docwithablog | does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

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does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

[ 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.

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[ Within long, they're standing in a hotel room - large, a light-red, bordering on pink colour scheme, huge bed near the windows - and they're staring at each other again, as if the time keeps stopping around them. In the back of his mind, Khan knows that it's ticking in more ways than one; timing both his upcoming departure for home and his exit, the one that will leave them parted for good. John asks him, are you done, as if he's ever really begun, and there's something incredibly harsh and beautiful about what's happening. What's been happening, ever since he arrived here by accident all those weeks ago. He doesn't feel done in the slightest. His hands are still tingling, muscles aching for more.

Are you done.

With a half-strangled growl, he crosses the distance between them and grabs onto John's shoulders, pulling him close and fisting one hand in his hair. He stares into his face, taking in his features almost desperately, thinking that there are really only so many uses for regular human beings and isn't it ironic, isn't it grandly typical, that this once... this one time... He swallows, forcing out the next words, few as they are. His cock is rock hard already, straining against the fabric of his trousers. ]

Not by far.

[ He pauses. Slips his hand from John's hair to his neck in a brief but gentle touch before stepping back and nodding at the jumper he's wearing, the jeans. It's a single command, wordless, as he pulls off his own, black shirt and drops it on the floor. He doesn't care about putting it away nicely, it's on the floor and it'll stay there until he's ready to pick it up. Until he's done, as John says. His trousers and socks are next and he works efficiently, fast, to move on from this small, insignificant intermission and take them where they both want to go. ]

[ It happens in an explosion, much like it did at the pub -- Khan crosses the distance between them with a growling sound, grabbing onto John's shoulder, pulling him close before fisting his other hand in his hair, a harsh, demanding kind of touch that makes John's breath catch in his throat. They stare at each other, unblinkingly, intensely, John not pulling a single muscle even as Khan's yanking at his hair and basically showing him muscle enough for, what, ten people. Not by far, the other man replies and it's a promise, isn't it? It's a promise of what's to come, tonight, beyond, wherever they end up taking it. It's good -- he exhales shakily, yes, it's good like this, it's exactly what he needs. It's exactly what he's needed for so long.

A brief, but gentler touch -- and Khan steps back, nodding at John's clothes, wordlessly ordering him out of it and John waits only as long as it takes the other man to pull off his own shirt, eyes running down over his chest, his stomach, further down to the waistband of his trousers, a bulge clearly visible at the front. Okay, then, fine. His own cock, almost fully hard in his jeans, jerks slightly at the implications and he licks his lips while finally pulling first his jumper off, then starting in on the buttons of his shirt underneath, a plain blue thing, maddeningly slow to work open. Fingers aggressively undoing the first five buttons, he just -- gives up, dragging the shirt over his head and dropping it on top of the jumper. Gets to work on his jeans, but not before pulling the small bottle of lube out of his left back pocket and aiming it carelessly at the bed, throwing it with a good, old rugby aim, landing the vial somewhere near the square middle. You know you're getting laid regularly again -- and that your partner is male when lube's become one of the basic carry-arounds.

Only then does he start toeing out of his socks, pushing his jeans down impatiently. ]

[ 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. ]

[ Khan's a step ahead, perhaps a couple, while John wrestles out of his jeans, he dumps his briefs and -- pretty much plays big cat again, pouncing across the small distance at John, lifting him up with his arms thrown around his lower body, beneath his buttocks and John exclaims a wow while grabbing onto the man's shoulders with both hands, fingers digging into the exemplary display of muscle and tissue. Bone. God, he's strong -- John isn't exactly lightweight and he's carrying him around like, what, John carried around his lube, that's reassuring, isn't it? It's not, but he'll take it, fuck, if he won't take it right here and now.

It's not a long walk to the bed, but Khan is pressing his face in against John's midriff, mouthing his way down over his abdomen, licking and kissing and breathing his way heavily downwards while they go and it's driving John absolutely nutters, the stimuli, the heated feel of expelled air, saliva, soft lips, wet tongue. Feeling his own breathing pick up, he doesn't even try to temper the pace, his cock growing fully, completely, utterly hard in his briefs the closer Khan draws to the waistband -- where they don't get any further, because the other man tips him like timber onto the bed, John releasing his hold on his shoulders accommodatingly, dropping onto the mattress with a soft thud, avoiding to make contact with the tube of lube, that would have been uncomfortable. Apparently, Khan has a good aim, too. Do they play rugby in the Spec Ops he isn't affiliated with?

Pushing himself up on his elbows, John looks up at the other man from his reclining position, chest rising and falling rapidly, his briefs definitely more a display of his cock's outline than anything else. He wonders, just for a second, how old the man is, he never got his answer to John's question and he sure as hell isn't going to inquire about it now, it doesn't matter, but he's curious all the same. Body, posture and face says -- hardly older than 35, but he has a tendency to talk like John's old military commanders, well into their 50s, if not their 60s, pension-aged and weathered, experienced men, that's what Khan -- well, feels like.

You wouldn't think that kind of rather perfect combination existed, but there you go. John purses his lips. ]

Come on, get down here.

[ He obliges, dropping to his knees on the bed and shifting upwards, until he's got one arm on either side of John's hips. The small pause between action and inaction is minute, feels more like a quiet inhalation, and his blood pumps faster and faster, as he leans down and presses his lips to the skin beneath John's navel, his happy trail tickling his chin. He doesn't work slow; after all, he's ravenous. Drawn-out exploration will simply have to wait. Instead, he reaches up with both hands and pulls John's briefs away, hooking them quickly behind his balls. Then, with a quick glance up at John's face, he bends down and sucks his cock between his lips.

The head feels big like this, a bit like a stretch, and he presses his tongue against it, coaxing it deeper into his mouth. When it hits the back of his throat, he draws back only briefly, sucking it back inside. He doesn't care about making the man climax before they've fucked, he'll just as happily take him there twice. All he knows is that John feels large and solid and altogether present like this and it's intoxicating, it's exactly what he wants. So he draws back again, he curls his fingers around the base of his cock, keeping it angled and dipping in, running his tongue over the head and around the retracted ridge of foreskin. The taste and feeling of it goes straight to his cock and in none too many moments, he'll fuck him just like this, on his back, windswept and disarranged.

He swallows him again, this time to the base, the stretch nowhere close to painful. Burying his nose in his pubic hair, there's an almost overpowering sense of John all over and he thinks about some idiot offending him, showing him disrespect for no reason whatsoever, just to prove himself, to play pretend, and he's almost sorry he didn't hurt the man any worse. It's simply not allowed. It wasn't before, in the world where John may or may not have been and Khan made the rules across continents and seas, and it isn't now. ]

[ Sure, Khan gets down there -- after which he pretty much just goes down on John, never making it past his crotch where he leans in and kisses his way over his stomach instead, downwards, very downwards, very focused, shit. Briefs, out of the way, a glance up at John who's basically in front row seats for the show, then the man just unceremoniously sucks his cock in between his lips. John stares. A couple of dumbfounded seconds, just stares, mouth falling open and his heartbeat exploding in his chest, blood pumping quickly, as the surge of heat rushes through him, from his cock and out into every single functional limb he's got. Khan just keeps coaxing him further into his mouth, down his throat, easing into an uncoordinated back and forth movement between the man's lip, the suction of his mouth, the wetness, warmth, it all makes John's toes positively curl, doesn't it? ]

God. [ Head dropping back as he breathes heavily through his mouth, John stares up at the ceiling, shadow and light playing across the white surface. Khan then, good man that he is, fuck, swallows him to the base, burying his nose in John's pubic hair and staying there, because John is apparently sleeping with the only bloody man in the entire universe who doesn't actually need oxygen, Christ... He makes a low noise in the back of his throat, remembering how he could actively fuck the man's throat last time, without any complications and he licks his lips a bit nervously, going for a careful first thrust forward, pushing down the man's throat just that extra inch, the thought making absolutely every nerve ending he has anywhere, bloody hell, sing. If they keep this up, he's going to come before time and that's no fun, no premature orgasms today, please. It's been too good, too good. He stops himself from thrusting forward again, the muscles in his thighs straining underneath his skin. Sweat breaking out. It feels quite -- perfect, really, spectacular, incredible, he could literally go on and on and on.

He just chooses not to. Restraint for the sake of -- what, exactly? Khan will be gone in the morning. And John will go back to waiting for everything and everyone. His muscles tremble. He groans, slowly reaching down with one hand to run his fingers softly through Khan's hair. A dark shadow in his lap. ] -- Amazing.

[ He can feel the tension in John's body to begin with as he catches up gradually to Khan's pacing of choice. It's understandable; John, by instinct, does things slower than Khan, likes foreplay and thoroughness and inch by inch. There's something very enticing about that, charming in a way. When you've been designed for speed and agility and forcefulness, the contrast is almost exotic. Right now, however, they're doing it Khan's way. And judging from John's words, the noises he makes as he tries desperately not to just give in and fuck Khan's throat, he has zero complaints. Drawing back slightly, lips wet from saliva, he runs his palm along the jut of John's hipbone, over his stomach and back again before resting it against his lower abdomen. He doesn't press down but it's a hold, all the same. Support.

Then, eyes closing, he bends down and takes him in again, bopping his head up and down and feeling the shaft of his cock grow slicker and slicker. He leaves John's hand in his hair to do as it likes, keeping the movements of his mouth and throat slow but relatively consistent. His own arousal feels like a burn, harsh and overwhelming, growing steadily in his lower body. His cock is hard enough to ache. Throat working, he goes on for another half minute or so before drawing back with a wet slurp, popping John's cock gently out of his mouth. It looks pink and wet from precum, no doubt incredibly sensitive, and he could probably make him come now, if he wanted to, just rub the head between his fingers and curl his other hand around the shaft.

But going by John's reaction, he'd rather wait. Khan isn't opposed. Right now, he isn't opposed to anything. All he can think is more and as he draws back fully, he pulls at John's briefs, signaling for him to take them off. He reaches for the lube bottle and sits back on his knees, watching the other man through narrowed eyes. He can taste him on his tongue, in the back of his throat, and it's good. It's not enough but it's good. ]

[ The muscles in his entire body are tightening up from his attempt at holding back, shoulders, upper arms, thighs, abdomen -- but then Khan reaches up and presses a hand supportively against his lower stomach, fingers splayed out and the warmth is just another addition, making John groan and thrust upwards while the other man bops his head up and down, creating the mere skeleton of a rhythm, strikes the beginning of a pace and John has to think to himself, then, that should he really come now, they'll just do it some other way, they'll figure it out, he'll blow Khan in return, it's fine, it's good... Because, shit, he's so close, he's aching for it, he's aching. Finally, Khan pops his cock out of his mouth, gently and that's bloody well nice of him, and draws back, signaling for John to get rid of the briefs, an order he sure doesn't need repeated twice.

It's just a shuffle, then the briefs land on the floor, soundlessly, disappearing amongst the shadows of the bed and John watches Khan out the corner of his eyes, how he reaches for the lube and sits back on his knees, all hard front and hard features and hard, hard, hard cock. John thinks, he should probably get a pillow to push under his lower back, if they're going to do this the hard way and even if they aren't, if they're taking it easier (mood doesn't seem to suggest it, though), some elevation will only help, in any case. So he turns slightly and grabs a pillow from the other end of the bed, arranging himself across it, so his bum is lifted up, his entire lower body -- okay, well, he's kind of on display like this, isn't he, his glistening cock, his balls, his perineum -- that entire area free for all access, yes, good. That's... He isn't blushing, John honestly isn't the blushing type, but his cheeks feel slightly heated and his lips are parted while he tries to draw breath, quicker and quicker, never enough air in his system.

He shifts, spreads his legs a little. Resting on his elbows, he looks back at Khan, meeting his eyes straight-on. ]

[ John takes his briefs off and - turns, shifting towards the end of the bed and - ah, obviously. Pillow. Khan watches as he pops the pillow beneath the small of his back and lies down again - mm. Would you look at that. With his legs slightly spread, the man looks positively inviting. There's the hard line of his cock, weeping against his abdomen - there's his balls, drawn up slightly - the soft-looking skin of his perineum, glistening slightly from saliva - and then, his arsehole, very much displayed and vulnerable underneath. He takes a moment to look up at John, too busy staring at his lower body but when he does, the other man's looking right back at him, a strength in his gaze that somehow makes the blush on his cheeks all the more lovely. Lovely and thoroughly fuckable. Head tilting slightly sideways, Khan shifts closer on his knees, unscrewing the lid on the lube bottle on the way.

He crawls closer until he's right between the other man's legs. Just one look at John's cock convinces him that it won't take much to send him hurtling over the edge. He'll leave it be for now, then. Expression focused, he pours lube over his fingers - a generous amount - and leaves the bottle on the mattress next to them. Then, smoothly, he settles down enough for his chin to hover mere inches above John's cock, looking up at him once more and quirking an eyebrow very slightly. ]

Tell me. Would you like it gentle -- [ He shifts onto one elbow, and leans in, sucking John's right testicle into his mouth for a few seconds before continuing: ] -- or would you like it rough?

[ He gets the choice tonight, as he didn't the first time they met. Things have changed since then and Khan doesn't actually prefer one type of sex over another at most times. Tonight, he just wants it close. And they will be, no matter what sort of pacing they end up setting. ]

[ Swallowing thickly, he watches the other man shift closer on his knees, unscrewing the bottle of lube and pouring a generous amount over his fingers, once he's settled in between his legs, close, close, John can almost feel the warmth of him on his bloody skin. It's maddening. Leaning down until his chin is inches above John's cock, Khan looks up at him again and quirks an eyebrow, something almost -- what, teasing about him, something lighter, something funny, yes, very funny as the man proceeds to ask him how he'd like it and then sucks one of his testicles into his mouth so he can't breathe and definitely not answer for a good while. Just focusing -- on not jerking upwards, not create more wet, warm friction, he's so dangerously close as it is. He stares at Khan for a long moment, forcing him to wait on him, because he deserves it, the idiot, until he finally draws in a shaking breath and replies, voice more harsh than amused, but amusement sure runs as an undercurrent anyway, to your luck, Mr. Free Agent: ]

I'd like you to get a bloody move on or this will be a very one-sided shag very soon. [ He's tempering his breathing carefully, throwing in a cold shower thought every now and then for good measure, just glimpses, nothing that lingers -- can't, when Khan's right there with his stupid cheekbones and his even stupider pecs and his determined gaze, his hard cock. John licks his lips and meets Khan's quirked eyebrow with a quirked one of his own as he adds, a bit more accommodatingly: ] I'd like it good, so how are you better, gentle or rough?

[ Just make me writhe, seems to be the implication, unspoken for now. Khan's smart, however, he'll catch on -- he'll get it, John knows, because weirdly enough they seem to have a mutual understanding of these things, despite all the stuff that they don't have in common, the things they don't share, the things John doesn't know, not even how old the man is, fuck, it's kind of pathetic, actually. Doesn't feel pathetic, though. Feels very, very genuinely fantastic and he'll take that over the full picture any day. Shifting on his elbows, he lifts his chin and angles his lower body a bit, spreading his legs more. He wants Khan in his own time, at his own pace, that's what he wants. ]

Edited 2019-08-04 15:34 (UTC)

[ A pause. He doesn't look up this time, his eyes narrowing slightly. How are you better, John asks and that's quite something, isn't it, from the man who's currently lying on his back with everything between his legs firmly on display? How very cocky of him. The truth is, of course, that Khan is better at everything and if John's got no preferences tonight, it really is no matter. He nods once, then leans right back in and sucks his other testicle into his mouth, coating the skin in saliva and flicking it lightly with the tip of his tongue. Shifting, he angles his lubed-up hand and pushes two fingers against his arsehole, not penetrating but simply circulating the muscle, slicking it up. He draws away and uses his thumb to track a wet path from John's ballsack over his perineum. He's soft, here, and very hot. With a long, even exhalation, he sits up and scoots closer on his knees, his hard cock sliding along John's inner thigh and sending sparks of pleasure shooting into his system.

Mm.

John's tight but he'll adjust, as he does, as he did. So Khan keeps his eyes on him, on his face, just to see his expressions change as he pushes his fingers - both of them - inside of him, slowly at first but very insistently. He pauses at the first knuckles, gaze hooded, thinking about the way the man's going to feel around his cock and restraining himself from just pushing inside, all the way, forcing his body open. He's showing him an awful lot of trust, is John Watson, without knowing anything about him truly worth knowing. He has given Khan no reason to betray that trust. Working his fingers slowly in and out, he stretches him open gradually, going deeper at every third or fourth stroke inwards.

He stays away from the man's prostate for now. Instead, he reaches for the lube and manages to one-handedly squeeze the last half of its contents onto his other hand. He sits back between John's legs. Keeps working him open with his other hand, as he starts stroking himself lightly, slicking up and providing some much needed relief, simultaneously. His gaze is fixed on John's face still, eyes heated and dark. ]

[ He'd probably have liked to pay all the attention it honestly deserved to the way Khan sucked his other testicle into his mouth and licked at it rather thoroughly with his tongue, good effort, there, very -- good, yes, but the other man chooses that same moment to push 2 (two, he's serious, two) fingers against his arsehole, the sensation of fingertips circulating the sphincter, slicking up the muscle making his brain practically melt, probably from the inside, like someone bloody well microwaved it. For fuck's sake. He eases down on his back fully, hands coming to a rest on his stomach, fingers twitching slightly when Khan traces a wet path down over his perineum with his thumb, shifting closer so the man's cock pushes against his inner thigh, rub, rub, rub. Sensations from all angles right now and he's having a bit of trouble keeping up here, his cock weeping and his musculature tight from anticipation which won't do -- he really needs to relax, if this is going to be as good as Khan can give.

Then, the other man -- gets to work, indeed, bloody hell, pushing his two fingers against John's arsehole, forcing them past his opening slowly, but insistently, waiting only as long as it takes John's body to adjust to the intrusion. His eyes fall closed and he arches his back slightly off the mattress, trying to accommodate the addition of something so very solid, so very big, Christ, those long, massive fingers, into his arse. He manages to control his breathing, fall into a rhythm of deep breaths and long exhalations for every time Khan pulls back and pushes in, his arsehole opening slightly in response every time, making the penetrative motion -- really rather good, tight inward friction, the notion of being filled, oh, very much filled. It's intense. How Khan stretches him, pushing deeper for every fourth stroke, like a rapid buildup for something even wilder, preparing for Mount Everest by hiking on a Hewitt.

As the seconds pass, he can feel his entire body opening up to the other man gradually, the presence of him within his very system making a sweat break out across his brow and he groans, lifting one arm to throw it across his face, the way he's so utterly on display somehow mattering more like this, here, now, with his cock leaving a trail of precum across his stomach, jerking slightly in time with the movements of Khan's hand -- and his face red from exertion, mouth open and panting. At the sound of the other man applying lube to his cock, John eventually lets his arm fall away again, bending his head to catch a glimpse of him, of his hand stroking his length, his eyes dark, heated, staring at him, directly, unblinkingly.

John can't quite catch his breath anymore. ]

[ They make eye contact, finally, and Khan doesn't look away, simply keeps moving his fingers, in and out, in and out. John has relaxed sufficiently already, he thinks, but he doesn't hurry, simply drives his fingers all the way into him, to the last knuckle, as he fists his own cock. He's definitely pushing himself closer to the finishing line as well, and he tightens his grip around the base for a moment, hard. Then, he pulls his fingers mostly out of John, enough to add a third alongside them and give him that final stretch, his arsehole tight around the length of his fingers. All impressions in the room are sexual, to him - the sounds of John's breathing, his own ragged as well; the slick sound of his fingers going in and out, up and down. He breathes out harshly. Looks at the way John's arse opens around his fingers, the way he's on display with his arse in the air, his cock bouncing lightly against his abdomen when he moves.

He wants this. Now. He's been patient enough.

Keeping all three fingers buried in John's arse, twisting them slightly back and forth, he shifts into position between his spread legs. The angle's not perfect but it'll do - he pulls his fingers out slowly, before spreading the other man's buttocks apart. Closer yet, closer, until he can feel the head of his cock pushing up against John's perineum, smearing precum all over his skin. He breathes out. Guides himself down to John's arsehole and pushes the head of his cock against it. It's tight still but the slippery coating of lube helps the motion along and with a couple of easy thrusts, he slides inside, feeling John's body stretch around him all the way. He doesn't pause, though he runs one of his sticky hands down John's front, over his stomach, before spreading his fingers near the middle of his chest. He keeps going, until he's buried all the way to the base, his perception of pleasure dulled very slightly by sheer force of will, mostly for the sake of focusing.

He'll know when to let loose, as he always does. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ I'd like to see you try, says Khan like they're doing lines from a western, complete with gunfights and Mexican standoffs and this, apparently -- I'd like to see you try. God, that's horrible and horribly hot, because as the other man adjusts his position to lean in over him, holding himself up on one arm next to John's head (and once again, how, is the man bloody well cast in iron), Khan slides his lips over the side of his face, nothing but wet breath and that low-key voice of his, seemingly only dropping deeper when they fuck, sex voice, Jesus.

John is about to turn his head towards Khan, catch his lips in a kiss, that would seem fitting with how everything else is wet and slick and muscle inside cavities, but then Khan -- draws his hips back and John automatically throws his free arm across his shoulders, feeling his musculature work beneath his skin, hard and smooth. He groans, eyes falling shut, halfway in surprise, mostly in response to the sensation of friction and stretch and slide surging through his lower body, fuck. The motion is repeated once more and he groans, once more, voice sounding choked to his own ears, before Khan just -- takes it there, them. Thrusting in, pulling out, in a rhythm, he's adding rhythm to the repetitive explosion of tight, pulsating, beating pleasure from every forward push into John's body and it's almost desperately, how he angles himself to have the other man's cock rub over his prostate, because -- Christ, he just needs -- he needs that --

Khan moves his hand to his shoulder, so John moves his as well, lifts it to bury his fingers in his hair, pulling it back from his face, grabbing it, holding on for dear fucking life.

The first brush over his prostate makes him grunt, the next makes him moan, reluctantly and low in his throat, but by the third it's a whimper and he's done caring, thank you very much. His arsehole is honestly tightening too much for every stroke to care about -- well, caring. Shit. He needs to touch his cock, he needs, he needs, he needs. ]

[ It becomes a rhythm, the steady slide of in and out, the feel of his cock being stroked tightly at every thrust. John moves with him after a few seconds, angling his hips and soon, soon, he's whimpering and what a lovely sound that is. Khan thrusts harder, just a bit, though he's holding back by miles. The slap of skin on skin is loud in the stillness, their breaths (ragged, rough) interchangeably in and out of sync. He can feel himself drawing closer and closer, knows that it won't be long, and looks down at John, realising that his own eyes had closed without him even noticing.

John's holding onto his hair forcefully, the tension and power in his body screaming for release. Giving a few more good, hard thrusts with his hips, Khan reaches up for John's wrist and forcibly pulls his hand away from his hair, his scalp tingling in response. He presses John's hand down against the mattress for a few seconds, mostly just for the feel of it, for linking their fingers together briefly. Just so. Touch. Connect. And, consequently, leaving slickness from residual lube all over his skin.

Then, he lets go and says, voice hard, something inside him ready to explode: ]

Do it. [ Another hard thrust. His next breath is a gasp. ] Do it, make yourself come.

[ He rocks forward, maintaining the speed and the power of his movements, gaze boring into John's eyes as he starts chasing his own climax for real, leaving John to fight for himself, to make it happen - they're so closely connected now, anyway, they couldn't be truly parallel even if they tried. ]

[ There's a weird discrepancy between what happens first (Khan forcing his hand away from his hair only to interlace their fingers against the mattress, the intimacy of that, the fucking gentleness) and what happens next, when he releases John again, telling him in a hard, deep, God, so deep voice to do it, make yourself come. John's cock jerks, hard and there's a moment where he thinks, that's it, he'll just come without being touched at all, fine, good, all good... Before he, muscles trembling noticeably beneath the skin of his upper arm, reaches down between them with his hand, closing his sweaty, now lube-slick fingers around the base of his own cock, just -- squeezing for a moment, to not come on the bloody spot. Then, he feels for Khan's pacing, falls into it easily, the first stroke of his hand following an inward thrust of the other man's cock, brushing over his prostate just in time with his thumb brushing over the head, pressing in along the slit and -- Jesus, his eyes fall closed and he makes a muffled sound that's neither a moan nor anything lesser than it, it's exactly that, throaty inhalation, sound on the tail of an exhalation. His hips push up into his own touch desperately, which only makes Khan's cock rub over his prostate again, different angle this time, still good, still so bloody good.

It doesn't take long. Following the hard, forward forcefulness of Khan's thrusts, he quickly works himself into a frenzy, palm sliding along his own length, fingertips following the curve of the head, jerking, applying pressure in time with the other man's hips, pushing forward, pulling back. It takes perhaps -- and it's probably a generous estimate, you'll allow him, four of those routines and he's gasping breathlessly, throwing his head back, all bared neck and thigh muscles clenching, arsehole clenching, everything's clenching and he can't even really make any sound as he comes, just his body drawing together into a single point of pleasure and his balls are tight as -- all hell and he's -- fuck. ]

Khan...

[ Lifting the hand grabbing onto the other man's shoulder, John reaches up, curves his fingers along the strong line of the man's neck, fingertips digging in while he strokes himself through what's got to be the most powerful orgasm he's had, period, ever, no comparison.

No comparisons. ]

[ John reaches down and complies and Khan can feel his hand working between their bodies, his arsehole tightening along with the rest of him, the surge --

When John comes, spurting over his own stomach and Khan's, he follows him seconds later, already so far along that the added clenching around his cock simply finishes him off. He gasps, burying his face - nose, mouth, forehead - in John's neck and jerking hard - once, twice - more - until he spends himself deep inside of the other man. He comes with the echoes of his name in his ears and the feel of John everywhere, in his nostrils, in his mouth, against his neck, around his cock. It's a long, outdrawn orgasm and he almost feels like he's bursting open, despite the grand impossibility of it, despite his own inherent strength.

He breathes shakily, muscles coming down very, very slowly from the high as he comes to a halt, half-way out. He lifts his head, staring at the pillow and the strands of John's hair, fanned across it in uneven lines. Then, gently, he pulls out. He's losing hardness quickly and the muscles in his upper arm actually feel tired - a trick of the mind, of course, but a good one. Very carefully, he rolls off the other man and lies down next to him on his side. Like this, he's simply watching John's profile change as he thinks, as he breathes, and Khan thinks he could possibly keep looking until he falls asleep.

And for longer, too, if he's honest. ]

[ The orgasm leaves him spattered in cum, long, sticky strings across his stomach, probably some up Khan's too, cum on his fingers that he dries off in the sheets when his hand drops to the side tiredly after a few seconds, muscles coming down from the high so gradually it doesn't really feel like it's happening at all. Quivering beneath his skin, in his thighs, abdomen, upper arms. He can feel his own pulse beat erratically in his temple, his neck where Khan's head presses in, nose, mouth, forehead, points of contact. Everywhere.

A grimace as Khan withdraws after a while, well, feels like a while, could be a bloody second, time is always relative when you've climaxed, isn't it? The man drops onto his side next to him and stares at him, John taking a moment to just -- yes, good, breathe, breathe, his entire system feeling overloaded from sensations, his arsehole feeling numb. That's going to hurt tomorrow.

Who cares. Who the hell cares. Wow.

Blinking dumbly a few times, John finally just -- eases onto his side as well, coming face to face with the other man and raising a very tired, very lazy eyebrow at him. When he speaks, his voice is groggy, you could probably convince someone who didn't know him -- and possibly someone who did, too, that he was drunk, pronunciation a tiny bit shot. Like everything else on him currently, really. ]

So, how old are you? I'm guessing, not 15.

[ No, definitely doesn't fuck like a teenager. Fucks like someone with 50+ years of experience, actually. ]

[ John lies down next to him, looking back in that fearless way of his. There's something about John's imperturbability that fascinates him. It's rare in humans, obviously, and it makes watching him fall apart in bed so much more interesting. Really, without his physical human fallacies, the man would be ideal on the battlefield. It's no wonder he's sought it out, as people do today, willingly. It's hard to imagine him anywhere else.

Good thing he's found a different job, too.

At John's question, Khan's face remains blank, unaffected. His brain is slowly forcing him away from wakefulness, body well and truly spent, and he can't be bothered to play around any longer. Earlier, in the pub, he might have. But now, he simply meets John's gaze and says, voice a rumble between them: ]

I came into the world in 1959.

[ He doesn't add that he's currently stuck in 2259 because it doesn't matter. It may, come a later date. This world doesn't have the technological advances of his own, not even when adjusting for timeline divergences. No, this place works slower, has evolved at an entirely different pace and there's something undisturbed about it that he quite likes. He shifts slightly, enough to make himself fully comfortable. In less than five minutes, he'll be falling asleep. ]

Edited 2019-08-06 08:55 (UTC)

No -- [ John replies, hearing Khan announcing (in his always rather archaic way, charming, really) that he was born more than ten years before John himself and it's a joke, of course, or at least some way or other to get around answering truthfully. No one's going to believe the man's a day over 40 and even 40 might be pushing it. That he should be in his mid-50s is just far out and John chuckles slightly, adjusting the angle of his head against his upper arm. Better position to halfway fall asleep in, a few minutes from now, he might shift even closer to the other man, sleep on him or something, he's strong enough to take it, obviously. ] -- you came into this world a liar.

[ The cum on his stomach is slowly drying and it itches, but he can't be bothered to actually lift his hand and do something about it, wipe it off, scratch it, whatever, it's just too much effort. He's so very, very, God awfully spent. Shuffling a bit closer to Khan without actually initiating touch, he breathes in the thick stench of sex hanging in the air, the smell of them both, together, together and his expression turns serious once more. He licks his lips, blinks a couple of times to keep himself awake. He's spent and he's tired. Please, God, let him sleep.

In a moment, for now his voice is casual, though the question isn't: ]

Going to be around to empty their executive lounge for food in the morning?

[ A slow eye-brow raise. Well, hard to expect much beyond that, isn't it - if he'd been in John's shoes, he wouldn't have believed it either. He doesn't respond to the liar comment - beneath him, really, having to explain why lying isn't something he'd even need to do - watching as the other man inches closer, more and more, staying out of touch. It's charming, in it's own way. How he never presumes. At his question, Khan shrugs. ]

Until my 24 hours are up.

[ It doesn't particularly matter to him what they'll be doing - whether they'll be eating, fucking, visiting another museum. Regardless, he'll be ready to return once his time runs out, to work out a new plan for his crew, for getting them all out of there. He closes his eyes slowly, breathing in the scent of John, warm and musky and very uniquely him. Then, on an impulse, he reaches out and pulls at his shoulder, urging him to roll over onto his other side. To lie against him, as seems proper somehow, with how they manage to connect more and more with each visit. He's too sated now to think about the consequences. All he knows is that the distance feels terrible.

Right now, things are not supposed to feel that way. ]

[ 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.

He'll appreciate it. Until his 24 hours are up. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

does it almost feel like nothing changed at all?

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