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Title: D-Tech: Grimes’ First Day on the Job
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, D-Tech, Hoot/Sanderson, McKnight/Grimes, others…
Rating: R
Warning: Lots of men who can’t keep their minds on their business.
Disclaimer: Made up. Totally fake. Not for profit.
Note: It’s Grimes’ first official day as the new office manager for D-Tech, and he’d like to do a good job, if only his bosses can stop thinking dirty thoughts.
Grimes’ First Day on the Job
When Grimes got up to go to his first day on the job, McKnight was already gone. Grimes had wanted to get up and make him a proper breakfast, but McKnight said no. So Grimes had stayed in bed, naked under the covers, with the scent of McKnight on him.
When Sanderson got up on Grimes' first day on the job, Hoot was still out cold. Hot, actually. Hoot was a furnace when he slept. But he was out. Sleeping in. As he always did the morning after a night like that.
As Sanderson took a piss, he wondered if his cock would ever get hard again. He didn't fear it was broken. He just figured that after last night, he would never need another orgasm in his whole life.
That's what he was thinking, until around the time Hoot was waking up, and Sanderson was sitting at his desk looking over a report on rebel troop movements in an African country, the name of which was blacked out but Sanderson recognized the names of two villages, a mountain and a waterfall.
That was when Grimes walked in.
“Good morning, sergeant.
Sanderson’s coffee went down the wrong way, but Grimes could only barely notice it.
Grimes wished he had that kind of control over his gag reflex, which was saying something, since Grimes had superb control over his gag reflex. McKnight would have testified to that.
“Uh, John. Grimes. Good morning.”
Damn. John Grimes, clean-shaven and fresh-faced, like a fucking teenager.
“Your beard,” Sanderson said. Stupidly. He wished he had the same kind of control over his speech as he did over his gag reflex. But then, he was glad he blurted it out, because Grimes blushed and Sanderson didn't think he’d ever seen a Ranger blush quite so prettily.
Ex-Ranger, that was. And now Sanderson’s office manager. Employee. Sanderson should not have been ogling like that.
Grimes ran his hand over his smooth chin. “Yeah, well, I just… I hope you don’t mind me growing it back.”
Growing it back meant he would be there, in the office – everyday - while it grew. First a shadow. Then short prickly hairs Sanderson would want to reach out and touch. Sanderson could already imagine sitting at his desk imaging what they would feel like on his thighs. The red would come out in the bristles. Copper beard, scruffy at first, then filling out, softening as the days went on…
“No problem at all, Grimes. I mean John. I, uh… what do you want me to call you? Grimes doesn’t seem quite right for the office.”
Grimes thought about it. John would be weird. No one called him John, except for McKnight’s sister and McKnight’s sister’s girlfriend. And the ladies at the yoga classes he took twice a week. He'd already mentioned that to Sanderson, and Sanderson said it was fine for him to pop over to the community center, which was only two blocks away, for classes. But the ladies at the yoga class didn’t know what it meant to call him John. They called everyone by first name.
The only other time he was called John was by McKnight, on special occasions. Like when he was saying ‘I love you, John.’ Or when one of them was in the middle of an orgasm. Or when Grimes rubbed his cheek over McKnight’s thigh and nuzzled his balls while McKnight watched a football game.
No. John was not appropriate for the office.
In the army, some of the guys had called him Grimesy, and while he’d never complained about it he’d never really liked it.
Sanderson snapped his fingers. “Mr. Grimes.”
Mr. Grimes. That’s what Linda used to call him, back when she didn’t know him and she was still deciding if she approved of this much younger man in her brother’s bed.
“It’ll be good in front of the clients,” Sanderson said. “It’ll encourage them to give you full authority when Hoot and I aren’t available.”
Truth was, Sanderson couldn’t call John Grimes ‘John’ without wondering if McKnight called Grimes 'John" in private. And if Grimes called McKnight ‘Danny’ in private. He hadn’t actually seen Grimes and McKnight together in public, so he didn’t know how they referred to each other in person, but he knew that in the third person Grimes tended to refer to McKnight as ‘The Colonel’, and he nurtured a secret hope that at least some of the time in private, Grimes called him that. Or ‘sir’.
A bead of sweat trickled down the side of his neck at the thought of Grimes calling McKnight ‘sir’.
“I was thinking along the same lines, and maybe it would be easiest for me to call you Sergeant. It would emphasize your former position in Delta, and create an atmosphere of military authority,” Grimes suggested. And then he tried it out again, “Sarn’t,” by way of demonstration.
“Mix of civilian and military forms of address, I like it,” Sanderson mused, as a second bead of sweat joined the first. “Excellent. But skip the military dress. I want you to be comfortable. The long hair is fine, I mean. And the clothes.” Grimes wore a pair of plain black trousers and a button up gray shirt almost the same color as his eyes. Or one of the colors of his eyes. They seemed to change a lot. “That‘s a very attractive look. I mean… comfortable. No need intimidate anyone, right?”
</span>Grimes took a second to sigh in relief. He rather liked his "long" hair, even though it wasn’t all that long except in comparison to Rangers, and McKnight really liked it as well.
Then he took a good look at Sanderson. Six feet and change of fairly solid muscle in what looked suspiciously like a tactical shirt and pants, stripped of any overt army symbols. Not that Delta gear bore any symbols, but a few of the more martial-looking straps were missing.
The overall effect is quite intimidating, actually. So intimidating that Grimes thought it might be part of his job to soften the atmosphere a bit, to counteract Sanderson . Keep his hair not only long but brushed until it shone obviously. And he should keep his clothes in a distinctly non-military style.
Not that he owned much military gear. He didn’t wear any of his own army stuff. He did wear some of McKnight’s stuff on special occasions, but never a whole uniform at once. There was the uniform McKnight had bought for him as a present, but it never stayed on him for long.
But he wasn't supposed to think about things like that when he was at work.
Sanderson leaned over his desk and he looked hard. Grimes didn’t want to notice how hard Sanderson was. It was too weird. He was the boss, and lately his bosses had tended to be women, so he hadn’t had to deal with any kind of sexual tension at work. “I’ll make coffee,” he said.
Sanderson thought coffee would be an excellent way to diffuse the sexual tension. But then Grimes bent down to get a filter. Damn. That kind of temptation in the morning could make a man dizzy. Sanderson was going to have to move the filters up higher.
But not too high. Because when Grimes reached up to get the can of coffee beans off the shelf, his shirt stretched tight against his back and Sanderson could practically see the muscles framing his spine.
No wonder McKnight took the overseas assignment. Being near Grimes 24/7 would be exhausting, just from the looking. Never mind the sex.
It had been a few years. Maybe McKnight was used to it. Maybe Sanderson would get used to the way Grimes looked too.
Probably not. Sanderson had been working with and fucking Hoot forever, and it still made him crazy when Hoot flexed his thighs.
Speaking of Hoot…
Grimes had his back to the door when Hoot walked in. He was standing without bending or stretching, so his ass only registered 3.5 on the Richter scale. (That would be “often felt, but rarely causes damage.”)
“ ‘morning,” Hoot said in his husky morning/sex voice.
“ ‘morning, sarn’t,” Grimes said.
The sarn’t made Hoot blink.
“I, uh, I trust the Colonel got off okay this morning.”
Grimes stopped fussing with the coffee maker. “Oh, the Colonel got off just fine,” he said, unable to resist a smirk.
Then he turned around.
It was a good thing the coffee wasn’t ready yet, because if it had been, and Hoot had been drinking it, he would have had coffee dribbling down his chest right about then.
Grimes ignored that. He walked right past Hoot and into the front office.
“You want me to install this accounting package?” The software box lay unopened on Grimes’ desk.
“Yeah.” Sanderson got out from behind his desk. “Is that program okay?”
Grimes scanned the print on the package. “Sure. Industry standard. I’ll start by getting the books set up. Where are your receipts?”
Sanderson retrieved a cardboard file box from the storage room. “I’ve kept track of everything so far. Hope it’s not too random.”
Grimes flipped through the files. This was going to be easy compared to the last estate he organized. Everything was sorted by type of expense, the dates were clear, there were even separate folders for contracts, owners manuals and warranties. Sanderson was very organized.
“No problem at all, sarn’t. I’ll have it up and running in not time at all.” He would have to go over the papers before he could make certain decisions about how to set up the system, but the business was barely off the ground, so he wouldn’t have to correct too many old mistakes.
Hoot’s mouth was gaping when Sanderson went back to the inner office.
“Sarn’t?” Hoot asked
“It’s easier than Sanderson and Gibson, don’t you think?”
“For him,” Hoot said.
The military form of address was obviously not a neutral thing for Hoot.
Grimes sat down at his new desk. At his new computer. This was great. He’d get to run the whole office so that Hoot and Sanderson could do what they did best. The job was close to home, close to yoga class, and he wouldn’t have to deal with moldy old books and potentially dangerous substances. It could not have been closer to perfection.
Except that Hoot and Sanderson would be looking at him a lot. That might get to be a bit of a problem. He wasn't intimidated by them. He certainly didn't feel harassed. But it was probably not a good idea to keep this sort of sexual tension simmering for too long. Bad for the atmosphere. Not professional.
Hoot sat on the couch while Sanderson poured delicious-smelling coffee.
“He shaved.”
“Yup.”
“He looks young.”
“He is young.”
“He looks younger.”
Grimes was standing in the doorway.
“Sarn’ts?”
“Yes, Mr. Grimes,” Sanderson said.
“I think we should get a few things clear right from the start,” Grimes says.
“Mr. Grimes?” Hoot parroted.
Sanderson elbowed him.
“If I was hired because I’m nice to look at, that’s okay.”
Grimes was not being egotistical. He knew he looked good; McKnight had told him so many times. Enough times that he'd stopped questioning it years before.
“That’s not why you were hired,” Sanderson insisted.
“Not entirely. But really, sarn’t, it’s okay. I don’t mind. 'cept I’m here to run a tight office.”
Sanderson thought that ‘tight’ might have been an unfortunate choice of word. Or maybe Grimes was describing Sanderson’s underwear.
“I’ll keep track of the finances and the appointments and the contracts, and I’ll make the coffee and keep the place clean. I’ll deal with the clients and keep everything running smoothly. And if you find that looking at me is a nice way to relieve some stress, I’m cool with that. Just so you know, though, there’s no touching.”
Hoot and Sanderson nodded. In tandem.
“Ever.”
Well. That had always been obvious to Sanderson. He did the background check.
“And whenever you decide to put that couch to good use, I’ll have to insist on you not only closing the door but locking it as well. I don’t think the Colonel would appreciate me walking in on you.”
So far, Hoot was maintaining his composure. “What does the Colonel think about you working for us?”
Grimes shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “He doesn’t exactly know.”
Sanderson made a low whistle.
“What does he know?” Hoot asked patiently.
Grimes looked up at the ceiling. My God, the ceiling fan was filthy. He’d have to do something about that some time when he was the only one in the office.
There was no way he was climbing up a ladder so his ass is at eye level for these two.
“Just that I’m setting up an office for a security firm. I didn’t want him to worry.”
Ah, Sanderson thought. He was taking care of the Colonel from half way around the world.
“You think he’s got something to worry about?” Hoot asked.
“No offence intended, sarn’t, but he might be a little put off if he knew. I mean, you are two of the most prolific sluts the Delta program ever produced.”
Now. Wait a second. Sanderson resented that. He wasn't a slut. In the past year, he’d only been with Hoot.
And Steele, those couple of times their schedules permitted.
And that Cajun medic from Fort Bragg.
And that demolitions expert who showed him the neat trick with the trip wire and the banana.
Hoot, on the other hand… Hoot was a slut. Hoot couldn’t really deny it.
Hoot didn’t. But he fumed. “You think we’re a threat? You think he has to worry about us?”
“No. I think he has to worry about his mission.”
Of course. So he came home to Grimes in one piece.
How… domestic.
And sexy as hell.
“The Colonel’s going to be fine,” Sanderson said. “And I have a… friend in his new neighborhood. I could arrange an introduction.”
Grimes face lit up.
Wow. It must have been torture for McKnight to get on that fucking airplane.
“If you think it’ll improve the situation, sarn’t.”
“I think it will. He’s a local commander in the—”
Grimes held up his hand. “I don’t need to know, sarn’t. Any help would be appreciated. Thank you.”
Sanderson would call his ‘friend’ as soon as he could arrange a secure line.
Hoot got up and towered over Grimes.
“The coffee is great, as I’m sure all your work will be, Mr. Grimes. D-Tech is very lucky to have you on board.”
Grimes beamed.
Hoot had to blink.
“Well, I’ll get right to work. Shall I, um, close this door on my way out?”
“I do have that call to make.” Sanderson didn’t think Grimes wanted to overhear too much.
“And I’m going to take the truck for a tune-up,” Hoot said as he put his coffee cup on the counter. “I know this guy, he’s a genius at improving fuel efficiency. We need to save money however we can until this business gets off the ground.”
“I’m sure you’ll be turning a profit in no time, sarn’t.”
Hoot shook his head. “We’ll be turning a profit.”
“Right, sarn’t. Well, I’ll start on the accounting.” Grimes went to his desk and rubbed his hand over his ridiculously smooth chin. He had to get to work before he started thinking too much about the hour McKnight had spent shaving his face the night before.
And his chest.
That had been an experiment. Grimes had assured McKnight it wouldn’t bother him when the hair grew back. Insisted it would be okay. Actually, Grimes had no idea how much it would itch, but the memory of McKnight’s silken cockhead, slick with pre-ejaculate, sliding over his freshly-shaved skin, tracing a circle around his super sensitive nipple, had to be worth any and all discomfort.
He just had to make sure to keep his shirts mostly buttoned up until the hair grew back so no one would notice.
Grimes fired up the computer and sat for a moment, thinking of a password. He smiled and typed ‘good boy’ in the space provided. It would give him something nice to think about in the mornings, when McKnight was away and he was feeling a bit lonely.
Hoot nodded to Grimes as he left, then got in the truck and let out a long, painful breath.
Fuck. The shaved face was one thing, but that smooth chest was going to drive him completely crazy!
He and Sanderson, Hoot suspected, would be making good and frequent use of the couch.
End
Next: Off Base
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