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Title: 9 – Grimes’ Date
Author: Haleth
Fandom/Pairing: BHD. McKnight/Grimes
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Kink. Grimes’ style.
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: There are two sides to every date.
Grimes’ Date
Grimes turned the burled walnut box over and over in his hands. The craftsmanship was impressive, and the wood practically glowed in the light of the sun, speckles of rich brown swirling into darker knots, sanded and polished smoother than glass. The wooden hinge still worked effortlessly and silently, and the inside was a finely polished as the outside. The date etched into the inside of the lid said 1927.
Within lay a sheaf of letters bound in a faded grey ribbon. He unfolded each sheet carefully and saw that they were all from the same person, a series of letters written over the course of three years, discussing life and literature in terse, exact short sentences. He could almost picture the young Mildred McCartle writing some of her first letters, fan letters really, when she was still in teacher’s college. She must have asked all sorts of questions about writing and language and the art of literature, because the letters seemed to be honest attempts to answer them, in a gruff and slightly patronizing manner.
They were all from Ernest Hemingway. Ernest fucking Hemingway. They must be worth a freaking fortune. He put them back in the box, since it had kept them safe this long, and put the box in the sideboard.
He’d chosen the dining room for storing correspondence with writers and politicians and famous people because it had the largest window in the house, facing the south so the sun always came in. It would be easier to read the letters, some faded and tattered, in sunlight than in any other. Also, the dining room table was large, so he could spread out multiple pages and still have room for the book he was using to diligently record all his findings.
It was astounding. He was finding the most amazing things, and having trouble sticking to the plan. It was hard. There were so many temptations. He shouldn’t have looked at the letters for so long, he should have just noticed they were letters and put them straight into the sideboard. But when he saw the name, who could blame him? He had to sort first, though, then catalogue. Or else he would never get through it all. Mildred McCartle gave new meaning to the word “packrat”.
His first order of business had been to clean the kitchen out. He washed everything and packed the massive collection of roosters into cardboard boxes. Ceramic, metal, glass, wooden, painted, stained and carved roosters. Ornaments, wind chimes, salt and pepper shakers, trivets, teapots, even an oil lamp.
The whole house was like that. Collection after collection. The fridge, thankfully, had been emptied by someone, probably McKnight’s sister, who insisted he call her Linda, which he did to her face but in his head he called her McKnight’s sister. She called him Mr. Grimes, which made him feel uncomfortable and special at the same time. He was glad she didn’t choose to call him John. It would have seemed too intimate. The way she said Mr. Grimes was so familiar, so natural, it was like she was calling him by his first name anyway.
He really liked McKnight’s sister. She scared the hell out of him sometimes, because she seemed to understand everything about him and McKnight, but she wasn’t judgemental and she never asked embarrassing questions.
She’d set a fair wage for the work he was doing. He was sceptical at first, about the amount of money it would cost to have him go through all the “effects”, as he’d taken to calling them, since “junk” and “crap” seemed to really irritate McKnight’s sister. Then he started going through the papers in the last drawer from the left in the kitchen, bank statements and stock reports, and he came to understand that Mildred McCartle had been quite well-off for a school teacher. She’d inherited the cottage in the fifties and invested her pay wisely. She had not smoked or imbibed, so her expenses were low, and she never travelled, but she wrote to people over the world.
In short, there was enough money to pay him to sort the contents of her cottage for longer than he would be alive, and enough contents to keep him busy for at least as long.
He didn’t know if either of the McKnights would want him to live in the cottage for quite that long. But he could hope.
The kitchen, like the one bathroom, had been re-done in the forties, so the fixtures were old but solid, and Mildred had taken good care of them. The sink was huge, cast iron with slightly yellowed enamel and an arcing tap with porcelain handles. He loved it, and the window above it that looked out on the stream. He moved in a coffee maker and a toaster. He scrubbed the tile floor and backsplash, sanded down the butcher block counter, washed all the everyday dishes, packed away the good ones, and fixed up the wobbly table. It had only taken a few days to get the kitchen operational, and then he started on the bathroom.
He wished there were more hours in the day. Moving in would save him travel time. He’d brought his belongings over in a cab that morning. He hadn’t slept at all, even though he’d worked the whole night shift before, because he didn’t have to go to work that night. It was his night off, and he was going out.
Tonight he was going out with McKnight.
He couldn’t think about that too much. He had things to get done.
He considered quitting the job at the cab company. It would give him a lot more time to work on the cottage. But McKnight didn’t seem to want him to quit. Grimes figured McKnight didn’t want him to get dependent on him or his sister.
It took about twenty minutes to drive from McKnight’s sister’s house to the cottage. You had to drive to the main road and over the bridge and then double back through a maze of streets that had been put in haphazardly over the years, then there was the long, unpaved driveway that led from the old post office, which was now a café and tourist shop, down through the woods to the cottage.
Grimes couldn’t even begin to guess how much the property was worth.
As it turned out, there was an easier way. To the north of the cottage lay a stand of hardwoods, and a winding path went through the trees and emerged from a gap in the hedges in the back of McKnight’s sister’s house. It was one of the reasons McKnight’s sister had chosen that property, so she could visit her friend, who was by then retired and had always been a bit frail.
Now McKnight used the path. He had moved off base and lived at his sister’s house. He drove home after work, parked his car, and came down to the cottage. He watched Grimes work, helped move things when needed. When he got impatient, he would clear his throat and put his hand on Grimes’ shoulder. Grimes would sink to his knees and do what he loved best. At the end of the evening, Grimes would go to work, and McKnight would walk back to his sister’s house. His new home.
But tonight, McKnight was going to sleep here. With Grimes. All night long.
Grimes went upstairs to the bedroom. It was the next room he’d finished cleaning. After the bathroom of course.
The bathroom was amazing. It had been dull and ordinary-looking when Grimes first saw it, but when he started to clean it he realized that the tiles weren’t ceramic but glass, and that the blue of the band that ran around the room at chest level was like a semi-precious jewel, it shimmered and had such depth.
The tub was one of those huge, claw-foot iron ones, and although they’d never shared it, Grimes expected he and McKnight would both fit easily. The real bonus was the grab bars. In her declining years, Mildred had bars installed to help her get in and out, and the way they were positioned on the walls probably had something to do with the old wood framing behind the tiles, but seemed, to Grimes, to be situated with fucking in mind.
He highly doubted Mildred had ever fucked in the tub, but he knew he would someday. Soon.
He’d been worried about the lack of shower, because McKnight preferred showers, until he opened what he thought was a linen closet and found a retrofitted, tiled shower stall. Complete with a built in seat. And grab bars.
As soon as McKnight’s cast was off, they were going to make full use of the shower stall.
Grimes’ new bedroom was at the back. It was the smallest of the four, and had contained the least amount of junk. Grimes cleared the winter clothes out of the storage wardrobe, sending the furs to a reputable cleaner and the rest to a store that specialized in vintage clothing for sale on consignment. He painstakingly chipped open the window, which had been painted shut, and aired the room out. He hauled the mattress outside, beat the hell out of it and left it in the sun every day for a week. The ticking was still good. It had barely ever been used, but dusty. Not when Grimes was finished with it.
Before he put back the mattress, he went over the whole bed and made sure all the joinery was sound. It was a very old bed, with wooden slats and nothing else to hold up the mattress. He tested the wood, and replaced a few of the pieces. He bought new linens. He polished the mirror over the bureau. It was situated at the foot of the bed. It got him excited every time he looked at it.
Now, he looked at the bed with its pale green sheets and four brand new pillows. He wasn’t sure why he’d bought four pillows. McKnight didn’t even use a pillow when he slept. But maybe he would need them. He shifted from foot to foot and thought about some of the ways one could use four pillows. With a mirror at the foot of the bed.
Maybe he and McKnight hadn’t been spending enough time together.
He would fix that tonight.
It was hard to find enough time out of the day. He worked, went home and slept, got to the cottage around three, worked more, went to work around eleven. That didn’t leave much time. Tonight was his night off, though.
And he would sleep here. With McKnight.
He hoped. Neither of them had come out and said it. Out loud. But he was pretty sure McKnight understood.
McKnight wasn’t coming here this afternoon. He had a late meeting. And he had tickets for a show. The tickets had only been on sale for a week. It was a bit of a surprise show. McKnight seemed really into seeing the band, and had asked Grimes if he wanted to go.
That had thrown Grimes for a loop. Going out to a public place. It wasn’t like it was a date or anything, but still. He would have to spend the evening with McKnight and there wouldn’t be any opportunity for McKnight to clear his throat and touch him on the shoulder.
He said yes, of course. McKnight hadn’t been hanging out with anyone, so there wasn’t anyone else for him to go with, really. It wouldn’t do for him to go to a bar alone. He would drink and drive home and that wasn’t safe. Grimes would limit himself to one beer and drive home. He’d never driven McKnight’s car before, but it wasn’t all that different from the one Grimes had learned to drive on.
He’d been wasting time all day, thinking about going out, and then sleeping here. With McKnight. He had to pull himself together.
He heard a noise downstairs. It must have been McKnight’s sister. He went downstairs.
“Hello, Mr. Grimes. I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this.” She put a grocery bag on the kitchen table.
“Not at all, Linda.” McKnight’s sister had brought groceries, knowing that he had moved his things in that day and probably hadn’t had time to shop. She was so thoughtful, and treated him like he was her little brother. It made Grimes feel inadequate, somehow. He was respectful and even friendly with her, but not as casual as she was at times. She liked to give him a hug or a kiss on the cheek. Once she’d tucked in his t-shirt.
Man, the way McKnight looked when she did that. He either wanted to slap her or pull the t-shirt back out again or… something.
If McKnight’s sister only knew what McKnight had done with the t-shirt later that same night, when he wiped the sweat and come and lube off Grimes’ belly with it…
He told McKnight’s sister about the box of letters from Hemingway. She was very pleased and asked if she might take them home to look at them. He couldn’t refuse – everything in the cottage belonged to her, in a way. Mildred had left the cottage and household goods to McKnight’s sister, and the ‘collections’ were to be sold or distributed as she saw fit, with the proceeds to be divided between McKnight’s sister, the upkeep of the cottage and various local charities. There was talk of a scholarship fund.
He retrieved the box and McKnight’s sister’s eyes lit up. She was an English teacher; that was to be expected. “Mildred showed me these, once.”
“I think you should put them somewhere safe,” Grimes said.
“Did you not install the new locks as I instructed?”
“I did, but… Ernest Hemingway.” It was surreal.
“I am so glad you’ll be living here, now.”
“I work nights.”
“But Danny will be sleeping here.”
So that was the plan, then. He must have talked to his sister about it.
“I wish you would reconsider quitting the night job. Even I was not aware of the extreme scope of the task. I’d be happy to pay you full-time wages.”
Grimes shrugged. He would think it over. He took her on a brief tour, showing her which rooms and corners he’d designated for books, for letters, for china and knick knacks, for essays and all manner of papers, and the desk he’d cleared for the computer. She was pleased with his work. She gave him a kiss on the forehead before heading out the door.
“Have fun tonight,” she said, like a mother wishing her son a good time on a date.
Date. Shit. He had to hurry now. It was really late. He rushed in to close and lock all the windows. Then he got into the shower. He couldn’t help running a hand along the silver grab bar as the warm water poured over his head. Leverage. Yeah. One more week and the cast would be off. McKnight could get as wet as he wanted.
His cock was standing proud just from the idea.
He slid his soapy hand down his slim torso and gripped himself firmly.
For a month he’d been working at the cottage in the late afternoons and evenings. And for the last week he’d been coming by right after work to haul the mattress out, and then back again after he went home for a sleep. McKnight came by every night, staying for anywhere from an hour to until Grimes had to leave to go to his night job. About half of the time something happened. Mostly it was Grimes on his knees. There wasn’t really any place to do anything else. Everything was musty and old or in ill repair or covered in papers and books or was old lady furniture, not up to the task.
Then, a few nights ago, McKnight’s sister showed up in a pick-up truck borrowed from a shop teacher. McKnight’s armchair was in the back of it.
She said she wanted to redecorate. She said she was going to buy a new chair, and that this one could go in the cottage since she knew McKnight liked it.
That night Grimes had got on his knees as fast as he could. He gave McKnight’s cock a thorough, wet sucking. Then he got up and turned around and dropped his jeans. McKnight’s hand on his ass made him moan. He bent over as ordered, and shivered when saliva-slick fingers circled his hole. They slid inside and he felt McKnight’s cast scratch across his flank. He wriggled and pleaded. He didn’t say anything more than ‘sir’, but it was enough to make McKnight pull him down on his lap.
He’d arched his back and whimpered when McKnight felt all over his chest and stomach. The plaster of the cast was cool on his waist. McKnight’s fingers were warm around his cock. McKnight’s mouth was hot on his neck.
“I’ve been wanting to fuck for so long,” McKnight rasped.
Grimes tilted his head back under the shower and moaned, “Me too, sir,” as he came.
Now he was really late.
He ran upstairs naked and pulled on a pair of clean jeans. They were his loosest pair. Not his best, but he didn’t want his erection to be too noticeable. And he knew he would be erect because he was going to be with McKnight. Just the sound of McKnight’s voice got him hard. In a bar, with music and people around, McKnight would have to lean in close, maybe talk close enough for Grimes to feel his breath. McKnight wouldn’t hear him so well, so Grimes would have to lean in close, with his lips inches, maybe an inch, maybe even less, from McKnight’s good ear.
He put on a t-shirt. He hadn’t unpacked many clothes yet, not that he had many, and it was the only clean one he had left. It was a bit tight, but that was okay.
He ran his fingers through his wet hair. It was getting longer. Last night, when he’d been sucking McKnight’s cock, McKnight had grabbed it and tugged. Grimes had almost come in his jeans. Fuck. It was great. He was going to let it grow as long as possible.
He called a cab. The competition. He felt a bit guilty, but he didn’t want to have to deal with a driver he knew. He’d been planning on taking the bus, but he was too far behind schedule. He got to the bar late, and spotted McKnight leaning against the wall smoking.
He wasn’t in uniform.
Of course, he wasn’t in uniform. Why would he wear his uniform to a bar? But where did he change? He’d had a late meeting. He must have changed at work. Which meant he’d brought the clothes to work. That morning, while Grimes was finishing his shift and thinking about the move to the cottage, McKnight had picked out clothes to change into so they could go out. But it wasn’t a date.
Fuck, he looked good. Grimes liked the way the jeans fit him. They were a bit tighter that what he was used to; it would be hard to get his cock out comfortably, but they looked nice. And the shirt was dark green, not a military green at all. It looked soft. It was open at the neck, and Grimes could see hairs curling against pale skin. The sleeves were rolled up, one to make room for the cast, the other revealing a thick, hard forearm.
McKnight looked relieved. Had he thought Grimes was not coming?
Grimes apologized, and had to fight to not say ‘sir’. He wanted to say ‘sir’ really badly. But it was outside a blues bar and people milled around, and most of them were men who were probably straight and the ones who weren’t probably wouldn’t understand anyway. So he smiled and McKnight’s eyes flicked over him and heated him until he felt good.
It was a huge bar. There were a lot of people there. And Grimes recognized quite a few from the base. They talked a bit. Grimes found himself babbling a bit but he couldn’t help it. He had to talk or he might explode.
He saw his roommates, whom he’d seen that morning as he tossed his duffel bag and a couple of boxes into a cab, but it was still polite to go over and talk to them. He risked a single, quiet, surreptitious ‘sir’ and went over to talk. The guy who was moving into Grimes old room was there. He was a nice-looking, clean-cut kid from Oklahoma with sandy hair and bright blue eyes.
Grimes could feel McKnight watching him. Or trying not to watch him. He looked over his shoulder and saw Struecker talking to McKnight. McKnight looked displeased. Was he displeased with Grimes? Was it bad that he was talking to his friends? Maybe McKnight didn’t like him talking to the kid. He couldn’t understand why. The kid was not his type at all. Way too pretty, too young and too slender.
It seemed hypocritical to not like slender when he was so slender, but that’s the way things are sometimes.
He wasn’t always this slender. He’d lost weight after Somalia and it had never come back. For a while, he’d thought he’d lost a part of himself. In fact, he was sure he’d lost a part of himself.
He was the same size now as he’d been in high school. It didn’t bother him anymore, because McKnight seemed to like it.
McKnight’s sister was always telling him to eat more. She wasn’t slender. She carried her weight and height so well, though, it didn’t matter. He used to like slim women, but McKnight’s sister made him see how slim wasn’t everything. Not that he was attracted to her in any way. She was 25 years older than him and, well, she was McKnight’s sister. But he didn’t understand why there wasn’t a line-up of older men at the door. She was smart and funny and when she wasn’t correcting his English she was interesting to talk to and her hair was really beautiful.
He often wondered what McKnight’s hair would look like if he ever grew it out. He couldn’t imagine it.
The opening band was good, but McKnight kept looking at the singer with his eyes squinting a bit and Grimes didn’t like that. He couldn’t tell if McKnight was reacting to her the way the other guys were, which was pretty raucous, and hiding it well, or what.
Grimes knew when McKnight was looking at him with desire. He could feel it from twenty paces. But he had no idea what McKnight looked like when he liked a woman. He assumed it would be different, but there was no way for him to know how, because he’d never actually seen McKnight around another woman, unless the woman was McKnight’s sister or a soldier, and there weren’t that many of them around the Ranger part of the base.
During the break, Grimes noticed Captain Steele. He wasn’t his commanding officer anymore. Grimes wasn’t in that army. But it still made him nervous. Steele didn’t like him, he knew that. He’d always been down on the company clerk. Grimes stayed at the table, nursing the one beer he’d allowed himself until it was warm. He switched to coke and ordered a third beer for McKnight.
McKnight was talking to some guys and a few girls. One of them was looking at McKnight and moved a little closer to him. McKnight didn’t seem to notice, but then he could look nonchalantly at the TV while getting a blow job, so that didn’t mean anything. One girl was draped all over a sergeant and Grimes wished, for a second, that the world was very different and he didn’t have to be so damn surreptitious all the time.
When McKnight sat down he looked a bit flushed. Maybe he liked the women. Maybe Grimes would have to do something to remind him of why he would prefer Grimes. Grimes wished he could slide under the table and rub his cheek on McKnight’s thigh. He liked rubbing against McKnight. It gave him goose bumps. He sipped his coke and paid attention to the stage. The show was starting.
The show was great, the band was great, the music was great, the slide guitar was fucking awesome. But then, McKnight wouldn’t take him to a bad show. He couldn’t help smiling at McKnight when the house lights came back on. He was having a good time, in spite of the risk involved in going out in public with the man he lived to serve.
McKnight was studying him with a strange look in his eye. Sizing him up, maybe. Deciding what to do with him. Grimes smiled wider. McKnight hadn’t been attracted to those women after all. He couldn’t have been if he was looking at Grimes like that.
No one else would notice it, but Grimes knew.
Struecker came back and seemed to find it hilarious that Grimes was going to drive McKnight home. He suspected Struecker might just be being an asshole, but then he thought it out a bit further. McKnight could handle anything. He’d had four beers over several hours. He could drive himself home, if need be. Through a battle with mortars dropping. He didn’t need Grimes as a designated driver. It might have been a bit funny.
Grimes feared Struecker was laughing at the lameness of the excuse. Pretend to be too drunk to drive so you can get your fuck buddy to go home with you.
Then he realized, with some relief, that Struecker was pissed drunk. He hoped Struecker had a designated driver, because there was no way Grimes was going to waste time seeing him safely back to base.
“Let’s go,” McKnight said. Low. Almost a growl. A promise.
They didn’t touch as they crossed the parking lot and McKnight led Grimes through an alley and around a corner. There were warehouses on both sides of the street, deserted at this late hour. The Crown Vic was parked in the shadow of a huge refuse bin that had pieces of wood sticking out of it, from the building beside it that had a sign saying it was being converted to condos. The car was dark in the shadow of it.
Fuck. McKnight couldn’t have parked in a better spot if he’d planned it.
Maybe he had planned it.
Grimes’ already hard cock got harder. “Sir,” he said as he opened the passenger side door with as much reverence as he could possibly muster. McKnight got in and Grimes could see his cock, hard, straining against the jeans. Black jeans. He’d always liked black jeans.
Grimes had pushed the seat back as far as it would go, which was pretty far. He was sure he’d be able to fit. He took deep, calming breaths as he walked around the car and got into the driver’s side. He started the engine and stalled a bit, trying to figure out the best way to approach the situation.
He gave up trying to figure it out and simply twisted and crammed himself between the dashboard and McKnight. There was no way he could wait until they got home. He needed to serve, and he needed to serve NOW. He waited until McKnight whispered, “Good boy.” That’s when he knew everything was okay. He worked McKnight’s stiff cock out of his jeans.
Soap. Clean. McKnight had a late meeting at the base. He must had grabbed a shower there before he came to the bar. He tried to picture McKnight naked in the shower room. He didn’t know what the showers looked like in the officer’s quarters. He knew they had a separate change room off the gym. They couldn’t be that much different from the ones in the enlisted men’s side. Maybe they were cleaned more often. Or there was tile all the way around instead of the painted concrete block in the change area, and plain concrete floors.
And when he was finished showering, which Grimes would have paid to watch because McKnight was clean all over and he must have run his soapy hand over his balls and around his cock, then he would have put his uniform into a bag and put on the jeans and the shirt.
How would McKnight explain such a thing? He never wore civvies. He wore an old uniform on his fucking day off.
And the shirt sleeves were rolled up neatly. McKnight could do the one on his left arm by himself, but the right one? With his left hand, while it was in a cast?? Someone must have helped. What would McKnight say? How would he ask? ‘Oh, Captain, would you mind rolling this sleeve up for me? Neatly, please, I have a date and I want to look my best?’ Who the fuck had rolled up his sleeve?
Grimes realized it didn’t matter, because McKnight was stroking the bare skin at the hem of his t-shirt and, and then he was stroking Grimes’ hair, and Grimes knew McKnight didn’t want to command anyone else but him. He grasped his arms behind his back and revelled in the taste and fullness in his mouth.
He almost choked when McKnight’s hand ran over his shoulder blades. The touch was so gentle, but so certain. When McKnight touched Grimes’ cheek with his thumb, it felt like his cockhead doubled in size. It was filling the back of Grimes’ mouth, his throat. He was embarrassed that he choked. That wasn’t supposed to happen.
He’d ruined everything. He apologized, but he didn’t suppose it would be enough.
Grimes wasn’t sure why McKnight grabbed the front of his shirt. It didn’t make sense at first. Then he felt McKnight’s mouth on his and he was being kissed.
Kissed.
Not as a reward for a doing a good job, since he hadn’t done the job yet, and not as an inducement to put out, since he was obviously already putting out and had never denied McKnight a fuck when it was possible. And it was clearly impossible to fuck in the car. There were size and injury and privacy issues too big to ignore. But McKnight was kissing him.
And it felt good. It felt so good. The hand on his shirt was demanding, and the cast was heavy on the back of his neck, and the fingers, getting stronger every day, held him in place.
This could go on forever. He wouldn’t complain.
But it didn’t, because McKnight moved back and Grimes blinked, slowly coming to the awareness that he had his mouth open and McKnight’s hard cock was nowhere near it. He dove down, sucked it into his mouth.
Oh, fuck, this was the best McKnight had ever tasted. He was leaking a lot, and it made Grimes’ mouth water, just to sample what was to come. McKnight kept his hands on Grimes’ shoulders and hitched his hips up so he was fucking into Grimes’ mouth. Fast, so fast, it was like lightening. The groan, the stiffening of his hips, the twitching rolling pulse of his cock, the flood of good, fresh come and McKnight’s muttered curses.
Grimes loved the way McKnight cursed when he came. It was beautiful.
McKnight sat back, head tilted up, panting.
Grimes was hard, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. He untucked McKnight’s shirt and spread it over his crotch. That would be easier than tucking him back into those tight jeans when he was still so sensitive. Then Grimes wriggled back up into his seat and put the car into gear.
McKnight rocked his head to the side and looked at Grimes. “You okay?”
Grimes smiled. “Until we get home.”
Home. Yeah. A four-bedroom, stone cottage in the most isolated spot possible within city limits. You couldn’t hear anything happening in the cottage when the doors and windows were closed. Grimes had run tests. He’d played his portable stereo at top volume. You had to actually get inside the front gate before you could hear even a hint of it.
Grimes pulled away from the curb and drifted up the deserted street...almost deserted street. There was a car in the entrance to an alley, at the very end. As he drove past, Grimes could have sworn he saw Sanderson flit from a shadow to the passenger side door.
And the glint of the streetlight off a shaved scalp on the driver’s side.
He smiled and turned left and headed home.
End
You can read about the date from McKnight’s perspective, or move along to After The Date
Back to: Soldier Porn
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