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Title: The Fake Highland Games
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: post-Black Hawk Down, Grimes/McKnight
Rating: Adult. Very adult.
Warning: sub/Dom. Explicitness galore. Absurdly large amounts of dirty talk. And a kilt.
Disclaimer: Not intended to infringe on anyone's copyright, and almost impossible to do so anyway because the original Black Hawk Down did not include kilts or fuck me jeans or dirty talk anything like that... unless you consider military lingo in the heat of battle "dirty talk". *sheepishly raises hand*
Timeframe: This takes place just before Grimes takes his job at D-Tech, so it's one of those bridge fics between Army of Two and The Long Haul, but I'm using my new "The Long Haul" banner because byte366 made it for me and it's spiffy and gives me the warm and squigglies. Woohoohoo!
Note about names: I've been slahsing for a while now. At first my pen name was Haleth Haladin. When I got an LJ, I decided to use "heartofslash" because it was a popular song parody I'd written, and then people who met me on LJ started calling me heartofslash, and that stuck a bit, so now I'll answer to "haleth" or "haleth haladin" or "heartofslash" or "good girl" or "hey, slut" or whatever...
Dedication: This fic is dedicated to molly_millions, (who, for those who may have read my recent Jedi Kink fics, is the person who planted the phrase "bubble butt" in my brain in relation to the endowments of a certain Mr. McGregor, who has a fine arse indeed.)My your year be full of bubble butts and other delights, my dear. And to byte366, who always makes me want to slash MORE.
The Fake Highland Games
Linda McKnight seemed to enjoy giving things to her brother that would enhance his sex life.
First, she'd given him the use of her house for a summer, the summer that John Grimes had left the US Army and enlisted in a far more private army, the one Danny McKnight commanded.
Then she'd given Grimes a convenient place to live, and a job that made serving McKnight easy.
None of those things had been done with the intent of getting her brother laid. She'd needed someone to take care of the house and the fish and the cat. She had not, at the time, even been aware of John Grimes' existence. And she'd needed someone to live in the cottage and deal with the mess in the cottage. John Grimes was the ideal man for the job.
The other things she'd given, though… they may have been given with some intent to induce sex.
Like the hooded sweatshirt. The one that made Grimes' eyes turn a matching shade of gray-blue, and made Grimes look young and almost innocent, or as innocent as a man can look when another man has his hand in the pocket, around his hard cock.
And those jeans she'd bought him. The fuck-me jeans. The jeans that Grimes could not wear without McKnight being bowled over by a blinding rush of lust. Yeah, those jeans, a little too low cut on the waist, a little too tight in the back, a little too closely molded in the front.
And the lipstick. Which she had not, in fact, given, but that Danny McKnight had taken. The smell of lipstick gave McKnight an erection that only one thing could cure.
Then there was the weight bench. She had not, technically, given it to McKnight. He'd bought it with his own money, money he'd earned at his summer job doing flat roofing. But she had stored it for years, and then had it moved over to the house McKnight and Grimes shared, and that had both induced and enhanced a whole lot of sex.
McKnight did not need things in order to have a sex life.
If he and Grimes had been locked in an empty room with no things in it at all, they still would have had sex.
But things… things were wonderful when sex was happening.
Anyone who tells you that things don't make sex better is lying. The bed, the sheets, the lube, the lighting – those are all things, and they make sex better. A heater in the winter, a fan in summertime, candlelight or music – not necessarily soft romantic music, either. All those things can make sex better.
A shower stall. A bath tub. Grab bars. The sofa. A chair. Kitchen chair, easy chair… any chair. Table. Rug. Grass. The sun on your skin.
A cigarette.
A drink. The game on the TV. A song on the stereo. A suit. A uniform. No uniform. A uniform half-on and half-off. Mostly off.
But this. This was a little too much to handle.
McKnight stared as if he'd never seen anything like it before.
A kilt. Red and green with a thin yellow line. A fucking plaid... no, tartan... goddamn kilt.
"You want me to wear that where?" he asked.
"Not you," Linda said. "It doesn't have to be you. Either of you. I would have got two kilts, but then you'd both have to wear them, and there might be parents there who work at the base, and I think it might be a bit blatant if you showed up wearing matching kilts."
"You think?" McKnight asked. Yeah, he could imagine the talk if he and Grimes showed up anywhere in matching outfits that weren't regulation uniform, let alone kilts. "Whatever happened to you retiring?"
Linda laughed. "Teachers don't really retire, Danny. We just give up our permanent positions, spend a few quiet weeks or months at home or on vacation, and then take on temporary positions."
Linda had traveled for almost a year. But one of the English teachers got cancer and needed extended time off. She was okay, but two weeks into her chemotherapy the other English teacher found out she was pregnant. But the time the first one was able to return to work, it was time for the other one to go on leave, so she'd been at the school all year like a regular teacher.
McKnight had known all this for a while, but he still didn't understand why she would want to spend her days with a bunch of rotten kids when she didn't need the money.
If it wasn’t for the paycheck and the pension, there was no way he's still be in the army. He'd much rather spend his time with Grimes. Traveling, at home, wherever. He didn't care.
But then, he was the lucky one. Luckier than anyone else in the world, actually. Because he had Grimes.
And now he had Grimes and a kilt – a combination he predicted would be highly volatile, no matter which one of them wore it.
"It's a theme event, Danny. Highland Days. In preparation for the school trip to Scotland. We're putting on our own Highland Games."
"Uh-huh," McKnight said. He had to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything because his brain was being flooded with images of Grimes wearing the kilt. They were overwhelming images. He knew you weren't supposed to wear anything under a kilt, so his primary image was of Grimes wearing the kilt and a pair of highly polished combat boots and nothing else.
Well… socks. Combat boots would be too uncomfortable without socks. Combat boots, socks, the kilt and that was it.
Words were not quite within his grasp when he was having thoughts like that.
"Oh, here's John now," Linda said brightly.
Of course she would show him the kilt and tell him about the upcoming Highland Days at the high school and how he should wear the kilt and come to the games and help out, and then McKnight got the image of Grimes in the kilt (and socks and boots) and a t-shirt, because there was no way he was letting him go out in public shirtless, and Grimes wouldn't go out in public without a shirt anyway (McKnight hoped), and Grimes helping out.
McKnight didn't know what he'd be doing exactly. What did you do to help out at fake Highland Games? Maybe Grimes would carry stuff, or set up tables or build a stage or something. Something that would, at some point, involve bending over. McKnight's brain busied itself imagining Grimes bending over and the wind catching the kilt and the kilt rising up to expose Grimes' ass.
"Danny!"
"Hmm?"
"You'll both come, won't you?"
McKnight was sure they would.
"There will be all the traditional events, wrestling and sword-dancing and caber tossing."
Grimes, who had actually been standing next to McKnight and holding the kilt in his hands for some time even though McKnight hadn't really noticed because of the overwhelming image of Grimes with the wind blowing his kilt askew, could not contain a laugh. McKnight could tell Grimes had tried to contain it, because he had his hand up, covering his mouth, which made McKnight think about putting his hand over Grimes' mouth, and he must have got that smoldering look in his eye that Grimes had mentioned on more than one occasion, because then Grimes looked a little alarmed.
Good. Let him be alarmed. Grimes knew it was impolite to do things that would give McKnight a massive hard on when his sister was standing right there.
Then Grimes couldn’t stop laughing. He covered it up with a cough and excused himself to go to the bathroom.
McKnight knew he was thinking about wearing a kilt and then wrestling with McKnight. He was sure there was some sword-dancing going on Grimes' wonderfully perverted mind too, but it had probably been the caber tossing that had put him over the edge.
Sword, tree trunk, beercan – any mention of a phallic object would make Grimes titter nervously in Linda's presence.
It was almost hysterical laughter. McKnight could still hear it over the sound of the water running.
McKnight's neck felt hot. The heat spread. He had to get Linda out of there. Except they'd invited her over for dinner. Damn.
Grimes finally came out of the bathroom. He had a funny flushed look, but at least he'd stopped laughing inappropriately. He busied himself making dinner and chatting with Linda.
McKnight considered going upstairs for a quick jack, because all that thinking about Grimes in the kilt had made him a bit tense, and a good, fast orgasm was just the thing he needed to unwind, but he made it a practice to never jerk off when Grimes was around. Grimes considered that to be his job. And why waste a perfectly good orgasm? He could wait.
Linda went home after dinner, after extracting the promise that either Grimes or McKnight would wear the damn kilt to the fake Highland Games. Grimes did the dishes and McKnight watched him. Intently.
Grimes stopped doing the dishes.
"Is there something wrong, sir?"
McKnight sat back in his chair and popped his top button open. "Yeah, I got a caber that needs tossing."
It wasn't easy for Grimes to get all that cock into his mouth while he was laughing, but McKnight grabbed a handful of soft hair and that seemed to help him. That and the taste of his not-quite-fresh cock made the laugh turn to a choked moan.
McKnight had been planning on driving straight home from work and having a hot shower, because it had been a long day spent, for the most part, inside a tank, teaching maneuvers to a bunch of kids who didn't know a turret from a turd. It was a hot day, and they'd been crammed in their pretty tightly in the tank. The hot, sweaty tank. So McKnight needed a shower.
But in the parking lot one of the majors had discovered that he had a flat tire, so McKnight had helped him change it, and by the time he got home he was even hotter and sweatier, but Linda was already there and it would have been impolite to shower, and besides, there had been the kilt to deal with. So McKnight was still sweaty. Still hot.
McKnight stroked Grimes' bulging cheek. "You like the taste of a dirty cock, don't you?"
Grimes slid his lips further along the shaft and tugged McKnight's pants down in answer.
McKnight yanked Grimes' hair and watched his cock pull free of Grimes' frantically sucking mouth. "I asked you a question."
Grimes licked his lips. "Yes, sir. Dirty cock, sir."
"I would have cleaned it, you know," McKnight said. "But it was a long day." He told Grimes about the tank and the flat tire and everything while he rubbed his cock all over Grimes' face. He told him about the whole day, right up to sitting at the dinner table, still not showered, with his pants shoved down to his ankles and his legs spread as with as they could go with Grimes' head buried between his legs licking his sweaty balls…
McKnight stopped his recitation of the day's woes. Having his balls licked by Grimes wasn't much of a woe, was it? Besides, it was a good thing he hadn't had time to shower, because Grimes liked him dirty sometimes. He must have. He had McKnight's cock halfway down his throat again.
"Oh, motherfucker, good boy," McKnight said with his teeth gritted. "Good, good boy. I wanna see you in the kilt." He was feeling so greedy.
Grimes said something around his cock that sounded like "at the games".
"You know you're not supposed to wear anything under it," McKnight said.
There was a definite sound of approval, which buzzed on the head of McKnight's dick and made his balls tingle. Unless that was the feeling of the saliva drying on his skin.
Fuck, yes.
But the kilt.
Grimes being Linda's fake younger lover, helping to do whatever he was supposed to do to help at the fake Highland Games, all self-conscious about the kilt and his lack of anything under the kilt, trying to act like he wasn't half naked, almost exposed, in front of everyone.
And then Grimes bent over the table with the kilt flipped up over his back and McKnight behind him…
"I can't," Grimes panted against his cock. "I can't wear the kilt."
"Yes, you can," McKnight growled.
"Sir, I can't. At the Highland Games. I'll be afraid to move. What if it opens up? Sir, what if I have to bend over? What if I get hard?"
McKnight laughed and hauled Grimes to his feet. "All of the above," he said. "But that's for later. I wanna see you in the kilt now."
"Now, sir? But… I'm hard."
"I know." He reached between Grimes' legs. "You always get hard when you suck my fat, dirty dick."
Grimes whimpered. "My jeans are way to tight," he whispered. "Maybe the kilt wouldn't be so bad after all."
Motherfucker. "Get naked," McKnight ordered.
Grimes slid his sweatshirt over his head and pushed his jeans down. That was all he'd been wearing. McKnight didn't know why the kilt would be such a big deal when Grimes was always walking around like that with hardly anything on anyway.
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Grimes was standing right in front of McKnight, naked and hard, so it seemed natural to tug him closer, by the cock. "On second thought, maybe you being naked under a kilt isn't such a good idea," McKnight murmured. He flicked his tongue out and just touched the tip of Grimes' cock. "I'd hate for anyone to see this."
"You're right, sir. I should wear something under the kilt."
The need for an undergarment became clearer once Grimes actually got the kilt on. The texture, soft and scratchy at the same time, was tantalizing and torturous all at once.
The weight wasn't a lot, but it felt like the same pressure McKnight exerted when he would cup his hand over Grimes' eager cock and whisper "not yet", something McKnight would do after he had made it clear that he wanted Grimes to do something incredibly dirty and fun, but that Grimes would have to wait to do until after dinner or during the next commercial break or whatever arbitrary time limit McKnight could stand to think of, because when Grimes had to wait things always got better.
But the kilt wasn't heavy enough to make his cock go down, so it tented out, looking a little ridiculous. So he had the pressure AND his cock sticking straight out.
Awkward.
McKnight put his hand on the kilt and exerted that pressure now, so that Grimes got a double dose of it.
"Impatient," McKnight noted.
"I was already hard, sir," Grimes pointed out, impatient and wanting to speed things up. "I was already hard from sucking your fat, dirty cock."
Dirty talk worked just as effectively on McKnight as it did on Grimes. McKnight shoved his hand up under Grimes' kilt and grabbed his balls. "I think I like this kilt thing," he said gruffly.
Grimes could not speak. If he spoke, he might yelp.
"You're not laughing now," McKnight observed. "Don't you find sword dancing funny anymore?"
Grimes shook his head. Not funny at all.
McKnight moved close enough to his hot breath to seep through both layers of wool. "I think you should finish the caber toss."
Grimes didn't even smirk. He had no time to smirk, because he got down on his knees so fast. Then he couldn't smirk because it's physically impossible to smirk and deepthroat a caber in your mouth, and even thinking of it as a caber instead of a fat, dirty cock didn't make him smirk because it was not funny. It was dead fucking serious.
He was still self-conscious about the kilt, or rather about the tent his erection made in the front of the kilt. And the floor was hard on his knees, but the floor was always hard when he knelt on it with bare knees. It was amazing what a difference a single layer of denim could make.
McKnight unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. He shucked his t-shirt for good measure. He dropped the shirt on Grimes' naked back. It slipped over his shoulders, slightly damp, smelling like McKnight and axle grease and the inside of a hot, sweaty tank. Grimes forced his mouth open that much wider. Enough to make McKnight fist his hair again.
"Motherfucker, John, you are one fine cocksucker," McKnight breathed out harshly.
Grimes moved his tongue with as much force as he could muster. His mouth was stuffed full of cock and there was something primal about that. Submissive, yes, inherently submissive – not the cocksucking part of that, but the stuffed part. Plus he was on the floor, half-naked, on his knees between his commanding officer's thighs, with McKnight's fist tugging, guiding his mouth up and down. But it went beyond serving.
It had to be the sweat, the sheer manliness of McKnight's sweat. Dirty, but not in a disgusting way. It wasn't like he was caked in actual dirt, although there was a slight grittiness to the whole situation.
It had to be the balls. McKnight had had his face crammed right into his crotch, and the damp skin, the smell, the taste, had made Grimes' brain explode. The pungent flavour made his mouth water even now, and this was fast becoming the sloppiest blowjob he'd given in a long time. The slurping noises were obscene, and McKnight was doing all he could to make them louder.
He tugged Grimes' head up again and pushed sideways, back and forth, so his wet cock slid all over Grimes' face, coating it with saliva and pre-come and sweat and sex and this could go on all night, in and out, sucking, rubbing, smearing, teasing, groaning, begging. McKnight tilted Grimes' face up more, and Grimes' vision was blurred but he could see the gleam in McKnight's eye.
"Fuck, John, you have to sit on my cock," McKnight groaned.
Grimes clamored up and bunched the kilt around his waist. McKnight's cock nudged his balls. "Sir, I just need…" Grimes panted. He needed lube, that's what he needed.
McKnight shoved three fingers into Grimes' mouth. Grimes sucked automatically, then he worked his tongue and lips around them wetly. As soon as they were slick all around, McKnight shoved his hand between the two of them, pushing his cock to the side. He circled twice, maybe three times, spreading the spit around, and then worked a finger inside.
The entrance of just that one finger was enough to make Grimes beg. "Yes, sir, please."
McKnight crooked his finger.
"Thank you, sir," Grimes moaned. He had one arm bent across his stomach holding the hastily gathered kilt. He was on tip toe, holding his body weight up so McKnight's hand could move freely. The way his legs were spread so wide made his thighs ache. He dug the fingers of his other hand into McKnight's shoulder. He was going to come just from the tension.
McKnight's other hand came out of nowhere to grasp his jaw and pull his face down. "Aw, fuck, look at your face." McKnight licked his cheek. "You're wet all over." He gnawed a bit on Grimes' chin. "You look good all sloppy like that. Too bad I didn't come on your face. You'd look even better."
Grimes' asshole clenched around McKnight's finger, without Grimes even trying.
"Mmm, you like that," McKnight noted. Accurately.
The wool scratched the top half of Grimes' ass. "Sir, if I can just get this kilt off…"
"I like the kilt."
"I don't want to come on the kilt, sir." How would he explain that to Linda? He would have to get it drycleaned. You can't wash 100% virgin wool, not even in cold water.
"I'm not done with the kilt yet," McKnight said.
There was something ominous about that.
Before Grimes could pinpoint what it was, McKnight gave Grimes' face one last lick, shoved him upright, and ordered Grimes to put his arms behind his back.
Grimes did as he was told, grasping his elbows in the familiar position, even if he hadn't been in it in a long time.
The kilt fell down and made his cock bounce.
"There's definitely a problem with you wearing a skirt," McKnight teased. He pushed his finger up further inside and turned his wrist.
Grimes was about to beg for more, but McKnight lifted the kilt and shoved his whole head under it. There was nothing to beg for anymore.
Heat was the first thing he noticed. Heat and lips and McKnight's mouth enveloping his cock. In fact, he was so distracted by the mouth he barely noticed the second finger, or the other hand sneaking up his thigh, grabbing the base of this cock. He looked down and saw McKnight's broad back, hunched forward, shoulders draped in red and green with a thin line of yellow.
It was a sloppy blowjob, just the way Grimes had done it. McKnight was letting his spit flow freely, slipping and sliding his lips around the way Grimes had, flicking his tongue madly as he pulled back, lips smacking. He let Grimes' cock slide out of his mouth and Grimes felt a prickle of unshaved cheek against it.
"Sir!" Fuck! He was rubbing Grimes' cock all over his face. And Grimes couldn’t see. He didn't want to see. It would have been too…
McKnight ran his top teeth along the shaft. "Give it to me," McKnight ordered. He started to pump his fingers in and out, and slammed the cock back in his mouth.
Grimes prided himself on obeying orders, even when he could net see them being given on account of the kilt covering McKnight's head. He almost wished he could watch, but if he'd actually seen McKnight rubbing cock on his face Grimes might have fainted. It was difficult enough to remain in a vertical position what with the fingers up his ass and the hungry mouth on his cock, lips pulling at him, fingers squeezing.
"Yes, sir," he agreed, but with his thighs straining and the effort of standing it wasn't easy to come. McKnight moaned around his cock and stroked the bottom half of it. It sounded like 'good boy', but that could have been Grimes' imagination as the fingers moved inside him and his testicles tightened into one, round, aching ball of…
"Danny!"
McKnight took him deeper and clamped his lips around the shaft so tightly Grimes didn't have to worry about a drop getting on the kilt. Through it all, McKnight never stopped moving his fingers. Half of Grimes wanted to collapse from the bliss of the orgasm, but the other half, the back half, he guessed, wanted to keep going.
The last thing he wanted was for the fingers to go away. He tried to squirm on them, but he was starting to get dry in his ass, so the squirming was awkward.
McKnight pulled his fingers out and did something Grimes still could not see. Goddamn kilt! But when McKnight shoved them back in they were slick from the come and saliva that had been in McKnight's mouth.
Grimes' knees buckled.
McKnight pulled him forward so he fell onto McKnight's thighs and forearm.
"Good boy," McKnight said again, and went back to licking Grimes' face. "You think you can reach over there on the table to that olive oil?"
Olive oil was a good idea. A really good idea. Even with the come and the spit, Grimes wasn't slick enough to take McKnight's cock. Grimes squinted and the olive oil came into focus, next to the balsamic vinegar he'd brought out for Linda, because that was her favorite, and Linda had brought him a kilt to wear and olive oil wouldn’t be that hard to wash out, would it? Except…
"Virgin wool," he croaked.
McKnight laughed. He fiddled with the buckle on one side of the kilt. "Can't be mixing virgin wool with virgin olive oil, can we?" he asked, and Grimes nodded stupidly. He was surprised he'd been able to get two words out at all.
"Too bad there's no virgin ass to go along with all this virgin everything else," McKnight said and scraped his knuckles against the ring of muscle that was not as tight as it had been a few minutes before. "We'll just have to imagine that part."
Grimes could not remember ever being a virgin.
"You're a virgin at wearing a kilt, right?"
There was that.
McKnight only had one hand free, since the other one was ravishing Grimes' asshole pretty effectively. Grimes had to help with the stupid little buckles, fingers tripping over McKnight's. They both grumbled a bit in frustration, but with a little concentration - tough to do when the fingers were flexing like that...
Finally he was free of the kilt. McKnight tossed it far enough away that no come or oil or anything would hurt it. It hadn't been too difficult to get off because Grimes hadn't put it on properly in the first place, with the pin and the belt and the pouch he would have to wear for the fake Highland Games. The pin would keep it from opening up so easily and the pouch would help hide any erections. Plus, he was planning to wear the tightest, most restrictive and uncomfortable underwear he could find.
But right now he was totally naked and had three fingers inside his ass and he wanted the fat, dirty, hard cock that was sticking up between them like a fucking caber.
"Come on, John. It's too far for me to reach with this hand, and the other one is busy. " He moved his fingers in a new way inside Grimes and made Grimes yelp. "Get the oil."
Grimes' hand trembled, but he managed to grab the bottle and drag it across the table. He splashed some oil onto McKnight's hard cock and dropped the bottle on the floor. It didn't break. He'd replaced the old, broken glass bottle with a plastic one after the first time that had happened.
He slid his hand over the thick shaft.
"Time for the sword dance?" McKnight grunted.
Flailing, not dancing. Flailing as the fingers pulled out, flailing as a wet, hot hand gripped his hip, guided him up, eased him down. And flailing as McKnight's cock stretched into him.
He knew his mouth was open and he was going "Ah! Ah! Ah!" and his arms flailed so much he got olive oil all over McKnight's shoulder and neck. He would lick that off later.
McKnight stroked his back with his clean hand. "Easy," he whispered, hoarse and fighting for control. "Easy, John. Easy."
"Oh!" Was all Grimes could respond. It burned and stretched and filled him until his ass rested on McKnight's thighs.
"My fat, dirty cock is in your ass now," McKnight growled.
Was it over?"
"Open your eyes. Good boy. You get that glazed look whenever I put my cock up your ass."
Grimes nodded. His limbs weighed a ton and they were pulling him down onto the cock, forcing it deeper inside him.
"You're not wearing that kilt to the school. You can't. Not after this. You'd be thinking about this too much. I can't have you thinking about this in public. Your eyes will glaze over, and everyone will see how hard your cock is under the kilt, and they'll know you're thinking about my big, fat, dirty cock being shoved up your ass…"
Grimes shook his head and wondered if he was ever going to stop being filled.
McKnight just kept on talking, even though his voice was so harsh it sounded like it was scraping his throat. "I think wearing a skirt makes you slutty, John. Doesn’t it? I think putting that skirt on made you want to get fucked in the ass."
Grimes didn't need to put on a skirt to want to get fucked in the ass by McKnight, but he wasn't able to argue the point. Not with his ass full of McKnight.
"And everyone who saw you in that kilt would want to give you cock," McKnight continued. He tilted his hips and gave Grimes cock, enough to make Grimes shake all over. "I wanted to give you cock right away, but first I wanted to see you with your mouth full." He licked across Grimes' lips. "Good cocksucker," he whispered.
McKnight's mouth tasted like Grimes' come. Grimes rocked forward and back. It stopped McKnight from talking. For a minute or two. McKnight shoved his tongue into Grimes' mouth and helped Grimes rock. Then he started up again.
"Fuck, yeah, fuck yourself on me. Lemme see how you like to fuck yourself on my fat, dirty cock. I was thinking about this all the way home, hoping I could get my cock in you, nice and dirty."
That was a lie. He's already said he'd been thinking about having a shower when he got home, but now he was saying he'd wanted to fuck Grimes, still dirty. He was lying. Lying for the purpose of making Grimes want to get fucked by him even more. That was unfair. Unfair and indecent. Almost as indecent as the way Grimes was rocking on McKnight's lap and moaning and tasting his own come on McKnight's lips. And how McKnight was red in the face, flushed from being under the hot wool kilt and rubbing Grimes' cock all over his face like that.
"Good boy, dirty boy, full of cock," McKnight chanted. "Come on, make me come inside you."
Grimes found his hands again and used them to grab McKnight on both sides of his head. He kissed him hard, sucked his tongue until he couldn't taste himself anymore, all the while rocking his hips, rubbing himself inside and out with McKnight's cock. He kept kissing until McKnight made a noise he only ever made when he was right on the brink.
"Danny," Grimes whispered.
And the brink was no more. Everything was deep pulses and wild panting and crushing bear hugging and then words, words, words that tumbled over him like the t-shirt had earlier, only hotter and sweatier.
"Oh, fuck, John, no. No one is ever going to see you in that kilt. You are not wearing that thing out in public. You are not thinking about this in public. No way. I'll wear the damn thing to the school."
Grimes peeled himself off McKnight's sweaty chest. "Sir?"
"I said I'm gonna wear the fucking kilt to the goddamn fake Highland Games."
Grimes blinked. He had not seriously considered that at all. He'd just assumed that as Linda's fake boyfriend, he would be the one to wear the kilt to the fake Highland Games.
"You will keep yourself covered in a respectable pair of jeans," McKnight ordered.
Grimes tried to imagine himself wearing his fuck me jeans out in public, watching McKnight walk around, in public, in the kilt. McKnight with bare legs, in the kilt, with his bare legs and his cock under the kilt, fat, dirty cock and sweaty balls and hot thighs, under the kilt… in public.
"And it's not going to be those tight ones, either. I won't have you showing your hard on in public while I'm wearing a fucking kilt."
Grimes could kneel on the ground and put his head under the kilt. It would be hot, stifled, like sucking cock under the blankets.
"Sir."
"Yes?"
"I'm hard again."
"I can see that."
The Army of Two contents is here.
The Long Haul contents is here.
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