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

[insuperiorstrength]

[ 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. ]

[docwithablog]

[ 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. ]

[insuperiorstrength]

[ 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. ]

[docwithablog]

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?

[insuperiorstrength]

[ 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. ]

[docwithablog]

[ 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. ]