does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

[docwithablog]

[ He's standing in the doorway to the kitchen while Khan, a couple of hours into his stay, is sitting at the table, fixing -- something on the kettle again, what is it with the bloody thing, it worked fine last he used it, didn't it? Licking his lips a bit nervously, he steps into the room fully and walks over to the kitchen counter, leaning back against it, facing the other man. Hands gripping the edge of the counter. Sock-clad feet shifting a bit restlessly from side to side.

It shouldn't be this damn hard, honestly. It's just a -- suggestion, the man can tell him no and they can go fuck in the bedroom as per usual. But John isn't stupid, he knows what the implications are. You don't go from being fuck buddies to buddies, once you decide a friendly outing is in order, no, if you go out, then -- you go out as something else entirely and he has absolutely no idea how well that is going to play out. For either of them.

Nevertheless -- okay, good, here goes. A deep breath. ]

I was thinking I'd take you to the National Army Museum today.

Comments

[docwithablog]

[ It's almost like a ripple effect. Khan stands at ease with his hands behind his back -- and it would have felt wrong not to mirror him, do the same and they must look a fucking sight for the people passing through the exhibit behind them, like they're trying to out-man each other, if not out-military each other, but second nature's exactly that. Nature. It's been drilled into him, he can help it, but only with an effort. So, it's easier not to. It's easier to follow Khan who talks about commanders quite a lot and acts like one, too, Mr. Free Agent who probably answers to no one but himself. Well, himself and some obscure government he doesn't even seem to like.

Following the other man to the next showcase -- oh, Bravo Two Zero, that went quickly downhill, didn't it? John listens to Khan's angry muttering, raising an eyebrow at him slightly. For a man who doesn't even seem to be able to maintain a wrinkle or a grey hair, he sure sounds very much, very much indeed like an grumpy old man.

Which would be less amusing, weren't John ready to bet that he's his senior by, what, a decade, give or take? ]

Come on, it's a comparative issue. [ A chuckle. He resists the very tempting opportunity for a more prolonged shoulder brush, perhaps even a bump, again, with a bloody effort. ] Most people can't manage even a percentage of what those guys do. Yes, sure, they're not gods, but they're the closest we've got -- [ A long look up at Khan's face, because he's talking about you, you idiot. ] -- a little admiration's in order.

[insuperiorstrength]

[ A comparative issue, says John and goes on the defend the Spec Ops because they're the closest we've got. Khan's face remains mostly blank, though the coolness in his eyes thaws quite considerably when John looks up at him and compliments him. Well, Peter Harrison, strictly speaking, and that's actually annoying. Khan gives him the slightest hint of a smile, looking him over for at long moment.

He doesn't particularly care whether John knows the truth, nor how much of it he knows. The secrets surrounding him and the purpose behind his existence were never his in the first place and currently, with Marcus holding his crew hostage to force him into cooperation, keeping the man's secrets only matters insofar as any indiscretions might cost Khan. And by proxy, his people. In this universe? It doesn't. It won't.

However, while John's knowledge of the truth doesn't matter much to him, the lies bother him. They're Marcus' lies - not his. And John is... not unimportant. ]

You realise I'm not Spec Ops. [ He looks away, raising an eyebrow slightly. ] But I'll accept your compliment for what it is.

[docwithablog]

[ Not Spec Ops, says the man who's as Spec Ops as they come. John frowns, staring straight ahead, not seeing a single of the pinned up documents from Bravo Two Zero hanging in his immediate field of vision. What are you, if you're not Spec Ops, but can obviously pull every bloody Spec Op trick in the book? Private mercenary? Consulting -- mercenary? God, please say we're not going there again. The frown deepens and he licks his lips, turning towards Khan fully, in time to catch him looking away and raising an eyebrow.

But I'll accept your compliment for what it is.

O-kay, then, well, wrong timing, altogether wrong timing, John Watson. How much do you care that the man might or might not run around murdering people for cold cash? He stares at him for a long time, realising that Khan could go about doing exactly that in stupid, rainbow-striped underwear and he wouldn't give a damn. Dead people don't need his assistance anyway, the most he could do for them was an autopsy. He swallows hard and turns his back on the showcase, heading towards the next exhibit, mostly noticing the sign that points to the exit.

They are in dire need of a pint and he knows just the place to get it. ]

Yeah? [ Tone careful, he turns his head and looks at the other man over one shoulder. His voice is level, even, unaffected. His face probably looks a little less so. ] And what is it?

[insuperiorstrength]

[ The change in the atmosphere is almost palpable, the way John withdraws, not just physically but mentally as well. Khan follows him out of the corner of his eyes, never losing the straightness in his stance nor the calm in his expression. In reality, John actually knows nothing about him, save his name. The fact that he has a family back home. It's minimal. He follows the other man after a few seconds, though he doesn't give much thought to the next exhibit, detailing the Jebel Akhdar War. Instead, he drifts closer to him until once again, their shoulders touch. ]

A nod to the skill-set you correctly ascribe me. [ He turns his head, looking at John more fully. His voice is even as always, almost as if discussing something comparatively unimportant. Weather forecasts, perhaps. ] I've worked with special forces all over the world for this very reason. I've simply never considered myself affiliated with them. A very mutual assessment, to be fair.

[ He reaches out, running his palm up the side of John's upper arm. It's a very brief touch and might, to an outsider, look like nothing more than fixing the fabric, maybe a crease or a piece of lint. His next words are lower yet, a hint of something gentler creeping into his voice. ]

Does it matter?

[docwithablog]

[ Neither of them is actually interested in the next exhibit and without asking, John simply sets course for the exit a couple of showrooms down. They've seen enough, honestly. Said what they -- needed to say, supposedly. Christ, he needs a beer.

Then, Khan goes on to tell hm that whatever skill set John imagines it requires to be Spec Ops, that's indeed the skill set he's got which, unsurprisingly, John had figured, thank you very much. He also tells him that he used to work with special forces all over the world for that very reason and John proceeds to recall Mycroft and his slight hissy fit... When their shoulders touch, it doesn't make him recoil. Khan isn't exactly frightening, just because he might be able to kill people with a, what, melted spoon or whatever. He's had the man down his throat, he really isn't afraid of him. The day that changes, he will reconsider his dating pool dramatically. Or his life choices. Either or.

He doesn't pull away when the other man reaches out, his palm connecting with John's upper arm and touching him briefly, the sensation of togetherness seeping into his system, somewhere in the stomach region but different from arousal, not that deep. Yet, very deep, in fact. Very deep. John turns his head to meet Khan's eyes with a forcibly casual expression of his own. ]

Trust me, we wouldn't be here if it did.

[insuperiorstrength]

[ John doesn't draw away, though there's something in his expression that doesn't quite let up. Khan looks him over, then drops his hand to his side. He stays close to him, however, thinking that trust is always difficult, as it should be, if you aren't gullible. How would John trust him, really, when there's little but a specter to acknowledge, aside from the sex which, really, says a lot and nothing all at once? He thinks about the tea kettle. Perhaps, eventually, there are other ways he can leave himself and his world behind for John to find - to find and, hopefully, to wonder at. He likes the thought of that. He likes the thought of the other man in awe.

But as time goes by, he likes the thought of leaving him behind less and less.

Frowning, he finally steps back, turning to look at a nearby exhibit without actually seeing the contents. He really should cease reminding himself of the temporary nature of their relation; what's the point? He already knows. He knows it well, just as he knows that he's letting his crew down with every day that passes. Really, in doing this with John - this thing that he can't rightly name which in itself speaks volumes - he's closing his eyes. Willingly and without regrets.

A harsh exhalation.

Always without regrets. ]