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Title: The Long Haul - Bliss Alert
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, D-Tech/Army of Two - Grimes/McKnight
Rating: NC-17
Warning: sub/Dom. Emotions. War. Assfucking. You know, soldier stuff.
Disclaimer: I developed these characters from performances in a movie I don't own, and spun them into my dream couple. No harm, no foul.
Note: Takes place right after Repercussions and Shirts vs. Skins. Wow, this is the first new Grimes/McKnight story I've written since I finished Army of Two. I feel like a virgin.
Stop laughing! I said like a virgin…
Summary: McKnight has a short leave, but he's not in any shape to enjoy it. Yet.
Bliss Alert
Grimes stroked McKnight's hair as they lay on the couch. McKnight was exhausted. Grimes couldn’t have got him up the stairs if he tried. For one thing, McKnight was too damn big. For another, he was too damn tired, and that makes a big guy weigh more like a huge guy. But all that was okay because the parlor couch was built for two. So when McKnight fell against Grimes, Grimes let them both fall.
McKnight had both arms around Grimes, holding tight, hands clutching his back, face buried against his neck and hair, breathing ragged. So tired. He just wanted to be home, and Grimes was home, so he clung. That much was obvious. Grimes rubbed his fingers over the bristly gray hairs and felt the hot breath on his neck and the weight of McKnight pressed against him, and he liked it. He liked that he was needed, even if the level of need was a little alarming.
Eventually, McKnight calmed down enough to sleep, but he didn't let go. Grimes wriggled and prodded them into a position that wouldn't cut off any crucial blood supplies by morning. Grimes slept on and off. When he slept he dreamt of McKnight in a hole dug into a hillside, face smeared with dirt and the smell of fear about him. When he woke, he realized it wasn't fear he was smelling; it was the last three days or so, soaked into McKnight's uniform, caked on his skin. Christ, he still had his boots on. There was African dirt on the couch! But Grimes didn't disturb him because McKnight needed the sleep so much. Grimes tried to sleep again, because he needed rest as well, and he wanted to be sharp when McKnight woke.
He wasn't. He was sleeping with his head tilted back against the arm of the couch. He woke to the tickle scrape of tongue and three-day old stubble on his throat. Chapped lips. Teeth that grazed enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stir.
"You're awake," Grimes said, and he could feel the vibration of his own throat against McKnight's mouth.
"You taste like sex," McKnight said.
"Ah, well, when you got here… right before you arrived…" A thin film of dried semen tugged at Grimes' skin. "I was upstairs." Grimes' cock gave a little twitch, like it remembered exactly what Grimes had been doing and had just realized it was pressed against McKnight's stomach, wishing there wasn't a bathrobe and a filthy BDU between it and hot skin.
McKnight noticed. Grimes could feel the smile against his throat. He could feel everything so clearly.
"I'm a wreck," McKnight grumbled, and he rolled away from Grimes, off the couch with his back to it. He didn't want Grimes to see him like that.
Like what? Dirty? As if Grimes had never seen McKnight dirty before. Tired? Hell, anyone would be tired. McKnight probably hadn't slept in a few days, he'd got in late and it was barely dawn. Nothing to be ashamed of there. Scared? He hadn't seemed all that scared earlier. More like freaked out.
It had been rough for Grimes to see that, because dirty, tired, angry, frustrated, grouchy, fed up, pissed off - those were things he'd seen before. He'd even seen scared. McKnight had been scared when Grimes was sick in the hospital. But last night was not scared. It was freaked out. Desperate, even.
Grimes had seen desperate before as well, only he'd seen the good kind of desperate, the kind of desperate that made McKnight grab him and kiss him like he wanted to swallow him up, fuck him like he wanted them fused together.
But not freaked out.
Grimes sat up and put his arms around McKnight's hips and pressed his face to the small of McKnight's back.
There wasn't anything Grimes could do. Wherever it was McKnight had been, wherever he had to go back to in - Grimes calculated - eleven hours, it was a bad place. Terrifying. There wasn't anything Grimes could do about that. He couldn’t even give McKnight a full day of bliss, because part of McKnight was still in that bad place, had to be in that bad place. If Grimes gave McKnight enough bliss to extract him fully, he'd never be able to go back, and McKnight had to go back. It was his job to go back.
"Let me make breakfast while you shower," Grimes suggested.
"I stink that bad?" McKnight half-laughed.
"You want to be clean and fed. It's the fastest way," Grimes said. He would not get in the shower with McKnight. They would never come back out again. Breakfast was too important.
Grimes broke eggs and sliced bread and peeled strips of bacon apart, listening to the water. McKnight had left the door to the bathroom wide open. An invitation. Just from the sound of the water hitting the wall of the shower stall, Grimes could picture the outline of McKnight's body.
Fuck breakfast. He turned off the stove.
McKnight was showering with the lights out. The window of the bathroom was tiny to start with, but this early in the morning no light came in at all. In the almost pitch black, McKnight stood with his face turned up to catch the spray. When Grimes opened the shower door and let in more light, McKnight closed his eyes. Grimes could see dirt swirling on the immaculate white tiles of the shower floor. Sand. Sweat. Tears.
Grimes grabbed a bar of soap and started at the top, soap bubbles popping against sharp hairs, sliding down around ears, over the scar on the side of McKnight's neck. Grimes kept washing, scrubbing, rubbing. He scrubbed shoulders, under arms, barrel chest, thick solid waist. He used a washcloth and his fingers to dislodge dirt that had probably been there since the day after he'd last seen McKnight. That made him a little angry, but he knew what combat was like. Getting clean wasn't even on the list of priorities in a battle zone. Still, it made him angry when he couldn’t take care of his Colonel.
McKnight lifted his arms obediently. He turned when prompted to do so. It wasn't sexual at all when Grimes ran his soapy hands over McKnight's genitals, limp and sagging under the hot water. Grimes carefully lifted the loose balls and washed around them thoroughly. McKnight didn't even flinch when Grimes cleaned his cock, pushing back the foreskin slightly, rinsed it, laid it down again. Didn't make a sound when Grimes' slippery hands soaped his ass. McKnight spread his legs, turned to rinse, turned again. Lifted each foot.
Grimes reached out of the shower and handed McKnight a toothbrush. McKnight brushed furiously while Grimes cleaned his feet. His newly scrubbed skin must have been urging him to get clean everywhere. He spat and rinsed and spat again and turned to face Grimes in the mostly dark.
Grimes stood up.
McKnight put his hands on Grimes' waist. He didn't have to grope or adjust his positioning. He reached out in the dark and put his hands on the faint curve, thumbs at the front, fingers spreading at the sides, palms hovering over hipbones. Aim accurate to within a micron.
The water was hitting McKnight on the back. Bits of it bounced around and sprayed against Grimes' face. Grimes had to shut his eyes, which was okay because it was too dark to see anything anyway. McKnight just stood there with his hands on Grimes' waist. The hot water was going to run out.
"Sir," Grimes said.
McKnight collapsed around him.
Grimes had to go limp so his back could arch without snapping in two from the sudden weight. McKnight had his hands on Grimes' ass now, pulling it forward so they touched everywhere. He was bent over Grimes, with his hot mouth on Grimes' jaw and throat and lips and cheek, devouring.
Bliss alert! Grimes tried to step back, to gain some breathing room, but McKnight wouldn't let go. Grimes slipped and wriggled like a fish. McKnight caught him up and crushed him against his chest.
Well, Grimes thought, McKnight was the commanding officer…
Grimes let himself be devoured. He opened his mouth and twisted his tongue around McKnight's tongue. Moaned while he did it. He let McKnight lift him off the floor and spread his legs, try to lift him up to McKnight's waist. The tiles were cold against his back, and the water was only lukewarm. Grimes stuck one foot out and hit the valve so the water stopped. Now he could hear the noises McKnight was making more clearly. Grunts. Growls. Grimes' name.
McKnight was pressing Grimes against the wall with his whole body, and groaning against his shoulder. His cock wasn't hard, not like Grimes'. Grimes could have fixed that if McKnight would only let go of him, but McKnight wouldn't let go. He would only let Grimes be devoured. Devoured, but not. It was as if he was doing it by rote.
Something was wrong, and there was only one way to stop it.
"Danny!" Grimes said harshly.
McKnight let go of Grimes' legs. The tiles slipped under Grimes' feet for a second, then he was able to stand on his own. McKnight had backed up.
"We'll freeze," Grimes said.
Not really. He was so hot he thought the water might steam off him.
"I don't feel anything," McKnight said.
Precisely the problem.
Grimes got a towel and dried McKnight. He threw on his bathrobe, McKnight's really. He wrapped a fresh bath sheet around McKnight. Ten and a half hours. That didn't give him a lot of time to get McKnight's uniform cleaned and ready, to make and eat breakfast and get at least one other meal into McKnight, plus sex.
If there was going to be sex. There didn't have to be sex. Grimes could live without sex. After all, he'd had a perfect orgasm just the night before. And McKnight didn't seem to want sex. He seemed to want to do sex. But then, McKnight almost always wanted to do sex. But he wasn't hard for it. He didn't need sex. Not as much as he needed Grimes. Or food.
And he needed food badly.
Breakfast was cooked and eaten while the clothes were in the washing machine. Coffee and food perked up McKnight considerably, along with the hot shower. He got a little color in his cheeks. McKnight went to the back room for a smoke while Grimes dealt with the next stage of the laundry.
Grimes was not surprised, nor was he even upset that McKnight had taken up smoking again. McKnight always smoked more in a combat situation. He would give it up again in time.
McKnight was brushing his teeth when Grimes came upstairs.
"Can't get the taste of the smoke out of my mouth," McKnight said. Grimes could tell he wasn't talking about cigarette smoke. He was talking about the smoke of gunfire and seared flesh and land mines and screams.
Bad place.
Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea for Grimes to give McKnight something better to taste. A little taste of bliss.
McKnight stood in the doorway of the kitchen and watched Grimes do the dishes. When Grimes turned around, McKnight was staring at him.
Staring.
"You tasted good last night, and this morning," McKnight said.
"I just tasted like me," Grimes said.
McKnight licked his lips. "You wanna tell me why you tasted so good?"
Heat crept up Grimes' neck. "Oh, um, just before you got here I was…"
McKnight's eyes narrowed.
"I was jerking off, sir. I was trying to, you know. Fantasize."
"Just trying?"
"Yeah. I tried to think…of someone."
"Someone?" McKnight repeated.
"Someone… else," Grimes said feebly, in a fit of utterly inappropriate honesty, but it wasn't all bad because McKnight's eyes narrowed a bit more, and he looked almost jealous, and that was the first real emotion he'd displayed since walking in the door.
"What?" McKnight growled.
Even his voice sounded more alive.
"You know. Fantasy," Grimes stuttered. "I was lonely. I missed you, and I was horny. I tried to think about… you know…"
"Who?" McKnight demanded. Startlingly loudly.
"No one, sir. No one in particular. I mean, I couldn't."
McKnight advanced on Grimes. Grimes backed up until the bottom of his ass hit the edge of the kitchen table.
"You tasted like you were able to," McKnight said.
"I know. I had my hand on my cock and I tried to imagine someone with a cock like mine." That was a lie, but it was plausible. Somehow Grimes knew this was the exact wrong moment to mention his new job and his new bosses.
"Who has a cock like yours?"
"No one, sir."
"You're damn right."
"I just tried it, for a new thing to do, sir. But it didn't matter, anyway, because I couldn't. I could only think about your cock."
"My cock is nothing like your cock."
No, it wasn't. It was bigger. A lot bigger. So much bigger the bath sheet was a bath tent, even though it wasn't even all that hard.
"No, sir, your cock is different." Grimes slipped a hand under the towel. He walked his fingers up McKnight's thigh.
Nope. Not hard. Swollen. Meaty. But not hard. Jealousy had woken him up, thought. Enough to make a tent out of a sheet. That was a start.
McKnight's hand darted inside the bathrobe, where Grimes was embarrassingly, excruciatingly, teenager hard.
McKnight reached behind Grimes and made a noise like a water buffalo.
Grimes had never actually heard a water buffalo.
But one time, in Somalia, a couple of Deltas had lifted a portable toilet while another Delta was taking a crap. They'd grunted from the effort, and Sergeant Sanderson, who had been lounging against a nearby wall, had said, "You two sound like a couple of water buffaloes in heat."
It was probably, on reflection, a mistake to think about anything involving Sergeant Sanderson.
McKnight sounded like a water buffalo from effort. It was from the effort of keeping one arm wrapped around Grimes' waist, lifting Grimes up off the table, lifting the whole table up off the floor and tilting it so everything slid off. Breakfast dishes. Cutlery. Coffee cups. Everything. On the floor.
Grimes was going to have to clean all that up at some point.
Grimes was then laid out on the table.
It was a good place to be.
This was not the time to worry abut the mess on the floor.
McKnight rubbed his whole body over Grimes. He bundled the towel and shoved it under Grimes' hips, raising them, raising his cock, raising the bar.
With his body tilted like that, Grimes' blood couldn't decide which head to rush to. McKnight sucked the skin on Grimes' neck, and the blood swirled around, so unsure of where to go it made Grimes dizzy. McKnight was grunting again, Grimes' name and a wordless sound that was the sound of need and sex with maybe a bit of effort and some residual jealousy.
Grimes wanted to touch McKnight but he was pinned to the table. All he could touch was McKnight's head, so he pressed his fingertips down, stabbing them with the sharp hairs.
McKnight humped against him ferociously, until Grimes got scared he was going to come. "Sir!" he warned, and McKnight lifted off him, baffled look on his face.
"I didn't mean stop, sir." Grimes whined. He hadn't. He didn't. He wanted, very badly, to have McKnight on top of him.
McKnight stared down at him, and his eyes were so fucking blue, ice blue, ice so cold it burned.
"Yes?" McKnight asked.
Grimes swallowed his spit. He was drooling, for fuck's sake. He was supposed to answer. "I was going to come, sir. You were going to make me come."
"And you stopped me?" McKnight bellowed. Then he froze for a little while, thinking. Grimes could tell he was thinking about making Grimes come by rubbing all over him, because Grimes could tell that sort of thing. Grimes lay perfectly still while McKnight thought about that.
"Not a problem," McKnight concluded. He disappeared from view, and then Grimes' cock was engulfed in wet flames.
That's his tongue, Grimes thought helplessly. That's his tongue on my cock, and he could have had anything he wanted, because he knows I'd give him anything he wanted, and he wants that.
Grimes almost screamed. He managed not to scream by gasping in a lungful of air at the same time the urge to scream hit. It was at that same moment his balls clenched tight and McKnight growled around his cock. Then, almost instantly, although there were a good two minutes following that - two minutes he would never be able to fully account for - come-scented breath washed over his face.
"Good boy," McKnight said.
And he stabbed Grimes in the thigh with his rock hard cock.
The buzzer from the dryer went off, indicating the end of the cycle.
* * *
Grimes opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the clock, which told him that the time was almost up. Then he noticed that the uniform he'd neatly folded and draped over the back of the chair was no longer draped over the chair. Then he noticed that his asshole hurt.
McKnight was fastening the top button of his BDU.
Right. Then he remembered being on his back with his ankles up by his ears. McKnight swearing up a storm and telling him he was forbidden to think about anyone but McKnight when he jerked off. Grimes telling him in jittery broken sentences that that was what he'd been trying to tell McKnight - that it was impossible for him to think of anyone else.
Sex and McKnight were the same thing.
McKnight sat on the edge of the bed.
"I have to go."
"I know."
"I couldn't go if it wasn't for you."
"Yes, sir."
"I know that sounds fucked up. You should make me want to stay here forever. And you do. But I have to go, and you…" McKnight scrunched up his eyes. "That was what I needed."
Grimes would have said it was what he needed too, but that would have trivialized what McKnight had needed.
McKnight slid his hand under the covers, between Grimes' legs. "Did I… hurt you?"
Which time? Grimes thought, still a little dazed.
"I'll be fine in a day or two, sir." And for those two days, every time Grimes sat down, or walked, or breathed…
"I don't want you to miss me," McKnight said.
Then don't go. But he had to. "Can't be helped, sir."
"I want you to keep busy. You've got your new job. Go out with Linda. Do something. Anything. I hate the idea of you being lonely."
Grimes tried to smile shyly. "I could always jerk off, sir." He would wear out his dick, but that might be helpful.
"No, not when you're lonely. I don't want you being lonely and jerking off. Only when you're horny."
"But I'm always horny when I think about you, sir."
McKnight slid his finger down and patted the swollen opening gently. "I think I gave you a month's worth of fucking," he said.
"Enough to cover the time you've been gone," Grimes said. He was sore, but he wanted the finger inside him anyway. He pressed down. "You'll have to do it all over again when you get back," Grimes breathed out.
McKnight leaned down, lips grazing Grimes' ear. His finger slipped inside to the first joint. Grimes' asshole was hot and swollen but not tight. McKnight pushed in to the next joint and Grimes tightened his muscles around the finger. Instinct. Reflex.
"It's not just sex," McKnight whispered.
No, but there was nothing wrong with sex. And on the kitchen table, that first fuck, when McKnight was swearing and slamming into him, that had been just sex.
Not later. Not when they fucked in the bed. That had been sex too, but not only sex. It was amazing how it could be not just sex when McKnight's cock was buried that deep in him, pushing up into him and McKnight's lips were pressed against his forehead and he was saying the things he'd said then. And Grimes had said the things he'd said bad. The thought of it made his guts heat up.
"Now I gotta get on the plane with a woody," McKnight grumbled.
"You're the one who touched my asshole, sir," Grimes pointed out.
Then he imagined McKnight on the plane with a huge, fat hard on. And he imagined himself as a young private, going off to a war zone for the first time, scared half to death and staring across the aisle at the big, fat dick of his commanding officer.
McKnight pushed his finger all the way in. "I didn't just touch your asshole; I fucked your asshole, soldier. And don't you forget it."
Forget it? How could he forget something he was going to feel, acutely, for at least the next few days?
McKnight slid his mouth down and licked across Grimes' chest. "That was a mistake," he mumbled.
Grimes desperately tried to figure out what mistake McKnight could possibly have made. There was nothing, not one act, not one word, Grimes would classify as an error. Like when McKnight had pushed inside him that first time and said he was finally home, that wasn't a mistake; it was perfect. And in the middle of fucking Grimes on the table, when McKnight had covered Grimes' mouth with his and groaned into Grimes' mouth, that was what had made Grimes' hard again. And at the end of that fuck, when McKnight had pulled out all of a sudden and let his come spray onto Grimes' hard cock, and then he'd explained, "I want you nice and loose but not too wet for when I fuck you again," that had not been a mistake; that had been fucking ideal.
McKnight licked again. "Next time I shave your chest, I do it when I'm in town," he said. "I… don't want to miss anything." He ran his tongue up and down, with and against the grain of the short chest hairs. "Fuck, that's beautiful." McKnight dipped his head down and sucked Grimes' nipple into his mouth. And crooked his finger. And moaned a little.
Grimes pushed his nipple up into McKnight's mouth and squeezed around McKnight's finger. McKnight groaned and pulled out. Grimes didn't blame him for that. He knew McKnight didn't want to. He had to. Had to go. War is fucking hell.
Grimes stared at the finger when McKnight stood up. Wasn't McKnight going to go wash his hands? He wasn't going to fly halfway across the world like that, was he?
"Now, keep your fingers and any foreign objects out of that hole until I get back."
Grimes nodded. "Virgin tight, sir," he said, wishing McKnight never had to take the finger out. "I'll be good."
"When I come back you're going to be so tight I won't be able to fuck you," McKnight muttered.
And it wouldn't be just about the sex. Not until McKnight had Grimes all loosened up and ready for fucking. And even then it wouldn't be just about the sex, except for the few minutes when it couldn't be helped.
McKnight picked up a towel from the floor and wiped his hand. "Jesus, John. Do you have any idea how hard it is for me to walk away from you?"
Grimes sat up. McKnight grabbed his shoulders.
Grimes could tell which finger had been inside him because it was still warmer than all the others. If he said that out loud, if he told McKnight that, he would get fucked once more and McKnight would barely make it to the airfield on time.
"Danny, you'll be home soon," he said, instead. "You'll be back here before…" No, that was wrong. Not before he knew it. He would know it. And he would be doing important stuff, stuff that should not be dismissed as 'before you know it'.
"You'd have to be gone a long time before I get tight as a virgin again," Grimes said lightly.
McKnight laughed. His eyes still looked tired, but the laugh was genuine. "Don't jerk off for three days," McKnight said. "I won't either." He wouldn't have time, Grimes knew. But it would give Grimes a challenge. "And if you do happen to think about someone else, that's okay. It's not your fault you know. As long as… when you do come…"
There was no way Grimes would think of anyone else.
McKnight walked out the door.
Back to Soldier Porn, or on to more Long Haul fic in Full Body Massage
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