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Title: Up Against the Wall
Author: heartofslash
Fandom/Pairing: BHD, Army of Two, Grimes/McKnight
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Dirty, kinky men who pee. I'm not kidding.
Disclaimer: Not the movie, not the real guys, not intended to infringe on anything but the bounds of decency.
Note: This follows the Army of Two series and, I'm sorry Salix, but there are many references to the final chapter of Army of Two in it. It can be read alone, but it'll make more sense if you've read The Future.
Dedication: For molly_millions
Up Against the Wall
“Oh, excuse me. I was looking for Miss McKnight’s friend.”
The young man – far too young to be Miss McKnight’s friend – stood up and brushed the dirt from his hands. “I’m John Grimes,” he said.
Well. Jim Petrie looked John Grimes up and down, and then back up again.
Lucky Miss McKnight.
Mr. Grimes had been on his hands and knees weeding between rows of three inch tall bean plants, when Jim arrived at the cottage with blueprints in hand. Jim had waited a few moments before clearing his throat to announce his presence, in no hurry to spoil the view.
Mr. Grimes pushed long, soft-looking reddish blond hair from his forehead, leaving a streak of dirt that made Jim want to rub it off. He held out his hand, then pulled it back again. “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll just be a second.”
Jim tried not to gawk when Mr. Grimes walked over to a bench, where he dunked his hands in a bucket of water and then bent to splash his face. The neck of Mr. Grimes’ t-shirt was noticeably damp when he came back and there were a few drips of water across his chest. He held out a clean hand. Firm handshake. Nicely toned arms. T-shirt stretched a little tight but not overly so. Really nice smile. Gingery hair and maybe a few days of even more gingery stubble. And God, that ass. Jim found himself hoping Mr. Grimes would find some need to turn away and bend over again.
Jim introduced himself as the site supervisor in charge of the Beauford Spa project. Mr. Grimes looked a bit sheepish. “To be honest, I’d almost forgotten about the whole thing. It’s been over a year since Linda sold the property.”
“That’s why I’m here. We had to apply for a few variances and that slowed down the development, but we’re going full steam ahead and I wanted to run a few details by you, just so you’ll know what to expect in the coming months.”
“It’s none of my business. As long as you got permission from the planning department, I’m sure I’m not going to complain about anything.”
Everyone always said that, but they always found some reason to complain. Ordinarily, Jim would have brought over some potted flowers and sweet talked the lady of the house. He was a bit of a charmer, something he often relied on when jobs went over schedule or there were the inevitable mistakes made. He’d been a bit worried when he found out a man lived in the cottage beside the site. Men tend to be more aggressive in defending their home territory. Not that Jim wasn’t perfectly capable of charming men, or at least some men. Arthur Pembroke’s pick-up truck appeared in the driveway. “Here’s the architect now,” Jim said.
Mr. Grimes shook hands with Arthur and asked them if they’d like to come inside for a cold drink. Jim wasn’t about to refuse that offer – it was hot as hell out, and the way the sun was making Mr. Grimes’ hair blaze was terribly distracting.
He also knew Arthur wanted to get a look at the interior of the cottage. Arthur had already rhapsodized about the exterior of the stone building and various period details. He’d modeled much of the two-story main building of the spa on this cottage, even though no one would be able to see this house from the spa property. Arthur was obsessed with making the building fit seamlessly with the surroundings, and around here fitting in meant having a respect history.
There was a huge, ugly old thing in the parlor to the right of the front door. Arthur almost creamed himself when he saw it.
“That old thing?” Mr. Grimes said nervously. “Why would you be interested in that?”
“It’s a distinct regional style. I’ve seen several similar pieces while doing research on this county. This is probably made by the same craftsman who made the one in the basement of the old courthouse.”
Mr. Grimes made it clear that he had grown not only used to the thing since he moved in but actually fond of it, ugly and awkward as it was, so no, it was not for sale. Jim didn’t know why Arthur would want to buy it anyway. There were stains spattered across the front. Somewhere there had to be an example of the style in better shape.
The dining room furniture was no less impressive, and Arthur went on about the age of it and how you can’t get that kind of wood anymore as Mr. Grimes fetched glasses of lemonade and cleared several oversized binders full off the table. Arthur rolled out the plans and Mr. Grimes put on a pair of reading glasses.
Fuck me dead, Jim thought. He looked even younger.
And tastier.
Arthur gave Jim a stern look and pointed to the plan of the entire site. “The wall will follow the property line right to the river,” he said. “The material is very similar in color to the stone this house is made of, but the quarry this likely came from has been closed for over fifty years. We’re trucking ours in from a few counties over. Of course, it won’t be a textured as this. It’ll be cut square, so the surface of the wall will be smother – not as regular as a concrete block wall, but regular enough to create the illusion of…”
Oh, Christ, there he went again. Arthur would bend the ear of anyone who would listen to his theories on created outdoor spaces. He had a passion for man-made nature. Not that Jim was going to complain about it. Arthur’s designs always paid well for the contractor, because people were willing to shell out for perfectly proportioned and controlled landscapes. The spa would have beautiful grounds to go with the beautiful buildings.
“…roses, ranging in color from white here beside the water, pink along this part of the wall, rich red here at the center opposite the fountain, and then changing to the more orange and peach tones as the wall curves here, and yellow at the entrance…”
Mr. Grimes noted politely that the spectrum of rose colors would be stunning.
“…circular pathway around the fountain, a very traditional style similar to the one across from the public library, connected to the irrigation and re-circulation system…”
As if Mr. Grimes cared about the irrigation system. Jim had noticed the hose lying on the ground next to the bean patch. Mr. Grimes probably enjoyed watering his garden manually. He seemed to be that easy-going sort. Jim could picture him out there in the evening, spraying the plants, water misting around him, giving his skin a wet sheen, wavy hair being flattened by the damp but curling at the nape of his neck, t-shirt clinging wetly to toned pecs. Much better than an underground irrigation system.
“…of course we had to get zoning permission to build the wall this high – several feet taller than regulation – but that’s no reflection on you. It’s for the comfort of the guests. This is where the outdoor massage tables will be situated…”
Mr. Grimes coughed.
* * *
Outdoor massage tables.
Not entirely outdoors. Surrounded by a metal frame from which filmy pale green curtains would drape to give a degree of privacy while still allowing air circulation and a sense of connection to nature. Hence, the very tall stone wall. So the clients would know they were safe from prying eyes. That made sense.
Grimes had no intention of prying or spying. His only concern was that the guests of the spa would not be spying on him.
After living in such idyllic isolation for so long, he’d been concerned about the development of the river bend property at first. He didn’t like the idea of curious spa-goers wandering into the goods, stumbling across the cottage, seeing McKnight obviously living there.
That had become less of a concern, since McKnight was now officially living in the cottage. The cottage was more than big enough for two bachelors to plausibly share space, and no one had to know how closely they shared that space. McKnight couldn’t use Linda’s house as his residential address any more since she had sold it and moved to a condo about five blocks up from the post office. It was a slightly longer trip for Grimes to go and attend to things when Linda was away, but there was a lot less to care for. Linda had donated her aquarium to the School Board Interactive Studies Center, so there wasn’t much for Grimes to do beyond a little dusting, collection of the mail and making sure there was a pot of coffee ready whenever Linda came home. She was home now, and had warned Grimes that these men might be coming over to talk about the construction and what sort of disturbances it might cause.
He’d already noticed the rumblings of earth-moving equipment as he worked in the dining room. It wasn’t noisy – the stone walls blocked out the sounds – but he could feel the vibrations as they dug the hole for the foundation of the building. It wasn’t that bad - after all that time in the army Grimes had learned to concentrate when stuff was going on - but it had been a bit annoying when he had the magnifying glass out.
Stamps. And bills. Hundreds of them. It was the estate of another eccentric collector, and this one was almost as hard to sort as Mildred’s had been but in a different way, because the old guy had delighted in collecting stamps that featured the same people pictured on the bills, so he was really collecting faces, rather than stamps and currency, and the collections was sorted by pairing rather than country or year or value. The arrangement of the collection did nothing to enhance its worth, since the sort of person who pays a lot of money for such things doesn’t care that there is a stamp with a picture of the same Grandpa Munster look-alike on the Jamaican dollar bill. Grimes had to assess a dollar amount for each bill (most of which were worth only face value) and every stamp (some of which were worse less than face value, others of which were quite rare and costly.) It was tedious work involving a fair bit of research and consultation. He was working from very good, very clear photographs– he’d bought a Pentax with a macro lens and a good tripod – because the post marks made a big difference in determining resale value, but determining the post marks was hard to do if the table was shaking.
That part of the construction appeared to be over. Now it was time for the wall to go up, and for some strange reason these men thought Grimes would either be upset that a massive, eleven foot high stone wall, which would be barely visible from the cottage and only in broad daylight at that, was going up on the other side of the trees, or offended that such lengths were being taken to assure the guests that he would not peek at them when they were getting their outdoor massages.
Outdoor massage tables.
Grimes tried to imagine giving McKnight a massage outside. Sun shining on the oiled expanse of McKnight’s back. Warmth on him, between them, as he worked his hands across slippery skin, kneaded hot muscles, wind ruffling his hair. A fly landed on McKnight’s shoulder and Grimes shooed it away before stroking with slippery fingertips. McKnight made a satisfied grown and shifted his hips. Grimes slid back so his hard-on would nestle in the…
It was hard to concentrate on what the architect was saying. Something about the illusion of open air and a connection to nature.
All Grimes knew was that if you rolled around on the ground after a massage like that, the oil would make grass and dirt and leaves stick to you and you’d have to take a long shower to clean off. A lot of soap. Soapy water. Soapy fingers.
* * *
The main part of the spa was of a traditional design, thick stone walls, windows not too big, roof sloped enough to shed snow but not drastically. From there a more modern wing would curve down to the riverbank, vertical wood siding and tall thin windows, blending with the slope of the site. That was where the guests would stay. The gardens would be on the side closer to the cottage, where there would be tai chi classes on the mowed lawns and paths winding between and around the beds of herbs and flowers, the fountain and hot tubs, the meditation platforms and outdoor massage tables.
Linda snorted. Outdoor massage tables. Unbelievable. They had torn up a perfectly good natural meadow so they could bring in plants that did not grow naturally in this region, and then they were going to erect tent like structures so spoiled rich people could get a more ‘natural’ massage without feeling exposed. Everything was carefully plotted and schemed to approximate some sort of earthly paradise, when there was nothing wrong with the naturally occurring vegetation. Not that she had any say in the matter. She’d sold the property with only the one real proviso.
She was pleased about the wall. It would give John and Danny the privacy they needed.
She walked the length of the property line, pointing out a few places where the strings of the construction firm’s border went over the line indicated by the surveyor’s stakes. She was glad she’d decided to meet here to look it over. You give some people an inch and they’ll take…
“At least two feet,” she sniffed.
The Jim person hastily moved his marker and adjusted the strings to her liking. “Of course we want to cause as little damage to the trees as possible,” he said.
“I’m sure,” Linda said demurely.
John was making notes. That was good. He would make sure nothing untoward occurred while the wall was going up. He had the spare time. Danny was away for a two month stint, teaching a summer course at a military college in California, so he would only be home every second weekend.
John seemed less concerned about the separation than he used to be. He missed Danny terribly, but he was very calm about it. She guessed he knew he had nothing to worry about, so he kept doing all the things he always did, working out a bit more than usual, and looking very nice while he did it.
There would come the moment, of course, when she and John would have to give some sort of “proof” of their relationship. It always happened. She had kissed John on the mouth when she arrived at the cottage, and held his hand as they walked through the woods to the property line, but the supervisor and the foreman had both shot them those disbelieving looks.
It was Linda’s fault. She was aging faster than John. The pretense was becoming more difficult to uphold as the years passed. But that didn’t stop John from pushing her against the tree outside the front door just as the two visitors were getting into their cars. Oh, they looked, all right. The two of them were gawking openly.
Linda relaxed and reminded herself that this was not real. John was her brother’s boyfriend, and that this was just for show. But damn him, the sexy devil, he turned her on every time he did that thing with his hand on her hip and the way he nuzzled her cheek before he kissed her. He was careful to keep his tongue out of her mouth, but she knew it was there and she always wanted it in her mouth while he was kissing her. Afterwards, she was always grateful it hadn’t been. The kissing was just for show, after all. But it was impossible not to have some sort of physical response to that.
John grinned at her. “Are they gone yet?” he asked, voice a little rough. His hand followed the curve of her hip up to her waist.
Linda ignored the way her clit responded. “Not quite. And they noticed. Trust me.”
The architect looked a touch scandalized. The supervisor looked disappointed.
“I think you’ve shot down the hopes of the younger one,” Linda observed.
“Good. I didn’t like the way he was staring at my ass.”
Linda snuck her hand around to John’s ass, just in case anyone was still watching. It was all part of the act. “But it’s such a nice ass, John. I’m sure he couldn’t help looking.”
Nice was an understatement. She grown used to seeing her strong, capable, unflappable younger brother go speechless at the sight of John Grimes’ ass, but she doubted anyone could ever grow used to the sight of the actual ass.
She patted it. “Good work, John. I have to go home now.” With any luck, Roz would be in her office by the time Linda got back to her condo, and would have a free moment to engage in a little phone sex.
* * *
“The wall went up.”
McKnight looked out the kitchen window past the eight foot high scarlet runner bean plants. Beyond the cheerful little flowers, the low stone wall of the back of the garden, and the meadow that grew to the river, he could see the end of the wall, huge and imposing, protruding from the edge of the forest out into the water a few feet. “So I see. They’re not taking any chances, are they?”
“They’ve got outdoor massage tables or something.”
Was it some kind of a nudist camp? McKnight had been given to understand it was a health spa, a sort of retreat in the middle of the city, where people could relax and unwind for a few days without having to travel too far. Quiet rest, some PT in the gym, organic food and as much nature as you can get in a built-up area. Maybe the guests would go to self-help lectures and take some funny little mud baths or have weird vegetable things on their faces, whatever rich people did to make themselves think they were being taken care of better than everyone else. But outdoor massage tables? Was that some kind of kinky thing?
“I think they want to shut out everyone else and make themselves think they’re out in the country. The wall doesn’t just block off the view of the cottage – it cuts off the view of those power lines and the house on the hill and the apartments over there,” Grimes pointed to the road at the end of the driveway.
“Who wants to look at a stone wall?”
“They’re going to plant climbing roses and vines and stuff all along it. Something about an illusion of nature. I don’t know. I haven’t been out there much since they started working on the wall. They had to dig up some trees and I just couldn’t bear to watch.”
“We should check it out.” McKnight rinsed his coffee cup and put it on the drying rack.
Grimes shrugged. “If you like. I’m getting tired of adding figures. I could use a walk.”
Grimes closed the account book. There were a dozen binders piled on the table, and Grimes was putting together the final accounting of the estate. He rubbed his forehead; McKnight worried about his eyes.
“You should go get your eyes checked, make sure you have the right glasses,” he said.
Grimes smiled up at him. “I’m fine. It’s not my eyes, it’s the numbers. It’s ridiculous how much some people will pay for a stupid little stamp. When you think of all the people going hungry all over the world…”
McKnight frowned. Grimes got entirely too anxious about that sort of thing. McKnight wasn’t opposed to caring about other people or doing what he could to help – that was one reason he was in the army. He figured a lot of what he did was actually keeping the peace, and the humanitarian missions were vital. But Grimes got emotionally involved these days. He hadn’t been this worried about stuff like that back when he was in the army.
“It’s the luxury of having everything,” Grimes had explained to him one time. “I’m so happy, and I have everything I need, so now I have the time to worry about what other people don’t have.”
McKnight didn’t have everything. He had Grimes, but only when he wasn’t working. That wasn’t enough. Some day, though... some day he would have Grimes 100%. Then he could afford to get all bleeding-heart and altruistic.
McKnight watched Grimes pull on a pair of sneakers. They were dirt-stained and had a little hole near the little toe.
Holes in Grime’s attire, no matter where, always made McKnight want to rip them open.
Grimes would be really upset if McKnight ripped his sneakers to shreds.
McKnight tied up his boots and refused to imagine Grimes laying his cheek on the shiny black leather and looking up at him. Too tempting. Besides, it was a good idea to go for a walk. Two fucking months of being cooped up in a classroom teaching battle tactics was enough for McKnight. Fresh air would do him good.
The hill sloping down to the cottage on the road side of the property was planted with all kinds of wild grasses and stuff that didn’t have to be mowed, and this side was left to grow riotously. Grimes liked the contrast of the garden, lush and flowering in the front, in neat rows where the vegetables grew in the back, and the natural landscape. The low wall around the house was the dividing line. Even when the grass grew tall by the water Grimes refused to cut it. There were rabbits and gophers and god knew what else living out there. As long as they didn’t come into the house, McKnight didn’t mind. The woods were grown right in with all kinds of saplings and bushes and vines. It was completely wild where the trees grew. Even the path to Linda’s old house was growing over. Uncultivated.
There was a path of sorts through the woods, but it soon stopped and the wall loomed. There was a swath running the length of the wall, about two feet deep, where the trees and brush had been cleared so the stone could be laid. Weeds and other stuff McKnight couldn’t identify were already poking up, filling in the void. Grimes walked off, following the wall to where it curved away toward the waterside. McKnight looked up toward the backyards of the houses on Linda’s old street, with their high fences overgrown with ivies and vines.
If it weren’t for the narrow cleared strip, it would have looked like the wall had been there forever. The stone was just like the stone of the cottage. Branches swept over from the trees on this side as if they’d grown that tall knowing the wall would be put there.
Grimes came back. “It looks great, doesn’t it? And I don’t think we’ll hear anything from the spa at all.”
They could hear plenty at the moment. Earthmovers were rumbling around, shouts of workers could barely be heard above the roar. The racket was muffled by the wall, but enough came through that Grimes had to speak loudly to be heard. Of course, that was in part due to McKnight’s less than perfect hearing.
“I thought you said the foundation was done already?” McKnight asked. Grimes had told him about it on his last weekend home. Now McKnight was back for good. Until the next teaching assignment.
Grimes leaned in so his mouth was closer to McKnight’s good ear. “They did. I don’t know what they’re doing now.”
McKnight laced his fingers together. “Well, take a look.”
Grimes stared at McKnight’s hands.
“Go on. I’ll boost you up, you can stand on my shoulders. See what they’re doing.”
“We could walk around on the road.”
Grimes was uncomfortable with the idea of standing on McKnight’s shoulders. Screw that. Grimes was in great shape, not scrawny like he used to be, but he wasn’t that big. “I can take it,” McKnight grumbled. “Come on, get up there.”
“My shoes are muddy from the river bank.”
“So take’em off.”
McKnight couldn’t see what the problem with that would be, until Grimes slipped the sneakers off and stepped into McKnight’s cupped hands and put his other foot on McKnight’s shoulder. Grimes flexed his toes to keep his balance and McKnight's cock got very, very hard as he straightened his legs.
They’d fucked twice the night before, as soon as McKnight walked in the door, and right after taking a shower, but that was never enough, and Grimes’ naked ankle against his ear was bizarrely erotic.
McKnight put one hand on the ankle to help Grimes keep his balance, but it made him even shakier at first. McKnight put his other hand on the wall to keep his own balance and tried to look up. He could just see the top of the wall, Grimes’ hands on it, pulling him up.
Grimes ducked his head down. “Irrigation system,” he shouted.
The roar of the machines calmed, sputtered, and then died away.
“Must be coffee break,’ Grimes said.
McKnight could just make out voices on the other side of the wall. The workers were still yelling, as if the equipment was still running. They were probably temporarily deafened.
Grimes shifted his feet. Then he stepped right off McKnight’s shoulders and got a toehold on the wall. McKnight was worried he might cut his feet on the rough mortar. The spa side of the wall probably looked much neater; on this side the mortar spilled out from between the stones irregularly. Not too bad for climbing, except it was mortar, not rock, and it wasn’t very old either. It could break away at any moment.
McKnight reached up and grabbed Grimes’ waist as he climbed down. The muscles were hard, strong. Grimes landed on the ground smoothly. “There’s a fountain going in, and a huge irrigation system. They’re laying the pipes and drains for all that. It’s massive. They’re not leaving anything to chance. I’m sure it’ll make my garden look like a desert.”
“Well, no one over there is gonna see your garden, and there’s nothing wrong with your garden anyway. It’s amazing.” McKnight truly was amazed by how lush and green and fruitful everything was around the cottage. It was likes the plants were competing with each other to get Grimes’ attention. Not that McKnight could blame them.
Grimes sat down to put his shoes back on.
“I don’t think we have to worry about our privacy,” Grimes said. “I doubt any of them has a clue we’re here.” He patted the wall. “I like it.”
So did McKnight. He grabbed Grimes by the collar of his t-shirt and hauled him up to standing. “No clue,” he repeated, and pressed Grimes against the wall.
Grimes’ eyes darted this way and that. “Sir, we’re outside,” he whispered.
“Yeah,” McKnight said. It was hot, too. He was already sweating a bit.
“It’s daytime, sir!”
McKnight knew that. And it was a beautiful summer day. “There’s no one around,” he said.
“Uh, yes, there’s about ten guys on the other side of this wall, sir.”
Ten guys. Ten unlucky guys on that side of the wall, digging in the hot sun and choking on the fumes of the earth moving equipment, while there was one very lucky fellow on this side of the wall, in the cooling shade of the trees, cut off from all view by the dense foliage and the wall.
And Grimes was on this side of the wall.
That’s what McKnight called good luck.
“You worried they’ll want a piece of your ass?” McKnight teased.
Grimes’ eyes got big. “Sir!”
“Shh, don’t worry. I wouldn’t let them anywhere near you.” McKnight nuzzled Grimes’ cheek. McKnight has shaved him the night before, or rather early in the morning, so the stubble was just beginning. McKnight could only feel it with his lips if he brushed them against the direction of growth. He licked and could feel the individual hairs with his tongue. McKnight’s growl seemed as loud to McKnight as the rumble of the earth movers.
Fucking outside was one of McKnight’s favorite things. They mostly did it in the garden, protected from view by the plants and walls and shed. Or at night in the trees, where no one could see anyway. Mostly it was at dusk or night, but there had been a few times during the day. Never mid-morning, though. This was a real treat.
Grimes still seemed nervous, though. Maybe he just wasn’t ready for fucking yet. McKnight wouldn’t blame him for that. He wouldn’t be able to get fucked so soon either, not after last night. McKnight willed the image of Grimes on his hands and knees on the bed out of his mind. He needed to keep his wits about him, and the picture of his fingertips squeezing the round cheeks of Grimes’ ass, his thighs pressing up against the backs of Grimes’ thighs, his cock stretching Grimes’ asshole open and sinking in while Grimes flailed beneath him, would make him witless. Happily witless, but witless nonetheless.
McKnight smacked his palm on the stone next to Grimes’ head. “I bet this wall hasn’t been christened yet,” he said.
Grimes squirmed against him. “Christened, sir?” he asked.
McKnight pushed off Grimes. Space. Grimes needed space. And a little more persuasion, a little more enticement to action. Something he couldn’t resist.
“I gotta piss,” McKnight announced. “That coffee went right through me.”
Grimes licked his lips. “Really? Now?”
“Now,” McKnight said. “Here. Now. Pull it out.” He waved his hand, indicating the bulge in his pants.
Grimes looked around again, which was completely unnecessary because McKnight had done more than enough recon. He stepped beside McKnight and reached down to unbutton his fly. McKnight had to force his cock down so it wouldn’t jump out at and scare the crap out of Grimes. Calm, calm, no big deal. He was only going to piss on the side of the wall. Outside. In the open. In broad daylight. With Grimes holding his dick for him.
Motherfucker.
Grimes moved behind him, put both arms around to the front, pressed himself against McKnight’s back. Kinky bugger was hard already. McKnight could feel it against his ass. Grimes pulled McKnight’s fly open and pulled out his cock. There was a rush of air against McKnight’s neck when Grimes gasped.
Okay, so McKnight had not been entirely successful at persuading his cock to stay down. He was hard and thick and, well, his cock was always thick so that didn’t count, did it?
Grimes wrapped the fingers of both hands around his cock and gave a little stroke.
“You keep doing that I won’t be able to piss,” McKnight warned.
Grimes made a little noise and said “shhh”. Probably worried the guys on the other side of the wall would hear.
McKnight closed his eyes. His bladder was full, that was for sure. He’d had three cups of coffee. God, it was good to be home and to drink Grimes’ coffee for a change. He tried to ignore the heat of Grimes’ fingers, the way they curved around his cock. Pressure. He concentrated on the pressure, on how good it would feel once he pissed.
No good. Damn it!
Grimes wriggled against his back. “Go on, sir. I’m waiting.”
And he might have to wait a long time. McKnight didn’t need to piss nearly as much as he’d thought, apparently.
* * *
Grimes tried to keep his hands from shaking as he gripped McKnight’s cock. Not too hard – he shouldn’t make it difficult for McKnight to piss, no matter how much he wanted to. He wanted to squeeze and stroke and then caress and fondle. Then he wanted to get on his knees and take it in his mouth. He had only got the chance to suck it for a little while the night before, when McKnight first walked in the door, and that had only lasted until McKnight ordered him to kneel on the stairs with his pants around his knees.
Grimes put his lips against the back of McKnight’s neck. “Don’t want to pressure you or anything, sir, but the sooner you piss, the sooner I can do what I really want to do with your cock.”
McKnight tensed under his lips. “Oh, yeah. What’s that?”
“I wanna put it in my mouth.”
McKnight’s cock stiffened in his hand.
“Suck it. Lick it. Rub it over my lips.”
McKnight’s hand slapped the stone wall again.
“Please, sir.”
McKnight’s cock jerked and the piss hit the wall. Grimes spread his fingers and moved his index finger toward the tip. Heat radiated from the stream of urine. He didn’t think he should put his finger in it because he didn’t want anything to splash back onto McKnight. But he wanted to feel it flow over his skin. He moved carefully, until the stream just grazed it.
“Hot,” he breathed out over McKnight’s neck.
“Motherfucker,” McKnight grunted.
Some day, Grimes was going to have to ask McKnight to piss on him. He tried to picture himself naked and kneeling with the stream of urine hitting his chest, dripping down to his hard cock. Covered in piss.
McKnight would never do that.
It was just as well. Grimes didn’t know if he really wanted to do it either. But he wanted to feel it. The jet of piss started to slacken. Grimes kept his grip with the one hand, moved the other in front so his fingers got wet.
“Oh, God,” McKnight groaned.
The liquid was hot and sprayed across Grimes’ hand. Grimes could smell it. Coffee. McKnight always loved his coffee when he came home. It gave his piss a bitter smell, but Grimes liked bitter. He gave a short stroke to the cock, and a brief shake once the pissing was done. Then he slid off McKnight’s back and to the side, so McKnight would get a clear view when he lifted his wet fingers to his mouth.
McKnight started to say don’t but his mouth stopped working and then kind of hung open when Grimes slid the tip of his index finger between his lips and licked.
Not really Grimes’ cup of tea. But it was so deliciously dirty, the taste didn’t matter. He slid the other wet finger in as well and sucked his cheeks in around them. McKnight grabbed him by the shoulders and walked him backward. One, two, three big steps away from where McKnight’s piss painted a dark stain on the stone. Grimes sank down, leaves and sticks crunching under his knees.
Grimes hadn’t been too careful about shaking. When he stuck out his tongue, there were a couple drops. Enough. McKnight grabbed his hair and twisted when Grimes opened his mouth wide enough to take in the head.
There was a shout from the other side of the wall, and laughter.
Grimes ignored everything but the cock in his mouth and the fingers in his hair.
* * *
McKnight wouldn’t be able to stand for this much longer. His thighs were shaking. His knees were weak. His cock felt so big it would tip him over and crush Grimes. Grimes was just sucking on the head, sucking with his eyes closed and his tongue flitting around and his cheeks sunken by the suction and McKnight wanted more but he wanted this to last forever too, so he unclenched his fingers and rubbed the tips of them on Grimes’ scalp. He rubbed up and down. He urged slightly, and Grimes took him into his mouth just a bit more, so that the flickering tongue passed under the head and sent sparks down to McKnight’s toes.
“Fuck!” McKnight grunted, and he grabbed Grimes by the collar again. The t-shirt was going to be stretched out of shape by the end of the morning. And McKnight was going to make sure that Grimes didn’t care.
“Up against the wall, soldier.”
McKnight made sure he threw Grimes against a section of wall that was relatively smooth. Grimes’ hands flew up with the momentum, so McKnight took hold of both wrists and held them above Grimes’ head.
There was a little dampness on the one wrist. That was McKnight’s piss. It was impossible to see clearly, so McKnight shut his eyes and pressed his whole body against Grimes. “Motherfucker, John, you’re a dirty boy.”
Grimes’ hips flexed upward.
“Dirty, slutty boy,” McKnight moaned against Grimes’ cheek. “What am I going to do with you?” he asked. Rhetorically. There was no need for Grimes to answer. It was perfectly obvious.
McKnight had to make Grimes come.
He had to make him come before McKnight said something he shouldn’t say. He’d already called Grimes a slut. He’d only been pushed that far a few times. It was one thing to call him a good boy – that was just telling the truth – but Grimes wasn’t a slut. He wasn’t promiscuous. He only had sex with one person and that person was McKnight so McKnight had no right to be pushing him against the wall and calling him slutty, not when McKnight had just had his hands fisted in Grimes’ hair while he shoved his fat cock into his mouth.
“You like sucking cock out here in the open, don’t you?” McKnight growled. It just slipped out before he could stop it. There was no way in hell Grimes could have come fast enough to stop it.
Grimes squirmed between McKnight and the wall and got his cock against McKnight’s cock.
“That piss got you hard, didn’t it?” Jesus, fuck, he just couldn’t shut up today.
Grimes squeaked and tried to kiss McKnight, but it was too late. McKnight couldn’t stop talking. He turned his head. “Like getting that piss on you, dirty boy?”
Shut the fuck up, McKnight yelled at himself, but that was only inside his head so Grimes couldn’t hear it. He probably wouldn’t have heard it if McKnight had said it out loud because he was whimpering and climbing the fucking wall, shoving his hips out so his cock ground against McKnight.
McKnight shoved his face against Grimes’ neck hoping to shut himself up, but Grimes took it the wrong way and made a little whining noise. “I’m sorry, sir,” Grimes panted. “I’m sorry my mouth is all dirty from licking your piss off my fingers.”
McKnight bit Grimes’ neck. Motherfuck. He tasted sweat, and sweat isn’t all that different from piss, is it? Besides, he had to show Grimes he wasn’t really dirty. No dirtier than McKnight. And that was pretty fucking dirty, but if they were both like that together it wouldn’t be dirty. It would be pure. It was pure.
He pressed his lips against Grimes’ lips and licked across them. Grimes had his mouth closed tight. McKnight let go of one hand – the one that had the piss on it, and grabbed Grimes under the chin, forcing his mouth open. “Gimme that dirty mouth,” he ordered, and he shoved his tongue in Grimes’ mouth. Grimes responded with a muffled groan and a thrust of his tongue into McKnight’s mouth. “Dirty boy,” McKnight growled after he finished sucking Grimes’ tongue. He was humping Grimes, dragging his cock over the hard ridge in Grimes’ jeans, scratching and crushing and ramming his cock against Grimes’. Grimes had one leg up on McKnight’s hip and his fingers were scrabbling for a hold on the mortar so he could pull himself up and get both legs around McKnight’s waist.
This was gonna fucking hurt tomorrow, but McKnight ignored the weight and hauled Grimes’ thigh up to waist height. Grimes nipped at McKnight’s lower lip and McKnight wanted teeth. Fucking teeth and bruises and marks that would last forever. He fucked himself against Grimes and couldn’t stop until…
“Danny!”
McKnight let out a grunt. Then he started talking again, growling from the strain of keeping the volume down. There were still ten unlucky guys on the other side of the wall. As much as the macho part of McKnight wanted the whole world to know he was getting laid by the sexiest fucking soldier on earth, he didn’t want to embarrass Grimes. “John, fuck, John, come,” he whispered hoarsely. “I have to make you come. You have to come, please. You’re not a slut, John. You’re mine. All mine. Show me.”
“Danny, ah, fuck, just a little… left … oh, fuck, yeah. That’s it.”
Grimes shuddered and his legs clutched McKnight. McKnight got less frantic the instant Grimes bit his neck. Grimes shook and groaned against McKnight’s neck and McKnight held him up and let him ride it out. Grimes licked the spot he’d been biting. “Oh, Danny. That was…” and he started biting again, softer this time. Chewing, almost.
McKnight stroked his hair. “Good boy,” he whispered, relieved that Grimes had come so violently. He kept stroking until Grimes went still all over.
Then Grimes tilted his hips. Rolled them, like he was dancing. “Danny, now I want you to come.”
“Didn’t I come?” McKnight asked with a little laugh. He honestly couldn’t tell.
There was a deep rumble, and the equipment started up, idling, and the shouts came from all over the site.
Grimes shimmied against McKnight’s cock.
Fuck, no, he hadn’t come! Imagine that.
* * *
McKnight wouldn’t keep pressing Grimes against the wall like that – Grimes had already come so that sort of treatment would become painful after a while. Always considerate. McKnight gripped Grimes’ ass to keep him up in the air and rolled up to meet Grimes’ hips.
“John, you’re not dirty,” he said.
“I know, Danny. I know,” Grimes said, straining, trying to keep his cock from getting painfully crushed at the same time was trying to put pressure on McKnight’s cock.
“You’re not a slut,” McKnight huffed, and he let one of Grimes’ legs slither down so he could straddle it and hump it properly.
“I know that,” Grimes said right against his ear. And it was a good thing, The machines were rolling, moving the dirt, shifting the earth, and it would be hard for McKnight to hear anything.
“I love you,” McKnight shouted and Grimes grabbed his shoulders harder. “God, I love you, John. I love you and I want you to…”
Grimes knew. He wanted Grimes to make him come. He wanted Grimes to kiss him just like that, hard and with lots of tongue. He wanted Grimes to flex his leg so his quadriceps would go stiff and the pressure on McKnight’s balls would make him explode and he wanted to come out in the woods with the sun shining and a hot breeze on the back of his neck and a hot tongue tracing the shape of his ear and Grimes’ voice in his ear and deep in his brain saying, “I love you, Danny.”
McKnight sagged against Grimes. “Jesus, John,” he gasped.
Grimes patted McKnight’s shoulder lightly.
“I think I might have to go away for another two weeks just to recover from that.”
Grimes laughed and ran his hand over McKnight’s graying crewcut. “You’re home now, sir, but I promise I won’t demand sex tonight. We can have a quiet night together.”
Yeah, right. They’d go back home and Grimes would finish his work while McKnight had a little rest. They would have lunch and Grimes would do some more work while McKnight unpacked and sorted out his gear. Maybe they would go out for dinner, even though Linda wasn’t in town, or maybe McKnight would offer to cook, because he hardly ever cooked and it would be a nice treat for Grimes. And they could watch a movie or see if there was a game on, and then they would sit around and be quiet.
But at some point McKnight would have to piss again, and that was going to make him want sex, because he wouldn’t be able to piss without thinking about Grimes fingers dripping with his piss and Grimes’ lips touching them and him kissing Grimes and not caring about the piss, knowing that some day he’d want to piss on more than Grimes’ fingers but he’d couldn’t ask for something like that because it would be too fucking much.
Grimes peeled himself away from McKnight’s front and looked down ruefully. The knees of his jeans were covered in dirt and twigs. His shirt was plastered to his skin with sweat and other stuff. There was a dark stain going from the crotch up to the waist of his jeans and a little bit on his t-shirt, from the inside, where the fabric was stuck even tighter to his skin. And there was another stain on the outside, darker and spread wider – McKnight’s come soaking him through.
“Wow,” Grimes said, “I look like a total slut.”
“No, you’re not!” McKnight said, grabbing Grimes’ shoulders, shaking him just a little.
Grimes was shocked for a second and then he smiled. “Oh, I know that, sir. But can’t we pretend, just for a while?”
McKnight’s cock, fat and limp and bright pink from all the rubbing and spent to within and inch of its life, actually twitched.
“You’re a dirty boy,” McKnight said.
Grimes’ eyes flashed. “Yeah, I know, sir. You should take me home and scrub me clean.”
The machines kept going on the other side of the wall. Inside, on their side, things were quiet.
For now.
Back to The Long Haul
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