The Long Haul - A Day Like Today Part 2
Title: A Day Like Today – Part 2
Author: heartofslash
Fandom: post BHD, The Long Haul
Pairings: Grimes/McKnight, Hoot/Sanderson
Rating: this part NC-17 for sexsexsex
Warnings: sub/Dom, resolution of relationship crisis, utter disrespect for the sanctity of the D-Tech office.
Disclaimer: Has nothing to do with people, real or fictional, except for inspiration.

Happens right after A Day Like Today Part 1


A Day Like Today Part 2

Sanderson grabbed Hoot by the arm and dragged him out of the office, down the hall, and out the back door. The two of them barreled into Kurt Schmid, who was sitting on the back steps fiddling with a cell phone tracking device that would transmit directly to the computer in the workroom.

"Can we take you out for dinner?" Sanderson asked a little breathlessly.

"What?" Schmid backed away, like he was afraid of them.

"He saw us last night," Hoot explained. "Together."

"Really?" Sanderson was baffled. How had Kurt seen them?

"It was when… Hoot was on… you were facing away from the door," Kurt said, stuttering only slightly on the 'f' and the 'd'.

"Oh, shit. I'm sorry, Kurt. That was very unprofessional of us. Let us make it up to you. We'll take you out for steak. Our treat. We promise we won't be unprofessional."

"Well, I…" Kurt looked doubtful.

"I can't promise that," Hoot said. "You don't know what Mr. Grimes just said to me."

"I don't want to know what Mr. Grimes just said to you. I don't need to know. What I do know is that I want to get as far away from this house as possible while the Colonel and Mr. Grimes… discuss whatever they need to discuss."

"My jacket is inside," Schmid said.

"I'll buy you a new jacket," Sanderson said. "Trust me. If you were upset about what you saw last night, you do not want to go back in that building!"




Grimes was having a minor amount of trouble breathing, but he didn't mind that at all. The problem was that he'd forgotten how to breathe around all that cock, but it was no big deal. Muscle memory. He would pick it up again real fast.



McKnight groaned loud enough that even he heard it, with both ears. Motherfucker. How had he survived so long without the feel of Grimes' mouth on him? He slid his fingers through soft hair and ran his thumb along Grimes' open jawline, and looked down into wide, gray eyes.

"You've been such a good boy," he said.

McKnight wanted to add that he, himself, had been a stupid prick. He wanted to say that he should never have let Grimes leave his bed, no matter how badly it hurt when Grimes accidentally bumped into his arm, because it hadn't really hurt all that much more than his arm had already been hurting, in the grand scheme of things, but he'd not been thinking about the big picture. He'd been too busy being petty and enjoying every individual misery as if it was his only joy.

He wanted to say that he should have stopped Grimes from leaving the bed as soon as he figured out he wouldn't be coming back. He should have ordered Grimes back and showed him that how much he still wanted him, but then he'd have to admit that he'd been afraid that Grimes wouldn't want him any more, because he was broken.

Things had just escalated since then, with them growing further and further apart, and McKnight not knowing how to stop the slide, because while Grimes was being respectful and helpful and dutiful, he was not being talkative. He'd never been all that talkative. In fact, he had sometimes, in moments of extreme relaxation and unguardedness, teased McKnight about wanting to "talk about the relationship" all the time.

Grimes never wanted to talk about it. He only wanted to serve.

It was too awkward for McKnight to ask Grimes to serve him when he was all fucked up. Too selfish. His hands didn't work right and he had all these tender scars and he didn't think he could open his mouth wide enough to do anything substantial with it, so how could he reciprocate? Grimes had jerked him off a few times and they'd felt enough like pity hand jobs for McKnight to go into a deeper state of self-pity, because McKnight had honestly not thought Grimes would want him like this. Broken. And he could not talk about it.

Because Grimes would not want to hear him say he was broken.

Because Grimes didn't think he was broken. Grimes didn't care if he had a few more scars. Grimes didn't care if his hands were still healing. Grimes didn't care if he couldn't hear that great. The painkillers must have fucked up McKnight's thought processes, because the truth was obvious, now that Grimes was kneeling on the floor with McKnight's cock in his mouth.

Grimes didn't mind scars at all. He never had. He even liked then.

And Grimes would want to think of a dozen ways to help McKnight's hands heal, and those things would include exercises and slippery lotions and god know what else, but McKnight would be sure to enjoy every second of them.

And McKnight remembered now that he didn't have to hear well – he could always read Grimes' lips, and staring at Grimes' lips would make Grimes want to use his lips. And fuck, could Grimes use his lips!

What a waste of two months at home, goddamn it.

Grimes flinched slightly when McKnight's thumb skated too close to his eye.

"I'm sorry," McKnight said. The skin was still rough all over his hands. The fresh skin grew in smooth enough, but it didn't seem to connect with the existing skin, so it was like a patchwork, mismatched and rough-edged, with a misshapen lump beneath his right thumb where they'd had to reconnect some tendons, and a vivid, jagged tear across the back, raised up enough to make it look like a giant vein ready to pop. Everything had been battered and torn, and he didn't have the same control over them that he once had, but he would get it back again. He would do whatever it took to get back control. He would get his hands in perfect working order again.

And in the meantime, he would find ways to use them for which their current state would be ideal.

He bent down and rubbed his hand down the back of Grimes neck. He could tell it scratched, just a bit. Enough to make Grimes purr around his cock.

"I think my hand might be a bit too rough to use on your cock," McKnight said.

Grimes whimpered loud enough for McKnight to hear it. And feel it.

"That's okay." McKnight patted his head and pushed his cock just a little deeper into Grimes' throat. "I promise I'll kiss it better."



Grimes shimmied on the floor. Ah, fuck, he needed to get his cock out of his pants, but then he wouldn't be able to concentrate on the taste and the feel and the sound. He didn't want to miss any word of this. He'd waited too long.

After McKnight had kicked Hoot out of the office, he'd yanked the curtains shut and ordered Grimes on his knees. Grimes had been stunned at first, but as soon as he saw the state of McKnight's erection, he understood what he wanted. What they both wanted.

He'd been waiting a fuck of a long time for this, for McKnight to finally get over his self-consciousness, to realize that Grimes had been waiting for him. He'd started to fear it wasn't going to happen.

Grimes did not know what Sanderson had said to McKnight. He didn't want to know. Sanderson seemed to understand far too much about him and McKnight, and there was no end to the embarrassing things he might have said to get McKnight to come over here…

… to find Grimes here, with Hoot, and Hoot comforting Grimes.

How had that looked to McKnight?

Grimes would never, ever make, or even think disparaging remarks about Sanderson being a devious know-it-all, or about Hoot being a slut, because it was the combination of whatever Sanderson had said to McKnight, and the mind-exploding jealous rage that seeing Hoot on the couch with Grimes had created in McKnight that had put Grimes right here, where he wanted to be.

It did not, in the long run, matter what had prompted this turn of events. It would not have mattered if it had been orchestrated by Sanderson or if it had just happened naturally. It would not have mattered if Grimes had swallowed his pride and begged, or if McKnight's therapist, whom he fully resented, had suggested to him that he do something entirely selfish in order to convince himself of his self-worth – not that McKnight's therapist would ever tell him to order Grimes on his knees, because he was an Army-provided therapist, and as far as he knew, from what McKnight had told him, the therapist thought McKnight shared a house with his sister's boyfriend, and had an on-again-off-again relationship with a teacher who lived out of town.

All that required deception was why therapy had not done one bit of good. Grimes was convinced of that. Therapy only works if you are brutally honest. That's why Grimes would never, ever go into therapy. He could never admit the pure truth to a stranger, especially not a doctor. He'd only ever been able to admit the entire truth to McKnight.

They'd assigned McKnight a therapist because of the extent of his injuries, and the severity of his supposed disabilities. Grimes thought that was ridiculous. McKnight was healthy. He was healing beautifully. His hearing wasn't great, but it had never been all that great, and he still had enough of it to be able to have a conversation, as long as the TV or radio wasn't on. He needed more therapy for his hands, but they were progressing well. The skin was too rough, but only because he had not been comfortable with Grimes rubbing cream into it, because it still hurt a lot when he first got home, and then after McKnight got off the painkillers he still couldn’t massage his hands because bourbon didn't kill pain nearly as much as McKnight claimed it did.

Grimes knew that because a couple of nights, when McKnight was particularly grumpy, he'd tried a few shots to see if they would ease the pain in his heart, and all it ever did was make it worse.

But there was no pain in his heart now. His heart was singing. He felt perfect.

And McKnight's hands were in his hair. God, how he'd been wanting to feel them. He'd yearned, every night, to feel McKnight's hands on him again. Every day they healed more, and McKnight did his exercises, stretching them and strengthening them, and every day the scars faded, and sure, they were really rough, but they were whole again. When they ran down his neck, the roughness was like the tongue of a cat, and Grimes wanted it everywhere.

And he was finally going to get it. Whatever had happened had happened, and his Colonel was back!

There had been a lot of muttering at first, about Hoot never being allowed in a room alone with Grimes again, and "What did you say to him?" and no one, do you understand? NO ONE could ever be as perfect or as good or as fucking sexy as Grimes was. The combination of the jealousy and the adoration was almost too good to be true.

"I am your commanding officer, damn it, and you will sleep in my bed with me every fucking night from now on. Naked!"

Grimes' brain ate all this up like candy while his body focused on easing that huge cock as deep inside his throat as possible. Then came the part about McKnight roughing up his cock with his big, beautiful, scarred hands, and then kissing it better. Grimes tried to convey his pleasure. It came out as a moan.

"I heard that," McKnight said, low and growling just like he used to. "I didn't only feel that."

Grimes moaned again, louder, and sucked as hard as he could, too.

"Motherfuck, that's good. I have to hear you moan. I need to hear you call me sir again."

Grimes honestly wanted to call him sir again, but he couldn't with all that cock in his mouth. He'd relearned how to breathe, but he'd never been able to talk while doing that.

"I'm not doing it. I'm not getting that operation. Not even going to the appointment today. Fuck that. I'm not good enough for the army? Fine. I'll do something else."

Grimes didn't like that. He didn't want McKnight to give up his career just so he could hear Grimes moan. That seemed excessive.

McKnight pulled his cock out of Grimes' mouth and sank down on his knees. He held Grimes' face between his hands and rubbed a rough thumb on Grimes' cheekbone. "This is me, John. This is what there is. If the army doesn't want me, fuck the army. I don't need the army. I need you."

And Grimes needed McKnight, but not if it was going to cost him his career. "Sir, it's what you do. You're an officer."

McKnight shook his head. "I don't need the army to be a commanding officer."

No, he did not.

The realization made Grimes shiver.

"And John, if I leave the army, take early retirement, I can look for work doing something else."

"But you get the operation you could get almost all of your hearing back, sir."

"And then I'd have to stay in the army. Do a tour. But if I don't get it, I take a pension and I can live with you. All the time. Openly. No more pretending."

Grimes knew it wouldn’t be all that open. McKnight would never be openly gay. They wouldn't act like the couples he used to see, obviously together, holding hands on the street, kissing in public… no. McKnight wouldn't do that. Couldn't. Not as long as they lived in this town. Maybe never.

But then, he remembered that one time, when McKnight had been playing the part to make it look like he was straight, when he'd bent Roz backwards over the hood of a car and kissed the breath out of her. McKnight was disciplined, but he was not entirely above public displays of affection.

They would have to go on a vacation somewhere, somewhere where that sort of thing wouldn't be remarkable.

Even if they couldn’t really live openly, McKnight could stop being quite so tense. They wouldn't have to be quite so careful about closing curtains and locking doors. They would not have to be quite so meticulous about sight lines and hedges and staying in the shadows.

Not that McKnight would ever do anything sexual when other people could see clearly. He would be too wary of letting anyone see Grimes naked. He was particular about that. He wanted Grimes in the loosest t-shirt and sweats possible for yoga class, and made sure Grimes didn't wear his tightest jeans out of the house. In fact, Grimes had never worn his tightest jeans for longer than an hour, two at most… they wouldn't be as tight as they used to be now.

Grimes would gain the weight back now, now that things were going to be back to normal, and now that they wouldn't have to be so circumspect about every little detail. They could be almost normal.

Grimes did not know what to say to that.

He'd never considered it before.

"And," McKnight said with a smile, "you are never kissing my sister on the mouth, ever again."

Grimes had not seen him smile since before.

He hadn't smiled once when Grimes visited him with Linda, pretending to be there to support Linda, kissing her every once in a while to keep up the charade. McKnight had shown no indication of being jealous during those visits, but then, some of the muscles of his face had been stiff from the bruising, and he'd been in a lot of pain. Jealousy might not show up under those conditions. From the way he was gripping Grimes' head, it sure felt like he didn't want Grimes to have to kiss Linda ever again.

McKnight couldn’t be jealous of Linda, could he? His own sister? He had to know that was pure façade.

But he could be jealous of Hoot.

"Hoot was just trying to make me feel better," Grimes said.

Grimes' head thudded a little on the floor when McKnight pushed him down, but it didn't hurt at all. It felt great to have his pants ripped open, and it was reassuring to know that McKnight's hands were healed and strong enough to shred a pair of underwear.

Oh, god, McKnight's hands were rough on his cock. Sharp points of skin nicked him, scraped him, and then, as promised, a hot, wet tongue swept over him. Soft lips. More hot tongue. But the stubble was much more painful than the jagged skin.

"Sir! You need a shave," Grimes gasped.

McKnight crawled up his body. "Will you shave me?" he rumbled in Grimes ear. A tongue followed, and then stubble rasped against Grimes throat.

"God, yes. But later, sir," Grimes yelped. Much later. There was a huge cock crushing his balls.




McKnight cursed his poor planning. He should have brought lube. Why hadn't he brought lube? Fuck it, he didn't need lube. There was no need to fuck Grimes, not here, not now. He didn't want to fuck Grimes, not on the floor of the D-Tech office. Not all desperate and rushed. He wanted to fuck Grimes carefully, slowly, gently.

He would have to come at least once, maybe twice before he could slow down enough to do that. They were both shaking and needed to come as fast as possible. He grabbed Grimes' cock and Grimes grabbed his cock, and that in and of itself was better than any of the pathetic jerking off he'd been done since he got home. He didn't know why he'd ever thought he could live without this.

Grimes seemed to understand exactly what he needed. Grimes always did. McKnight pushed his face against Grimes neck and let Grimes push his hand away. One at a time. It would have been fun to come together, but it had been too long. He was too desperate. Fucked up as his hands were, he'd likely crush Grimes' cock in his frenzy without even realizing it, and it was so good to give it up, let Grimes jerk him off with hard, sure strokes. Maybe he couldn't hear everything, but he knew Grimes was panting, and words weren't always needed.

McKnight had to get that t-shirt off Grimes. It was beautiful, and soft, but he wanted skin. Grimes wouldn't let go of his cock, so McKnight had to be content with pushing it up and touching taut skin and wiry hair. "More," he said.

"You have to come first, sir. You know that, sir."

McKnight didn't know anything anymore. He turned to pure instinct, a little frantic, as he pushed his cock into Grimes' hand and listened to Grimes call him sir.

Almost two weeks since Grimes had called him sir. He'd noticed. He'd even got used to it. Grimes calling him by his name had sunk him deeper into depression or whatever, but that was over now, because Grimes was not only calling him sir, he was fucking babbling it, and jerking him off, and squirming against him, so his name was no longer the norm. Sir was the norm again, and his name was the exception, so when Grimes wriggled and got his lips right up against McKnight's good ear and pleaded, "Please, Danny, please!", McKnight completely lost it, so fast that Grimes missed the first shot.

But Grimes was nimble, and he scrambled down to get his mouth on McKnight's cock in time to catch the rest of it, and McKnight had to grab the leg of the couch to keep from flying off the floor, it was that fucking good.



Grimes tried to move his legs, but McKnight was too heavy, draped over Grimes' lower half, breathing hard against Grimes' left hip. His lips slid across Grimes' hipbone, slick with Grimes' come.

Oh, fuck, that had been mind blowing. Grimes hadn't come like that, so fast, so hard, so fully, for so long. Maybe he never had. Fuck. McKnight was so fucking good at that. The wounds to his face had not diminished the effectiveness of his mouth one bit. Predictably, Grimes had gone off like a teenager. It had been such a long time since his cock had been inside anything other than his own half-hearted fist. McKnight had not seemed to mind at all.

Rough fingers skittered over his hipbone after the lips.

"You've lost so much weight," McKnight said.

Please, don't worry about that. Ignore it, ignore it, ignore it…

"I haven't been taking proper care of you," McKnight said.

That wasn't his job, dammit.

"I'm sorry."

McKnight had to shut up. Right away. Grimes had to shut him up. He did not want this, not now. This talk had to happen, but not now. Besides, McKnight had lost weight too. They'd both been under a whole lot of stress. It was to be expected.

But the apology had been heartfelt, and it made Grimes feel very special inside. Deep inside. Somewhere in the pit of his stomach. No, lower…

"Sir, you can make it up to me by fucking me," Grimes said.

Maybe McKnight hadn't heard him.

"Sir, I said, maybe you should fuck me."

McKnight breathed hard against his hip. "I heard you the first time."

Grimes did not think McKnight's hearing was nearly as poor as McKnight, or the army, thought it was.

McKnight crawled up Grimes' body and spread his weight, less than before but still substantial. "I miss a lot of the highs and lows, but your voice…" McKnight nuzzled Grimes jaw. "Your voice is the perfect pitch."

Wow.

McKnight rolled over, bringing Grimes with him, so Grimes lay on top, and McKnight spread his hands over Grimes' bare ass. "And no matter what weight you're at, you'll always be my ideal weight."

Grimes wriggled his ass into McKnight's hands. The rough skin scratched him, but it wouldn’t cause any permanent damage. No worse than McKnight's stubble would, were he to rub his face across Grimes' ass. Which Grimes wanted, naturally. But he wasn't going to ask for it, because he was spread out on top of McKnight and weight loss or now weight loss, McKnight was still a fucking mattress.

"God help me, John, I want to fuck you so bad."

"Yes, sir," Grimes purred and licked up the new scar on McKnight's cheek, the one that ran from his jaw almost all the way up to his eye. It was a tiny, faint line, flaring pink in the middle for about half an inch. Grimes moved up to the thicker scar above McKnight's eye. So close. He had been so relieved when the swelling went down and McKnight's other eye had been staring out at him, just as blue as ever, 20/20 vision. No damage to the eye. A miracle.

The one that used to be McKnight's bad ear was now the good one. Maybe not good. Better. Better than the other one, which was, for all intents and purposes, deaf. Grimes brushed his lips over the good ear. "I know where there's lube," he whispered.

The hands tightened on his ass.



'I can't,' McKnight thought.

First off, on the most normal day for the past several years, the mere idea of being inside Grimes was enough to make McKnight grit his teeth. But Grimes had not had McKnight in him for a long time. That would make Grimes…

"Virgin tight," McKnight growled in Grimes' ear.

Grimes performed a very satisfying shimmy that brought as much of him as possible in full contact with McKnight.

Maybe he didn't catch everything Grimes said. Maybe he'd have to rely on lip reading and extrapolation. Maybe he'd have to guess at the full meaning sometimes. It wasn't that hard, in this situation. The first part had been a bit garbled, but the word 'lube' had come through okay.

So McKnight couldn't hear every little detail. Big deal. He didn't need to hear every single detail. He sure as hell could still talk.

"I don't know if I can fuck you," he said, trying to sound casual. How the hell he was supposed to sound causal with mostly naked Grimes lying on top of him was moot. He gave it his best shot. "I mean, after all this time. You might be too tight. Have you had anything in your ass?"

Grimes shook his head.

"You sure?"

Grimes nodded his head.

"I'm going to have to spend a lot of time getting you ready." He needed the extra time to get it up again, anyway. They'd been lying there for a while, and after he'd finished blowing Grimes he'd spent some time just licking him, his slender hips, his flat stomach, his soft cock. But he hadn't spent enough time. Not yet. He spread his fingers on Grimes' beautiful ass and cringed at the scrape of them on tender skin. "John… it'll be too rough." He felt bad about that. He really, really wanted to feel the inside of Grimes' asshole, but his fingers… he'd tear it to shreds.

"There are gloves," Grimes said, loud and clear.

Of course. These sneaky fuckers probably spent as much time doing B and Es as they did legit security work. There would be gloves. But lube?

"They fuck on the couch in the other room, sir," Grimes read his mind. "I know where the lube is stashed. And condoms."

Condoms? Why the hell would he want a condom?

It would kept he mess to a minimum. And maybe… he slid his index finger, his smoothest fingertip, down and brushed it across Grimes' opening.

"You're going to be so hot, and so fucking tight, I'm going to need that condom to keep me from coming right away."

It was a relief that Grimes reacted as predictably as ever to the dirty talk. He pushed his asshole back against McKnight's finger and huffed hot air over his face and licked the scar over his eye again. "Oh, yes, sir. Please, sir."

The sirs sounded louder than all the other words. Selective hearing?

"Get up, and go get me lube and gloves and a condom," McKnight ordered.

Grimes got up. First he slithered off McKnight. Then he stood and stretched. He pulled his t-shirt all the way off, and kicked off the leg of his pants that was still twisted around his foot, and then he fucking sauntered across the room. McKnight propped his head up and watched. Grimes left the door to the other office open, so McKnight could see him bend over to retrieve the bottle of lube from behind the couch. That looked good. He had to bend way over to get the condoms. That looked extra good. Fucking excellent, in fact. Then the gloves.

Motherfucker. The gloves were on a shelf behind Grimes' desk. High up. Grimes had to get a stool to stand on to reach them. He was standing, naked, on a stool, retrieving a box of nonlatex disposable gloves, and he looked like a model or something, so lean and so confident.

He wasn't really that confident. McKnight could tell. He was putting on a brave face, acting casual for McKnight's benefit. In reality, he was probably worried, like he always was, about being perfect enough.

McKnight got up. "Stay there," he said. He approached cautiously, afraid to scare Grimes. "Hand me the gloves, then face the wall."

Grimes did as he was told. McKnight stood next to him and licked his spine, about halfway up. "God, you're beautiful," McKnight said. He put his hands on Grimes' ass and squeezed. "You are so fucking beautiful." He pulled his hands apart. Grimes' knees buckled, but he recovered and reached forward to put his hands on the top of the file cabinet.

"That's a good boy. Bend over."

Grimes bent right over, so his chest rested on top of the cabinet.

McKnight sat on the edge of the desk. That put him at the exact right height. Fucking perfect.



The metal file cabinet was cold against Grimes' stomach and chest. Deep breaths. Calm, deep breaths. Not an easy thing to do when teeth and stubble were scraping over the underside of his ass. "Sir, I don't think I can take that," he said. But he said it too quietly for McKnight to hear him. Hot tongue slid over his asshole. "Oh, sir!" That was, he was sure, loud enough for McKnight to hear.

He knew McKnight wished he could hear better, wanted to hear more. Grimes wasn't entirely sure what he should say. He could beg McKnight to lick him, but that would be superfluous. McKnight was already licking him. Licking him softly, gently, maddeningly gently.

Grimes heard the snap of a disposable glove.

This was going to make him beg. No doubt about it. The clinical distance provided by the glove, the slickness of the lube, the thickness of the finger inside him, would all conspire to make him beg in the most shameful fashion. In the office. Behind his desk. Where he had to work every day. How would he ever work again? He inched his feet to the very edges of the stool, wishing he could spread them wider, wider, wider, until he was totally open.

McKnight slid his finger in and out with infuriating calmness. Clinical. Detached. "I don't think I can fit my cock into this little hole," he said.

Fuck, it drove Grimes crazy when he said shit like that. And McKnight knew it. This was all on purpose. What the fuck had Sanderson said to him?

Oh, right, it had been Hoot… Grimes could use that. He could say something about Hoot. That would up the intensity. No, he'd save Hoot for a special occasion. It was special enough to be here, standing on a stool, bent over his file cabinet with McKnight's gloved, lubed finger sliding into him. Two gloved lubed fingers. After licking him. Ah, Jesus, he needed cock.

"Please, sir."

McKnight chuckled. With good reason. Grimes was being utterly predictable. If only he could think of something to do that wasn't so obvious.

Grimes bent his knees and thrust back onto McKnight's hand. Hell, if you're going to be predictable, go all the way.

McKnight twisted his hand and caressed Grimes' thigh and started talking again. "Okay, so it's not such a little hole any more. You liked being stretched open, don't you?"

"Yes, sir!"

"I can't believe I've neglected this pretty little hole for so long. I'm going to have to do something to make it up to you, aren't I?"

"This is fine, sir!"

"No, no, it isn't. I'm going to have to give you a very special fucking. You say your bosses like to fuck on that couch in there?"

Oh, God, no. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

Would he?




McKnight knew Grimes had mentioned Hoot on purpose earlier. Trying to take advantage of McKnight's jealousy and possessiveness. McKnight had responded as anticipated, by laying claim to Grimes' body. But two could play that game. By fucking Grimes on the same couch where Hoot did his thing with Sanderson and others, McKnight would imprint the memory on Grimes mind – he'd never be able to look at that couch again without feeling McKnight's cock up his ass.

McKnight was not ordinarily so caveman. Or maybe he was, but he was ordinarily a touch more subtle. Fuck it, this was who he was. He didn't just like Grimes. They weren't just boyfriends or lovers. This was a matter of control, of tenure, if you will. Something like ownership, except Grimes owned him too, so it wasn't creepy. At least, McKnight hoped it wasn't creepy.

He was just trying to re-establish command. That's all.




The leather was cool, but it warmed up in no time at all. Grimes tried not to think about Hoot and Sanderson on the couch. He tried not to remember Steele on the couch. He tried to block out the smell of other men and the scent of the leather cleaner. He shifted his bare ass on the leather. It was nice leather. Well-worn. Supple. Supple as the skin on McKnight's cock, which was brushing across Grimes' lips.

"Open up," McKnight said in his quiet ordering voice.

Grimes obeyed. He opened his mouth and slid his lips over the thick head. McKnight was half-standing, half-kneeling on the couch, heavy cock hanging into Grimes' mouth, not all the way hard but a mouthful. Thank God the condoms were large. He'd never fit a regular condom on that cock. There was no way they could fuck without a condom now. If they were to spew body fluids all over the couch, Hoot and Sanderson would know for sure.

Or maybe that was McKnight's intention after all… McKnight trailed his cock down Grimes' throat.

"Sir, I don't know if this is a good idea."

"What's the matter? Don't want your boss to walk in on you getting fucked on his couch? It didn't bother you to have me walk in on you."

"We weren't fucking, sir!"

"I know, but he was thinking about it."

"No, he wasn't, sir. I told you, he was just comforting me."

"And what do you need to be comforted about?"

"Nothing now, sir!" Grimes dropped one foot to the floor and spread his legs. "Do you want to fuck me from the front or the back, sir?" Get him thinking about the fucking and he'd forget all about Hoot.

"Well, now…" McKnight rubbed the head of his cock in a circle around Grimes' nipple. "Seems to me I owe you a fucking from behind."

Grimes knew it! He had been thinking about that. Obsessing about it. Resenting it.

"But I don't think I could fuck you nearly as well as you fucked me," McKnight said.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. "Sir, honestly, I didn't set out to fuck you. That was not my intention."

"You seemed to enjoy it."

"I did. I mean, oh, fuck, sir. You're teasing me, and it's not fair! You said you were going to fuck me on the couch. Are you going to do it or not?"

McKnight looked like he was thinking about it.

Grimes rolled over on his stomach and bent his outside leg forward so his knee was almost on the ground. That ought to get the correct response.

Two hands on his ass, spreading it further, and two thumbs teasing his asshole.

Not that bad.

He arched his back and stuck his ass up in the air some more, straightening his leg and using his toes to lift his hips up off the leather.

Finally, McKnight settled behind him, between his legs. "I'm going to open this now," McKnight said. There was the tear of a condom package. "I'm putting the condom on. Oh, fuck, that's tight."

Yeah, well, on McKnight, even large condoms would be tight.

"Not as tight as your ass," McKnight added.

Probably not. It had been months, and McKnight had stretched him with only two fingers. Lots of lube, though, so he'd be okay.

Or not.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought. "Ah, ah, ah," he gasped. And he fucking flailed. His leg skittered on the floor, seeking purchase. His hands floundered against the leather. He pressed the top of his head against the arm of the couch, hoping that would keep him from flopping forward.

McKnight hissed as he pushed in, half an agonizing inch at a time. Grimes burned and his toes cramped and his cock went soft between his belly and the leather. "Sir, I… you can't, sir… sir, it's too…"

"It is not," McKnight growled. "I'm fucking you because you need it, not because it's easy."

Grimes agreed wholeheartedly. He stopped struggling and let everything go as limp and loose as possible. McKnight slid home with a graceless but sincere grunt, followed by a choked motherfuck!

McKnight breathed heavily against his shoulder. He wasn't moving. He was just there. Grimes wondered how long they could stay like that. McKnight had to move sooner or later. Grimes sure as hell couldn't. He was pinned to the couch by McKnight's weight and by McKnight's cock. Pierced. Skewered. Happier than he'd felt in months.

"I will never fuck anyone else," McKnight said.

"Sir?"

"For the rest of my life, I will only fuck you."



Jesus, fuck, it felt good to say that. He'd always wanted to say it, ever since the first time he fucked Grimes, but he never had, because it had never seemed the correct moment. But it seemed to McKnight that a better moment might never come along, and he needed to say it.

There were no guarantees in life. Things could go wrong. They'd gone pretty fucking wrong over the last few months. If they ever went all the way wrong, McKnight wouldn't recover. He knew that for sure. And he was going to do everything in his power, from that second forth, to keep things from going wrong again. But it seemed kind of girly and inadequate to promise he'd try harder, so instead he said what he said, because it was equally true.

So, to make his point, without words required, McKnight slid his cock out about halfway, and then slammed it back in again.

Grimes was saying something. McKnight couldn't hear what it was. Grimes had his face pressed against the leather, and there was a lot of yelping going on. But Grimes' ass was rising up to meet every thrust, and he was flailing enough to make McKnight have to hold onto the edge of the couch. There were definitely yes, sirs involved.




Was it possible to be fucked into unconsciousness?

Grimes knew he'd sort of passed out, or at least lost clear conscious thought, from coming before, but not from the actual fucking part. He didn't even know if he was going to come from this, nor did he care. He half-wished the fucking could go on all night, because not only was he being stretched and filled, he was being electrified. Stroked from the inside out. It was everything he'd grown to love about McKnight and sex and fucking and life, all rolled into one mindblowing…

"Fuck! Sir!"

Jesus, he was coming. How the hell… and McKnight was coming. They were both coming. Grimes couldn’t even feel it. He was numb. Overstimulated. Raw. Complete.

He slid in his come as McKnight thrust inside him one last time…

His come.

On the couch.

Oh. No.




McKnight shuddered. He'd never come that fast on the second time before. That had been a bit of a shock. Not that he minded. There was nothing wrong with it at all.

"Sir," he heard clearly, and then something mumbled.

McKnight turned his head and asked Grimes to repeat that.

"There's a wet spot, sir."

"You'll live."

"Yes, but it's on Hoot's couch."

McKnight thought about that for a minute. He'd forgotten to put a condom on Grimes. Damn. Now the couch would smell like Grimes. And that fucking slut Gibson would know it. So would Sanderson, the sneaky bastard.

Actually, there wasn't anything so wrong with that, was there?

"That's okay. It'll give them something to get horny about."

"Sir! I have to work here!"

Oh, that was right. They probably leered at Grimes enough as it was.

Oddly enough, McKnight wasn't feeling jealous about that at all, not at the moment. At some point the orgasm hormones would wear off, and McKnight would think about it and get hot around his forehead and want to rip the penises off Hoot and Sanderson and nail them to a wall, but at this moment…

The moment was over.

McKnight pulled out of Grimes. Slowly. Carefully. He slithered onto the floor, weak in every limb. Grimes rolled against the back of the couch, peeling himself off the sticky leather. If they'd been at home, McKnight would have ordered Grimes to lick it clean, but not this couch. There was not telling what had happened on that particular patch of leather.

"There's cleaner?" McKnight asked.

Grimes nodded. "In a minute, sir. I think I need to rest a bit."

"Are you okay?"

Grimes laughed. "I don't think I've ever been more okay in my life, sir. I just need to rest." Grimes slumped back, and now McKnight could see how much weight he'd really lost. Fuck.

It was Grimes' job to stay healthy so he could take care of McKnight, but he hadn't been able to do it because McKnight had refused to let Grimes take care of him. How fucked up was that?

"Never again," McKnight said.

"Never what. Sir?"

"Never going to let you out of my bed."

"Okay, sir."

"Never going to let you forget that you're mine."

"I didn't forget, sir."

"I forgot."

"No, sir, you were distracted."

"Never going to let you come on this couch again."

"Actually, sir, it's kind of exciting."




McKnight growled. The growl he only growled when he was jealous. Grimes didn't want to make him suffer. He hadn't done it to be mean. It was kind of exciting to have sex on this couch that had seen so much sex but none of it involving him. It was kind of exciting to know that he'd been fucked by his commanding officer, and that this couch would forever be a couch upon which he'd been fucked by his commanding officer.

"Oh, my God, I'm becoming as much of a slut as they are," Grimes realized.

"No, you're not," McKnight said, pulling Grimes off the couch, which wasn't helping matters because it only smeared the come over more of the leather and got Grimes sticky on his hip as well as his stomach. "You're mine. You're no slut. You're… you're… MY slut."

Of course he was. That had been a given since the very first time Grimes had got on his knees for McKnight.

And McKnight would never fuck anyone else ever again.

"I'll get the leather cleaner," Grimes said.

McKnight looked thoughtful. "Okay, but stay naked while you clean it up."

Fuck, yes! His commanding officer was back on duty!



Sanderson peered through the binoculars at the house. "We have movement," he said quietly.

"Finally," Hoot grumbled. "I thought they'd never leave."

They watched McKnight come out the front door of the house. Grimes followed, walking a little gingerly but with a huge grin on his face.

"How long does it take for make-up sex, anyway?" Hoot groused.

"Sometimes you have the patience of a 4 year old," Sanderson said dryly.

"What? I sat through dinner, I let you drive Schmid home, I've been sitting here for a fucking hour waiting for these two to decide it was time to clear out. I think I've been plenty patient, especially since I'm the one who had to listen to Grimes blathering about fucking the-"

"Shh! I told you I do not want to hear that. Now, you're going to go inside, and I'm going to drive the Colonel and Mr. Grimes home."

"No way. I need it now."

Sanderson sighed. "I drove the Colonel here, Hoot. What's he supposed to do – ride home on the handlebars of Mr. Grimes' bicycle?"

"This sucks. I'm suffering here, Jeff. I'm in fucking NEED. And you decide to grow moral objections to having sex in the truck. I do not understand this." Hoot was pouting, and it was so hot Sanderson was close to letting McKnight walk home, but he had a plan. He had to stick to it.

"Hoot, I want you to get out of the truck, go inside, and find all the places they had sex."

Hoot stopped pouting.

"I'll be back as soon as possible," Sanderson said. "Warm up the couch for me."

The End