|
Title: D-Tech/Long Haul – The Case of the Missing Mole
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, Army of Two, D-Tech, Sanderson/Hoot, Grimes/McKnight
Rating: NC-17
Warning: V. explicit sex and utter schmoop.
Disclaimer: Made up. Totally fake. Not for profit.
Note: Happens when Hoot and Sanderson get back to the office after the adventure that was detailed in D-Tech: The Russian, Preparation, The Americans, Negotiations, The Deal is Sealed, and Spread'em
Dedication: For woosgirl.
The Case of the Missing Mole.
“The point is, you should have told me you went out in the morning.”
“I know, I know. You can stop nagging me about it any day now.”
“I’m not nagging, Hoot. I’m establishing standard operating procedure.
Hoot jerked the wheel to abruptly turn onto their street. He was pissed off that Sanderson wouldn’t let this go. Hoot had gone out to do a little recon before the pick-up and sure enough, he’d discovered a set-up and saved both their asses. And got them both laid in a highly satisfactory manner. It couldn’t be that Sanderson was still upset about Hoot making the meeting at a bathhouse. That was a whole three days ago. Sanderson never held a grudge that long. Besides, it had turned out to be the perfect meeting place.
Sanderson checked his cell. “Nothing important,” he said. “Mr. Grimes has everything covered.”
Hoot smirked. It never failed to amuse him, how Sanderson insisted on calling Grimes “Mr. Grimes”, as if that nominal show of respect would ever make up for the way Sanderson shamelessly lusted after him. (As if Hoot didn’t also similarly lust, but he generally kept it under wraps.)
Hoot pulled into the driveway. Grimes’ bicycle was chained to the side of the porch. After six months of Grimes riding that thing to work almost every day, Hoot still hadn’t got tired of watching. Funny, that.
Everything looked neat and clean and like Grimes had everything covered. It was good to be home. Hoot felt an unexpected rush of cooperativeness. “I’m sorry. I’m used to operating on a need to know basis,” he offered, somewhat magnanimously, or so he thought.
Sanderson scowled in that way he always scowled when the thought Hoot was being selfish. “Well, I need to know everything.”
Hoot leaned over, sure that the tinted windows of the truck and the hedges around the yard would shield them from view. “Fine, Sergeant. Here’s what you need to know I’ve been hard for you ever since we had to buckle up for the descent. We’re going to go inside and I’m going to throw you on the goddamn couch and fuck your ass. You got that?”
Sanderson glanced a the house. “But Mr. Grimes—”
“We’ll lock the door. He can listen if he so desires,” Hoot replied.
Sanderson unbuckled his seat belt with a whimper. “Some day, Hoot, Colonel McKnight is going to flay you.”
Hoot grinned. It was false bravado. He knew fucking well that if McKnight ever found out some of the thoughts Hoot had about Grimes…and if he ever found out that Hoot and Sanderson sometimes talked about Grimes…when they were fucking… after McKnight had made it perfectly clear that they were not to think of Grimes in such a manner…best not to think about what McKnight might do.
They had tried. And They had been able to not talk about Grimes for quite a while. And when they were up in Toronto in the bathhouse with Kirill, they hadn't even thought about Grimes. But in the hotel the night before they got on the plane, they'd slipped.
Oh, well. They'd get over it again. Not like Grimes was likely to come up with anything to make himself even more tempting.
Sanderson grabbed the equipment case. Hoot grabbed both duffel bags. Sanderson went directly to the office. Hoot took the duffels upstairs to the bedroom they both now called home. The bed was king size, the bedside table loaded with condoms, lube and a couple of towels. Sanderson was always scrupulous about having the bedroom ready for when they returned.
Hoot could hear Sanderson and Grimes talking in the office. Sanderson finished by saying something about holding down the fort. Hoot shoved some supplies in his pocket and went downstairs.
Grimes was sitting at his desk, typing. “Welcome back, Sarn’t,” he said casually.
Hoot paused. There was something… he couldn’t put his finger on it.
Grimes was different. But not. He was dressed as he was always dressed for work – neatly. He had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, exposing surprisingly hairy arms. Not that Hoot minded the hair. It was fucking sexy on a guy like Grimes. He was glad his own arm hair wasn’t very thick. On a guy like him, as dark as him, it would have a gorilla feel to it. The neck of Grimes’ shirt was open, exposing a triangle of gingery chest hair that made Hoot want to lick. It had been bad enough, having to watch that chest hair grow in when Grimes had first started working for them, but the grown-in hair was even worse. It was ten times more powerful than cleavage. At least for Hoot it was.
But that wasn’t what was different.
He had Sanderson had been gone a while, almost two weeks. Grimes’ hair had probably grown slightly, barely, not noticeably. It was just as long and shiny and fucking red as it had been when they left, so that wasn’t it.
His beard was fuller. That was to be expected. McKnight was training a group of Ranger recruits in the mountains. He’d left three weeks ago. The beard had barely been scruff two weeks earlier, and it had not been shaved or trimmed, which meant McKnight was still out of town. Now it was thick and longer and Hoot wanted to feel it on his thighs. But Hoot always wanted to feel Grimes’ facial hair or lack thereof on his thighs, so that wasn’t it.
But Grimes would have to be damn horny after three weeks without his Colonel, so maybe that was it.
But it wasn’t.
“Good to be home,” Hoot said, pondering the mystery, and went into the inner office.
Sanderson was standing by the window with his hands on his hips. “Something to do with symmetry,” he was mumbling.
Of course. That was it. Sanderson turned around, puzzled, and Hoot touched his forehead with his forefinger. Sanderson snapped his fingers just as Grimes walked in.
“Shall I brew some coffee, Sarn’ts?” he asked.
“Sure,” Sanderson said. Grimes began to mix various beans in a hand grinder.
Hoot leaned to the side so he could get a look at Grimes’ smooth forehead. That was a mistake, as it turned out, because Grimes was starting to turn the crank on the grinder and whenever he did that he bit his lower lip. Golden hair skimmed the top of his upper lip and contrasted nicely with the pink of the lip and the white teeth. That made it hard for Hoot to concentrate, but he managed to drag his eyes up and locate the faint scar where the mole used to be just off-center on Grimes’ forehead.
Grimes dumped the ground coffee into a filter.
“So,” Sanderson said in a tight voice, “all went smoothly while we were gone.”
“Smoothly,” Grimes said.
Hoot winced.
“I’m glad you’re back today. I’d kind of like to take tomorrow off, if you don’t mind,” Grimes said.
“Colonel McKnight’s due back tonight?” Sanderson asked.
Grimes blushed. That was all the answer required.
Sanderson rubbed his forehead. Hoot was sure it was subconscious. Then Hoot felt a little tingle on his forehead. He clenched his fists to keep from rubbing the spot.
Grimes noticed Sanderson. “Yeah, my doctor thought better safe than sorry,” he said.
Sanderson dropped his hand. “Good idea.”
“Yeah, I’m cool with it. I just hope the Colonel doesn’t find it too weird.”
Weird? No, it wasn’t weird. It was… different. Grimes still had that dark mole under his eye, the beauty spot, so it wasn’t like all his distinguishing marks had been erased, but it was different. He looked different. No better or worse, but not the same.
“I’m sure he won’t mind at all,” Hoot said, and then shut up because all he could think of to say was 'it’s only your forehead; it’s not like your ass has changed', which it hadn’t. Grimes’ ass. It was just as perfect as it had ever been, and it filled out the seat of the charcoal pants just as perfectly as it ever had. Hoot wasn’t supposed to say things like that out loud.
He was sure McKnight wouldn’t care. About the missing mole. Why would he mind? Grimes was still Grimes, and that oughta make anyone happy.
Still, Hoot would find it strange if the scar on Sanderson’s hip disappeared, the one he liked to suck on. Not that he thought McKnight had ever made a habit of sucking on Grimes’ forehead mole, but he could picture McKnight touching it, beefy hand cupping Grimes’ face, one thick finger stroking the mole, while Grimes opened his mouth wide and stretched his lips around the head of McKnight’s cock.
That was exactly the kind of shit Hoot was NOT supposed to imagine when Grimes was standing right in front of him. Made being professional and detached difficult. Damn.
Hoot didn’t know for a fact that Grimes would have to stretch his lips to get them around the head of McKnight’s cock, but he always imagined McKnight to have one of those beercan cocks, and Grimes sometimes sat a little gingerly in the mornings, especially after McKnight had been away for a long time.
Hoot gave himself a mental slap. He was being entirely unprofessional. He looked at Sanderson and could tell Sanderson was thinking the same thing, or something close enough to give him a bit of a glazed look.
“That’s all for today, Mr. Grimes. Thank you very much. We’ll see you Monday morning,” Sanderson said gruffly.
Grimes grinned and looked about ten years younger. “Thanks, Sarn’t. You two have a good weekend and call me if you need anything.”
They wouldn’t call. Not unless the house was on fire. Maybe not even then. They’d come to an agreement with McKnight.
McKnight accepted that Grimes was working for Hoot and Sanderson with about as much grace as one could expect from a possessive dominant commanding officer who was hopelessly in love with a young man who couldn’t help drawing admiring glances from anyone and everyone who liked young men. He and Hoot and Sanderson had spent an evening with a bottle of bourbon and worked out all their difficulties. Most of their difficulties. The main thing was that if McKnight was gone, off base and away for more than a few days, Hoot and Sanderson would not call Grimes in to work unexpectedly for at least three days after McKnight’s homecoming.
Also, they would never, ever touch Grimes. McKnight had made that very clear.
Hoot remembered the day McKnight had showed up at the office, unannounced. Unexpected. Grimes just about shit himself when McKnight walked in. He obviously hadn’t quite got around to telling McKnight exactly who he worked for. The glower on McKnight’s face when he caught sight of Hoot had been priceless.
McKnight’s nose had twitched. “Someone made coffee,” he growled.
Grimes had knocked his mouse clear off the desk.
“Would you like a cup, Colonel?” Sanderson had said brightly from just behind Hoot’s left shoulder.
Sanderson had seemed perfectly at ease. Hoot let him handle it. He’d invited McKnight into the office, offered him a chair, poured him a cup and said the most brilliant thing Hoot had ever heard him say, which was saying something, because Sanderson was a very smart guy.
“Colonel, I’m not going to insult you by asking you why you happen to have walked into my office in the middle of the day for no particular reason,” Sanderson said. “I’ll only assure you that not only is this an ideal profession for Mr. Grimes, but he’s doing an outstanding job of getting this business on its feet. I don’t know how we would manage without him.”
The pride on McKnight’s face was unmistakable.
Grimes had been hovering by the door, his freshly shaven face looking young and vulnerable. Hoot had almost felt sorry for him. Almost. He felt for Grimes, having to deal with any anger or jealousy McKnight was bound to have over Grimes not telling him exactly who he worked for. But that was his own fucking fault. He should have told him. But Hoot figured Grimes had his reasons. He didn’t want to cause any undue alarm. How do you tell someone something like that, anyway?
So Hoot did feel sorry for Grimes, until he noticed that McKnight had his legs positioned in such a way that any erection would be concealed. And then he noticed that Grimes kept flipping his hair out of his eyes, and every flip ratcheted up the tension in the room. What a fucking coquette that Grimes could be. By the time the two of them, Grimes and McKnight, got alone, McKnight would be lucky to last five minutes, and then Grimes, smart man that he was, would spend the next two or three hours doing things to make McKnight forget all about being jealous.
Remembering all that made Hoot hard enough to hammer nails. He went to the front window and watched Grimes unlock his bike and pedal away, red hair flaming in the afternoon sunlight.
“Fuck,” he said. He locked the front door, locked the outer office door, opened the inner office door.
“Fuck,” Hoot said again. Sanderson was kneeling on the couch in the office. “Now!” Sanderson yelled.
“Okay,” Hoot said. “But don’t think about Grimes.” He stripped and draped himself over Sanderson’s backside. “And don’t think about that Russian bastard either.” Getting fucked by Kirill had been good. Too good. No way did Hoot want the Russian fucking Sanderson. Or Sanderson thinking about the Russian fucking Sanderson. “I want you thinking about me.”
“You,” Sanderson repeated. “You.”
“Open up,” Hoot said. He’d been pulling out the lube, popping the cap and smearing it over his fingers since he’d stepped into the room. The wetness on his fingers was a nice contrast to the dryness of Sanderson’s asshole… for about half a second. “Mm, nice and tight. You haven’t been fucked in ages,” Hoot drawled.
“Now, now, now!” Sanderson barked.
There was a lot to be said for intimacy and slow lovemaking and tenderness, lying in bed and leisurely exploring your lover’s body with your body. But that didn’t hold a candle to this kind of urgency.
“Hoot, Hoot,” Sanderson groaned as Hoot’s cock slid inside him.
That was it. This was it. No more fucking around. Hoot wasn’t going to do sex anymore unless Sanderson was involved. The thing in the bathhouse was okay because they were both there and both knew exactly what was going on – well, maybe not exactly, but they were aware of their surroundings – and Kirill hadn’t fucked Sanderson – and Hoot wanted to be sure it would always be like that.
“Aw, fuck, Jeff, I want you,” Hoot groaned.
“You got me, man.”
“Only you.”
“Only… but…”
But what about Steele?
“Just let me be there,” Hoot said. “I don’t have to do anything. I can just watch. I just don’t want him to fuck you.”
“But what… ahhhh, Hoot!…. What if he wants to fuck?”
Hoot steadied Sanderson’s hips and plowed in deep. “If he needs to get his dick wet, he can fuck me.”
Sanderson nodded. "Okay, what about Eugene."
Hoot thought about the Cajun medic for about a second and a half. "We share him, you know that."
Sanderson gripped the back of the couch, threatening to tear the leather to shreds. “Ahhhh! You are such a fucking slut!”
Hoot sank in deep again. “But I’m all your slut, from now on. I promise,” he grunted. “I’m in it for the long haul.”
 |
Grimes rode home, trying not to think about what was probably happening on the couch back at the office. It was obvious from the looks the two of them had been giving each other that the place was still going to reek Monday morning. Grimes would have to cover up the smell of sex with fresh brewed coffee for the nine o’clock meeting with the potential tech guy.
Business was going so well they needed a more or less full-time tech head to handle surveillance equipment, web searches, homing devices and the like. Hopefully the candidate had experience with break and enter. Grimes sighed. There was such a fine line between legal and illegal. He coasted down the driveway to the cottage and almost fell off his bike when he saw there was a light on in the living room.
McKnight was home. Already. Shit.
He put the bike in the shed and fiddled with his hair. He’d meant to get a trim so he would have some sort of bangs that would fall across his forehead and hide that there was nothing to hide, but he’d hesitated because he didn’t want to look like somebody from Herman’s Hermits. He wasn’t embarrassed about having a smooth forehead, but he wanted to lessen the shock for McKnight, ease the transition a bit.
Grimes entered the cottage through the back door and stopped dead. McKnight was sitting on the chair in the back room, with the lights off, the exhaust fan on and the air purifier at full blast. McKnight looked up with alarm and stubbed out his cigarette.
“Sorry,” he said. “Rough trip home and I had the urge, but it’s so fucking hot out there. I’ve been out in the sun for days. I thought you’d be at work a couple more hours.”
Grimes understood. He knew McKnight smoked when he wasn’t around Grimes if things were tense. And things were always a bit tense in the army. It didn’t bug Grimes at all. And even if it did it wouldn’t have mattered, because McKnight was still a bit damp from a shower and was wearing only a towel wrapped around his waist.
Grimes slid down to the rug without thinking. “No need to apologize, sir,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re home.” Oh, and McKnight was almost soft. Grimes could tell by the way the towel draped over and between his legs. It was not a state Grimes often got to experience, especially not when McKnight was so newly arrived home. He nuzzled the damp towel. “Go on, sir. Light another cigarette. It won’t bother me at all.”
How long had it been since they’d done this? Too fucking long. Just sit back and relax, smoke your cigarette and I’ll do the rest, Grimes thought. He peeled back the towel with his teeth.
Supple, bulky but not quite flaccid. That wouldn’t last long, so Grimes took a moment to just look. The click of the lighter accompanied the first lick on the soft, warm skin. Soap smell, clean skin and a whiff of cigarette made Grimes’ balls tingle. The fingers in his hair tried their best to seem casual. McKnight inhaled and spread his legs a bit. Grimes licked the part of McKnight’s balls he could reach with his tongue and then licked the length of his cock again. A little longer now. He worked his lips around the head and drew the drooping organ into his mouth. It grew, still soft, but bulkier.
Grimes flicked his tongue at the slit and thigh muscles tensed under his palms. What a luxury, to feel McKnight’s cock stiffen and grow larger, wider, inside his careful mouth. Grimes moved his head so his beard would scrape against inner thigh. There was a slight hiss from above, then a loud exhalation.
That’s it, Grimes thought. You just pretend like you don’t even notice. He swirled his tongue around the spongy head. You just act like this is no big deal.
I know it is.
The ashtray rattled against the table as McKnight squashed the half-smoked cigarette. His hands landed on either side of Grimes’ head, guiding his mouth up to the tip and down to the root. Fingers splayed, thumbs rubbed Grimes’ temples. Grimes had to concentrate on not choking, on opening his mouth and his throat to accommodate the expanding girth.
“I missed you,” McKnight moaned. “I missed my good boy.”
Grimes choked. His own cock was distracting him – achingly hard after all the pheromones at work and then the sight of McKnight almost naked, so sudden. His hair spilled over McKnight’s roving fingers and his head was cradled by thighs, palms, fingers, thumbs.
Everything stopped moving except for McKnight’s right thumb, which was making small and then larger circles on his forehead.
“Motherfucker.”
Grimes pulled his mouth off McKnight’s cock. A bit of saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth.
McKnight pulled Grimes up so he was straddling naked thighs. The wet from the towel soaked through the knees of Grimes’ pants.
“John,” McKnight managed to articulate. “What?”
“Nothing to be alarmed about, Danny,” Grimes said. “The doctor called this morning. All the tests came back negative. And it wasn’t an emergency. We talked about it when I saw her last month. I just didn’t get around to… I should have told you.”
McKnight ran his fingertips over the smooth skin. “It’s gone,” he said.
The fingers were hot on Grimes’ skin. “Yes, sir.”
McKnight pressed a fingertip against the exact spot there the mole had been. “Gone forever.”
Grimes squirmed. “I was only a mole, sir.”
McKnight pulled his finger away. “But it was part of you. And there was no reason…”
Grimes frowned. McKnight hated that.
“But I’m glad it’s gone because now there will never be a reason, right? Unacceptable risk. It had to be sacrificed,” McKnight said in a very commanding officer sort of way.
Grimes squirmed a bit more. “So, you don’t mind?”
McKnight pulled Grimes’ head down. He flattened his tongue and licked across Grimes’ smooth forehead.
Grimes shivered.
It was okay.
It was more than okay.
He sat up straight. “And the one on my shoulder,” he said.
McKnight began to unbutton his shirt. “The light one?”
“Yeah. She said the other one was fine. Just a precaution. Better safe than sorry. You know.”
McKnight pushed the shirt down over Grimes’ shoulders. He eyed the empty spot where the shoulder mole used to be. “Looks good,” he said. He smoothed out the shirt and put it on the floor next to the chair. “I can’t believe you go to work dressed like that,” he said, trying to sound casual and glossing over the whole mole issue. “Those poor sergeants. You must drive them wild.”
Grimes shuffled backward so he could get his pants off. “I doubt that, sir. They like each other. What would they want with me?”
McKnight ran his hand over Grimes’ hip. “They probably talk about you when they—”
Grimes got back on McKnight’s lap. “What were you saying, sir?”
McKnight pulled him down. “God, yes. Nothing. I wasn’t saying anything.” He closed his fingers over Grimes’ cock. “Sit right against me.”
Grimes pressed his chest against McKnight, trapping his hand. McKnight shoved his hips forward so their cocks could line up and Grimes could grab both of them at the same time. Grimes slid his hands between them.
“Jerk us off,” McKnight ordered, but it sounded a bit like a plea.
Grimes obeyed. McKnight’s cock was still wet with saliva. Grimes’ cock was dry and rock hard. McKnight fumbled to the side and got hold of a bottle of lube, which he shoved between them and squirted liberally over Grimes’ hands. Grimes smeared the lube around and between the cocks and fingers and palms.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” McKnight groaned against Grimes’ hair. “Slow! Easy! I want it to last. I want to feel you sitting on me, and smell your hair, and look at your pretty face.”
Grimes grunted in a not very pretty way.
“Motherfucker, John! I—”
“Danny!”
McKnight shoved his face against Grimes’ neck. “Slow,” he begged.
“I am,” Grimes panted. But he’d have to go slower than slow. He’d have to stop altogether if he was going to keep from coming. “I can’t help it!”
“Neither can I,” McKnight growled.
Grimes came first. He was able to slow his hand so he felt two pulses at the base of his cock before the come spurted on the top of his hand and flowed across McKnight’s stomach.
“Hot,” McKnight grunted. “Keep going.”
Grimes could barely stand the movement of his own hand. Far too sensitive, his cock shuddered. He moaned and bent his head to lick the scar on McKnight’s neck. McKnight made a choked sound and sank his teeth into Grimes’ shoulder. His cock boiled over, not in spurts but what felt to Grimes like a continuous flow. Grimes’ fingers slipped through the come and cradled the two of them together.
“Fuck, I love you,” McKnight huffed against Grimes’ sweaty skin. Grimes nuzzled and pressed himself against McKnight.
Grimes knew he’d taste cigarettes when they kissed. It didn’t bother him – he hadn’t craved a cigarette in so long –it annoyed him slightly because he couldn’t taste McKnight clearly. But there was plenty of time for that. He wasn’t due back at work for three whole days.
McKnight shifted him to one side, arm around his shoulder. He kissed Grimes’ forehead. “I’m glad you take such good care of yourself,” he said.
Grimes smiled. So was he. It gave him so much more time to take care of McKnight.
The End.
Back to Soldier Porn or on to the next Long Haul Story, A Fucking Order
|
