[ 24 hour window, every bloody time. Although John understands the rules, because he knows the game, it's getting increasingly more -- insufferable to see (and sometimes, not even that, sometimes Khan's just gone in the morning, isn't he) the other man leave without promises or guarantees. When what they've shared has been like this, yes? It gets harder and harder to let go of and honestly, John thinks he's let go of too much already, he's let it all God damn go, his career, his life, his -- He licks his lips and thinks about Sherlock only for a second, then Khan's hand on his shoulder, urging him to roll over onto his other side, grabs his attention instead.
He looks up at the other man in the dark of the room, his skin pale and almost translucent in the moonlight falling in through the window. Despite his height, he's not actually used to being the little spoon in this constellation of spooning people, but he rolls over anyway, a slow movement, not quite as fluid as it could have been, hadn't he just been fucked within an inch of his life. He'll be sore as all hell tomorrow, he can tell. With a harsh exhalation, he gets his back positioned against Khan's strong, strong, strong front, shuffling backwards until they're pressed against each other rather tightly, rather nicely, too.
Then, the tiredness breaks over him, like a wave and he yawns, completely gracelessly, head sinking back against Khan's shoulder comfortably, snugly. He blinks against the shadows around them for a moment, until they slowly blur into a whole lot of -- dark blobs. It occurs to him that if the man really wanted to snuggle, he could probably just have lifted John into position, like he did, right? Earlier. It occurs to him that he was urged, yes, but asked. Another yawn, bigger and louder, and he reaches for Khan's arm, slinging it carelessly over his waist.
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He looks up at the other man in the dark of the room, his skin pale and almost translucent in the moonlight falling in through the window. Despite his height, he's not actually used to being the little spoon in this constellation of spooning people, but he rolls over anyway, a slow movement, not quite as fluid as it could have been, hadn't he just been fucked within an inch of his life. He'll be sore as all hell tomorrow, he can tell. With a harsh exhalation, he gets his back positioned against Khan's strong, strong, strong front, shuffling backwards until they're pressed against each other rather tightly, rather nicely, too.
Then, the tiredness breaks over him, like a wave and he yawns, completely gracelessly, head sinking back against Khan's shoulder comfortably, snugly. He blinks against the shadows around them for a moment, until they slowly blur into a whole lot of -- dark blobs. It occurs to him that if the man really wanted to snuggle, he could probably just have lifted John into position, like he did, right? Earlier. It occurs to him that he was urged, yes, but asked. Another yawn, bigger and louder, and he reaches for Khan's arm, slinging it carelessly over his waist.
He'll appreciate it. Until his 24 hours are up. ]