[ His eyes follow the movement of John's hands as he pulls out a bottle of lube and dumps it on the bed - nice aim - before toeing out of his socks and pushing down his jeans. He's bared his body for Khan in stages, rapid stages, but stages nonetheless and in the meantime, Khan's sense of want has grown exponentially into starving hunger. Staring at the man for another couple of seconds as he wrestles out of his jeans, he pushes his briefs down, drops them with the rest, and pounces.
In one, fluent move, he's crossed the small distance between them once more, thrown his arms around John's lower body right underneath his buttocks and hoisted him off the floor. The other man isn't small or light by any means, but Khan is happy to carry him anyway and he'd better know it. He buries his face in John's midriff, lips and tongue dragging over skin, fingers digging into his buttocks. The scent of his arousal is strong and enticing, John's cock hard underneath his briefs and he wants him right now, almost overpoweringly so, he wants him on his back, writhing and moaning. He wants to swallow him whole.
On a hard exhalation, he sets off for the bed, tightening his grip on John, his mouth never leaving his skin. He tastes of himself, of sweat and arousal and the remnants of cologne (sandalwood, fresh and spicy), the one he always uses when he dresses up. There's something about this sense of familiarity that makes him ache; he knows his scent, yes, and would recognise it anywhere, a thoroughly useless ability when you think about the future and thus, resolutely, he doesn't. Think. Instead, he mouths his way down to the waistband of his briefs before tipping him onto his back on the bed, gently, narrowly avoiding squashing the tube of lube. ]
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In one, fluent move, he's crossed the small distance between them once more, thrown his arms around John's lower body right underneath his buttocks and hoisted him off the floor. The other man isn't small or light by any means, but Khan is happy to carry him anyway and he'd better know it. He buries his face in John's midriff, lips and tongue dragging over skin, fingers digging into his buttocks. The scent of his arousal is strong and enticing, John's cock hard underneath his briefs and he wants him right now, almost overpoweringly so, he wants him on his back, writhing and moaning. He wants to swallow him whole.
On a hard exhalation, he sets off for the bed, tightening his grip on John, his mouth never leaving his skin. He tastes of himself, of sweat and arousal and the remnants of cologne (sandalwood, fresh and spicy), the one he always uses when he dresses up. There's something about this sense of familiarity that makes him ache; he knows his scent, yes, and would recognise it anywhere, a thoroughly useless ability when you think about the future and thus, resolutely, he doesn't. Think. Instead, he mouths his way down to the waistband of his briefs before tipping him onto his back on the bed, gently, narrowly avoiding squashing the tube of lube. ]