think it was for her. That would be… rude.
He followed her out onto the porch.
“How long have you known my brother?” McKnight’s sister asked bluntly.
Grimes had to think about it. He’d noticed McKnight the instant they were stationed together, but McKnight likely hadn’t noticed him. They’d only really known each other for six weeks. He cleared his throat. “A couple of years, I suppose. We were stationed together, on and off.”
“In Somalia?”
Grimes couldn’t stop his gaze from flicking down. McKnight’s sister’s eyes followed, and he felt the heat creep up his neck when she noticed the scars on his foot.
“You were there,” she said.
He nodded.
She didn’t say anything immediately. She looked a bit embarrassed that she’d brought it up. No, it was because she didn’t want him to feel embarrassed about his scars. She was worried about making him feel uncomfortable. Because she was a nice person. She really was. McKnight hadn’t said much about her, but he had said she was very decent, which, to McKnight, was the nicest thing you could say about anyone. He respected her. And Grimes found himself respecting her as well.
But she wouldn’t understand. No one ever did, no matter how decent they were. No one who wasn’t turned on by the same things he was turned on by. She might think he was McKnight’s friend. She might even think he was McKnight’s lover. But she wouldn’t understand.
He was going to have to go away. He must have sighed or something, because she looked up at him abruptly and smiled in a reassuring way.
“You’ve done a wonderful job with the aquarium, and the whole house,” she said.
Yes, she was a nice person, and she was saying something complimentary so her wouldn’t feel so bad when he had to leave.
“Thank you, ma’am. It’s a very nice house.” And it was. Grimes knew every corner of it, and he’d grown to like her quirky taste, the romantic subject matter of the paintings and the curly, swirling shapes of the lamps and ashtrays and the rich colors she’d chosen for the rugs and the upholstery. He loved the soft flooring in the kitchen – easy to clean and comfortable to kneel on. And the wood floors, dark stained oak, smooth under his hands, under his tongue… he dug his fingernails into his palm to distract himself. He was getting hard again.
“Are you stationed with Danny now?”
Grimes started a bit at the name. “Um… no, ma’am. My time was up almost two months ago. I’m working in town. I’m a dispatcher for the cab company.”
“Oh, is it the same company I just used?”
“Yes, ma’am, but I don’t know that particular driver.” He’d seen him around. He’d avoided him. No one at the cab company knew he’d been in Somalia. They only knew he’d been in the army. “I work the midnight shift.”
McKnight’s sister was studying him again. Scrutinizing him. Stripping him the way McKnight stripped him, only not so literally.
McKnight had never actually stripped him. He told him to strip, but he’d never undressed Grimes. He couldn’t now, not with that cast on his arm. Oh, he should tell her about that. Warn her.
“There was an accident,” he began and stopped abruptly. He wasn’t sure how to phrase it. Calling McKnight “McKnight” wouldn’t do. He could call him by his rank, but he wasn’t in the army anymore. He couldn’t bring himself to say ‘Danny’. ‘Your brother’ would just seem… weird.
She got a concerned look with an undertone of ferocity that came close to scaring Grimes. Protective ferocity.
“He’s not hurt badly. Fractured wrist. I think a young guy tried to show him up during self-defence training.” That didn’t sound too bad. ‘He’. After all, they both knew who they were talking about. There was only one possible ‘he’.
“And Danny decided to prove he’s not so old after all…” McKnight’s sister was shaking her head. How many times had she taken care of her injured younger brother? Did she mind about Grimes taking care of him? “Typical,” she muttered. She looked Grimes in the eye. “I assume you’ve been making sure he takes proper care of it.”
Grimes nodded. He tried not to show how surprised he was that she knew so much, and that she wasn’t freaking out.
“Good. He needs someone to take care of him.”
Her smile was warm. Welcoming. Maybe Grimes wouldn’t have to go away after all.
But what if she found out more about just how he took care of McKnight? Like the night before, in the bath. McKnight had to keep the cast dry, so Grimes had been taping a plastic bag around it when he showered, but they’d decided a bath would be a good idea and Grimes had ended up sitting on McKnight’s cock in the bathtub with the water sloshing over the sides and his come floating in a milky slick on the surface. McKnight growled in his ear when he came, calling him a ‘good boy’ and telling him how good his asshole felt, and Grimes had sucked the come up, forgetting everything he’d ever been told about not drinking bathwater.
Maybe he would have to go away after all.
Linda McKnight watched her brother’s car pull into the driveway. She watched him get out of the car, a bit awkwardly because his cast was still in the sling. She watched him approach the house cautiously.
“Linda,” he said. “Hey, you’re early. I would have picked you up at the airport if you’d told me.”
“I would rather avoid your driving, but thank you nonetheless.” She turned to Grimes. “He always drives as if there’s a tank chasing him down the freeway.” She turned back to her brother. “I was just getting acquainted with your Mr. Grimes.”
She noticed the slight wince. He didn’t want her to get acquainted with Grimes. She looked at him carefully. He looked… different. He was tense about her sudden, unexpected appearance, but behind the tension he looked relaxed. More relaxed than she’d ever seen him.
She looked at Grimes, who was standing beside her, still but not still. He was vibrating a bit, as if he wasn’t sure if he should go down the stairs to greet Danny, or stay where he was, or go in the house where no one would see him. She looked back at her brother, whose eyes were flickering from her to Grimes and back again, shimmering with all manner of emotions she rarely saw in him.
Fear. He was afraid of something. Resentment. He resented her showing up early. Perhaps he’d had plans for tonight, his last night in her house without her, alone with his young Mr. Grimes. Fondness? More than fondness? The way he looked at Grimes made her feel a bit hot in the face, as if she shouldn’t be watching.
She watched McKnight nod at Grimes. Grimes returned the nod, hesitantly. He seemed to want to reach out, but was pulling himself back. He looked down, at Danny’s feet. Boots.
“Mr. Grimes, have you ever tried an chocolate cigarette? These are quite lovely. There’s talk of banning them in the UK, but in Italy they’re quite common. Why don’t you try one?” She pulled a slim gold case from the purse still dangling from her arm and held it out. She watched him thank her, take the cigarette, light it with a wooden match from the box on the railing, next to the coffee can. She kept her eyes on him while she addressed her brother. “Danny, could I speak to you inside for a moment?”
Grimes inhaled. The smoke did have a chocolatey flavour to it. He let it curl into his lungs slowly.
They’d been in there for a few minutes now. The windows were still open, but they were keeping their voices low so he only caught a few words. “Six weeks”, “my house”, and “none of your business” seemed prominent. Finally, there was a bang, as if one of them had smashed a fist on the heavy side table. He hoped it wasn’t McKnight. He only had one good hand left.
“Do you even know his goddamn first name?”
Grimes jumped as if he’d been hit. McKnight’s sister was angry. With McKnight. Because of Grimes. Because of the way McKnight treated Grimes.
She knew everything.
Maybe not everything. She didn’t know the details. She didn’t know about Grimes cleaning the stairs with his tongue or licking the piss from the slit of McKnight’s cock or Grimes on his hands and knees, naked, licking McKnight’s boots. She didn’t know about him lubing himself in front of McKnight, or about him slowly sucking McKnight while McKnight watched a movie on the television, dropping his hand every now and then to pat Grimes’ head and call him ‘good boy’. But she knew.
McKnight’s sister came out on the porch. She was smoothing the front of her dress. “Shall we have dinner now?” she asked brightly.
Grimes nodded slowly and followed her into the kitchen. It was her kitchen, but he couldn’t help feeling as if she had intruded on his meal. McKnight was leaning on the counter looking vaguely sullen. Grimes went to the cupboard and took out two plates. He heard a discreet ‘tsk’ from McKnight and grabbed a third plate. He set the table awkwardly. He’d only ever set it for one. Two would have seemed strange. Three was absurd.
“Would you like a beer, Danny?”
McKnight nodded. “Sure.”
That was Grimes’ job. He always had a beer on the table for McKnight.
“Here is one for you as well. This smells delicious, Mr. Grimes,” McKnight’s sister said. She placed the steaming pot on a trivet and ladled some onto a plate.
“There’s fresh bread,” Grimes said, and sprang into action. He cut the thick, crusty bread he’d picked up that morning at the bakery around the corner from work. He’d gone straight to the house from work. Tonight was his scheduled night off, so he would sleep later. He put the bread on the table beside the butter dish. McKnight was sitting in his usual spot. Grimes felt awkward, not kneeling on the floor. McKnight’s sister sat opposite, so Grimes had to sit between them, facing the wall.
He’d never eaten in front of McKnight before. Not outside a mess hall.
McKnight’s sister, thankfully, started to talk about Italy. He asked a few polite questions. McKnight made a few comments. Grimes managed to swallow his chili and drink his beer and not make any grave errors.
He was corrected a few times. It was a bit like eating dinner with your English teacher. Which was what McKnight’s sister was, a high school English teacher. Strict, but caring. Very proper about most things. Intimidating. Part of that was her height. She must have been six feet tall in bare feet. And not skinny. Not fat either. But she wasn’t a lightweight. She was solid, like McKnight. It was a bit odd, to see them together. They had the same sharp eyes, the same slightly gruff manner, but they weren’t the same at all.
McKnight had a paper napkin on his thigh. Grimes couldn’t help looking at it, since it was where he wanted to be.
They finished dinner. McKnight’s sister pushed her chair back and looked at McKnight. “An excellent meal. Exactly what I needed to perk me up after the long flight. Do you know what I really want now, Danny?”
McKnight shook his head slowly. He was probably afraid to ask.
“A root beer.”
“We don’t have any… there isn’t any root beer, ma’am. I could make you a pretty good coffee.”
“He makes great coffee,” McKnight added.
His sister turned to Grimes. “You know, you can buy an ice cold Coke just about anywhere in the world, Mr. Grimes, but you cannot find good root beer. The entire time I was in Italy, drinking fine wines and better coffee than you can imagine, I was craving a root beer. There is a store down the street that sells a local brand; it’s the best root beer in the world. Will you go get me a root beer, Danny?” She smiled at Grimes.
Grimes sat on one of the chairs on the front porch. He wasn’t looking into Linda McKnight’s eyes, but he was answering her questions. They were gentle questions about how long he had been keeping company with her brother and his current living situation, which was not practical at all. She didn’t need details. She could imagine the details well enough. She was not some dried up old spinster; she was a woman of the world.
She’d always suspected her brother’s proclivities, since before he’d probably ever experimented. Certainly since before he’d ever admitted them to himself. She’d always known he would be happier with a man, and she knew he would never have a ‘normal’ relationship.
She wondered how much she was to blame for that. It could not have been easy, to be raised by a sister as formidable as her. One would think it would produce a man more of Grimes’ nature than Danny’s, but things were never as cut and dried as they seemed. She wondered what made Grimes the way he was, but had to admit that there did not have to be a single or obvious cause. People were the way they were.
But she’d known her brother longer than anyone on earth. When she was ten years old, she had been the first person to hold him, and she’d held him in her arms as he cried, while the doctors tried to save their mother. And she held him, again while he cried, ten years later when their father drunkenly blamed the boy for the loss of his wife a decade earlier. And when he finished high school, after he moved south to be with her instead of their father, and having learned his math and grammar and history and geography from her because he never could concentrate at school, she was the one who hugged him tight and told him to be careful when he set off for boot camp. She was the one he finally called the first time he felt responsible for the death of another human being, and he hadn’t been able to get to sleep for nights on end. She was the one he came to when he was on leave, and he didn’t want to see anyone else because it was the only time he ever had to be alone. She was the one he trusted, when he returned from Somalia, and he wanted to sit and stare into the empty air for almost a week, until he felt ready to get back into his uniform and report to the base. Ready for duty.
And she’d never seen him like this before. Ever.
He was a new man.
It was because of this young man. She wanted to gather Grimes up in her arms and kiss him all over. It would have smothered him, he was that much smaller than her, but she wanted to do it anyway. She felt like she had a new, little brother. Even younger than her real little brother. More approachable than her real brother. Softer.
But not more innocent. There was no way her brother would be up to what he was likely up to unless Grimes was fully and intentionally involved.
Grimes looked past her, at the glow of the setting sun. McKnight would be back soon. They only had another minute or two to say what really needed to be said.
Grimes cleared his throat. He was a smart lad. He knew why McKnight had been sent to the store. “I take good care of him,” he said quietly.
“I can see that.”
“I’m not taking advantage.”
The dear boy thought she was worried about her brother. No, he couldn’t be that naïve. He must have heard her berating Danny for not treating Grimes as an equal. Or did he think she blamed Grimes for the unorthodox nature of the relationship?
She did not blame him for the nature of it, but she did give him full credit for giving her brother what he so obviously desired.
“I know that, dear. I’m not criticizing you at all. I’m more worried…” She wondered if she should say it out loud. “I’m more worried about Danny taking responsibility. I don’t want him to take you for granted.”
“Did he take you for granted?”
The boldness of the question took her by surprise. The young man had spirit. She should not underestimate him. “No, I don’t believe so.”
Grimes looked her in the eye. “He knows my name.”
McKnight’s sister nodded. She didn’t doubt it. She could almost hear her brother whispering in the dark, when there was no one there to hear.
Danny appeared on the steps, with a six pack of local root beer and a look of trepidation on his face.
Linda McKnight addressed him. “You know, the McCartle cottage is available.”
Danny put the soda pop down on the step. “I beg your pardon?”
“Mildred McCartle’s cottage, down by the stream behind the old post office. It’s empty. That’s why I’m home a day early. She passed on, and the funeral is tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry,” Danny said. Miss McCartle had been his English teacher in his sophomore year, and his sister’s mentor when they first moved here, for his sister’s first teaching job. The only teaching job she’d ever held.
“It was… expected. She was ill for some time, and quite advanced in years. The arrangements were made before I went abroad. I offered to stay here, to care for her, but she insisted I go to Italy. She knew how much it meant to me. Mildred was selfless to the end. And, as it turns out, my absence was beneficial to you.”
She watched her brother squirm. He really wasn’t as in control as he liked to believe. She felt it her older sisterly duty to remind him of that periodically.
“She was in hospital for the last few months. No one has been in the cottage. As executor, it is my duty to find someone to take care of it while the contents are sorted. Perhaps your Mr. Grimes would be up to the task of putting everything in order.”
Grimes opened his mouth, but didn’t speak.
“She was a collector of books and artefacts. And a great letter writer. You will find her effects, shall we say, eclectic. They must be catalogued and donated to the appropriate institutions. After that, the cottage is mine.”
“Yours?”
She looked down at Danny. “Yes, mine. We were friends, and she had no family.” She was irritated that he questioned her on the matter. He should know better than to question her. “I’m offering you a place to live, Daniel. Off base and secluded.”
Danny grinned. “It’s up to John.”
Grimes’ eyes grew to twice their usual size. Linda McKnight would have bet her last dollar it was the first time he’d heard his name spoken out loud in six weeks.
“Well, Mr. Grimes?”
“Um… I’ve never catalogued anything before.”
“You’re a bright young man, I’m sure with the skills you’ve picked up along the way, you’ll manage nicely. I’m authorized to pay a fair wage for the work, and there’s no time limit. You could keep your job with the taxi company and do the work when it is convenient. I would like you to live in the cottage, of course. I don’t like it being left empty as it is.”
Linda McKnight picked up the root beer and went into the house. After the funeral tomorrow, she would show Grimes the cottage. Danny could move his belongings in right away. He could keep her house as his mailing address, so no one in the army would ever know he was sharing a house with a young man. It felt good to be the big sister, to solve a problem for her brother.
Grimes stood up on the porch and looked down at McKnight’s boots. “Sir, is this all acceptable to you?”
McKnight looked at him. “Acceptable? It’s a hundred year old stone cottage a half mile from the nearest road, and I knew Mildred McCartle; it could take you three years to sort through all that stuff.”
Grimes shifted from one foot to the other and McKnight discreetly adjusted his growing cock inside his tightening trousers.
“It’s fucking perfect.” McKnight breathed out.
Continued in McKnight's Date or Grimes’ Date (take your pick - read one, or the other, or both)
Back to: Soldier Porn
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