[ It's not exactly a slow process, not that John would expect that of the other man, no, Khan's definitely not the type to wait. He remembers their first time, their first time doing anal and, perhaps a bit worryingly, you tell him, also their first time altogether. An unforgiving pace, back then, right -- what, just a couple of months ago? ... It had been harsh and piercing, would pretty much be the best description. Overwhelmingly good, too, sure, but harsh and piercing first and foremost. Since then, some layers have been added, a little bit of time and a little bit of -- something else, something that justifies dates, apparently, and now they're here, Khan pulling his two fingers out only to add a third, John throwing his head back to meet the stretch of his arsehole, brow furrowed and lips parted for breath. He's moved his hands, dropped them to his sides to clench the sheets, fingers curling and uncurling in the linen, not quite in time with Khan's thrusts, not quite so coordinated, yeah, well, excuse him. It's good.
Blinking as he feels Khan shift between his legs, closer, withdrawing his fingers and spreading his buttocks wide, he lifts his head a little once more, glancing at the other man while he shuffles into position, his cock eventually making contact with John's perineum, wet and sticky and warm and John swallows thickly, exhaling harshly and keeping still for -- well, easy access, better call it what it is, yes? The head comes first, always the bloody head and it's just not the same, you could force in four fingers (even stupidly long things like Khan's) and it still wouldn't beat the 4,5 inches circumference that needs to pass when Khan is going to penetrate him in approximately 10 seconds. There's a moment of resistance, although John's relaxing as best he can, then the sphincter gives and John drops his head to the mattress again, shuddering slightly from the tightness of it, the God damn stretch -- for Christ's sake, fuck. And the other man doesn't afford him a pause to breathe, either -- to catch his breath, instead keeps pushing forward until he's seated in him to the base and John's gasping, practically making that sound fish do out of water and then, Khan runs one lube-and-precum-(as well as other interesting fluids)-sticky hand down John's front, over his stomach, pressing in near his solar plexus and resting there, fingers spread out. It's like a hold. Something grounding. It's -- shit, it's perfect. ]
Trust me, I'm not planning on going anywhere.
[ His voice raw and hoarse, he reaches up blindly with one hand, closes his fingers around Khan's wrist, palm sweaty and overheated, grip strong. Without trying to move beneath his hold, John feels his body slowly adjust, the burning sensation dying out little by little, though the harsh stretch stays the same and it's good, he wouldn't want it any different.
He wants them precisely like this, today, touching in the tenth power, physically -- connected. ]
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Blinking as he feels Khan shift between his legs, closer, withdrawing his fingers and spreading his buttocks wide, he lifts his head a little once more, glancing at the other man while he shuffles into position, his cock eventually making contact with John's perineum, wet and sticky and warm and John swallows thickly, exhaling harshly and keeping still for -- well, easy access, better call it what it is, yes? The head comes first, always the bloody head and it's just not the same, you could force in four fingers (even stupidly long things like Khan's) and it still wouldn't beat the 4,5 inches circumference that needs to pass when Khan is going to penetrate him in approximately 10 seconds. There's a moment of resistance, although John's relaxing as best he can, then the sphincter gives and John drops his head to the mattress again, shuddering slightly from the tightness of it, the God damn stretch -- for Christ's sake, fuck. And the other man doesn't afford him a pause to breathe, either -- to catch his breath, instead keeps pushing forward until he's seated in him to the base and John's gasping, practically making that sound fish do out of water and then, Khan runs one lube-and-precum-(as well as other interesting fluids)-sticky hand down John's front, over his stomach, pressing in near his solar plexus and resting there, fingers spread out. It's like a hold. Something grounding. It's -- shit, it's perfect. ]
Trust me, I'm not planning on going anywhere.
[ His voice raw and hoarse, he reaches up blindly with one hand, closes his fingers around Khan's wrist, palm sweaty and overheated, grip strong. Without trying to move beneath his hold, John feels his body slowly adjust, the burning sensation dying out little by little, though the harsh stretch stays the same and it's good, he wouldn't want it any different.
He wants them precisely like this, today, touching in the tenth power, physically -- connected. ]