[ If he couldn't feel the process of his cock, sliding inside John's arse to the base, all he'd have to do is read it on his face. The slight clenching of muscles, the frown, the tightness of breath. He likes the way it looks on him. He looks simultaneously desperate from the stretch of it, as well as utterly blissful. Then, John actually finds enough breath for speech and the rawness of his tone makes his cock jerk, his careful control suddenly a lot harder to maintain. Khan looks down at John, lips tight for a moment as he adjusts his position on his knees, then leans forward until he's resting his other hand by the side of John's neck, palm flat against the mattress to keep his weight off the other man.
And suddenly, abruptly, they're so close he can feel John's breath on his face.
When he speaks, his voice sounds a lot less even than usual, a hint of shakiness stealing into his words. He isn't moving yet, is still buried deeply inside the other man, and he leans in close, lips brushing over the side of his face: ]
I'd like to see you try.
[ He draws his hips backwards, muscles working across his shoulders, down his back. Then, slowly but firmly, he thrusts back in, the sudden onslaught of friction making him curl his hand into the sheets next to John's face. Ah. He repeats the motion, harder this time, and John's close enough to kiss but he doesn't do it, simply watches his face, listens to the sounds of his breath. He exhales harshly, like a snarl. Then he starts fucking him, truly fucking, pushing in and drawing back, his focus narrowing down slowly but surely to slick and hot and tight. His hair keeps falling into his face but he doesn't draw his other hand away from John's chest to fix it, slipping it onto his shoulder instead because he can't care about details now, he wants, he wants, he wants. ]
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And suddenly, abruptly, they're so close he can feel John's breath on his face.
When he speaks, his voice sounds a lot less even than usual, a hint of shakiness stealing into his words. He isn't moving yet, is still buried deeply inside the other man, and he leans in close, lips brushing over the side of his face: ]
I'd like to see you try.
[ He draws his hips backwards, muscles working across his shoulders, down his back. Then, slowly but firmly, he thrusts back in, the sudden onslaught of friction making him curl his hand into the sheets next to John's face. Ah. He repeats the motion, harder this time, and John's close enough to kiss but he doesn't do it, simply watches his face, listens to the sounds of his breath. He exhales harshly, like a snarl. Then he starts fucking him, truly fucking, pushing in and drawing back, his focus narrowing down slowly but surely to slick and hot and tight. His hair keeps falling into his face but he doesn't draw his other hand away from John's chest to fix it, slipping it onto his shoulder instead because he can't care about details now, he wants, he wants, he wants. ]