PSL no. 2: cruel wars

[presurgery]

CHRONOLOGICALLY -

i. alternate universe
ii. picture prompt
iii. quote prompt
iv. random scenario
v. psl
vi. stargazing
vii. psl
viii. psl
ix. psl
x. insomnia

Comments

[presurgery]

[ In the end, he's not sure which one does it, to be honest, the way Khan ups the pace with his mouth or the way he releases himself and returns his hand to the edge of the pool, like a show. I did what you said. Physically, of course, it's the first - his body's very grateful, swaying on the edge, looking right down at the chasm. His mind, however, lingers a moment too long on the latter, like it means something, like it means anything at all, realising that he asked Khan for something again and the man gave it to him. Again. The thought's a rush, pure, unadulterated arousal and it spins him off his axis completely. Moaning once more, louder this time, eyes falling shut, his hips start thrusting in earnest - come on, it's not like the man's going to die, neither could he hope to even bruise him, and on the second or third forward motion, he's coming, his shoulders shaking visibly and his chest heaving in a desperate attempt to fill his lungs. Everything turns a lovely black behind his eyelids. There should be stars, rightly, but that's a mental thing, of course. Mentally, there're stars aplenty. John groans, loosens his grip slowly in the other man's hair while his cock stops pulsing, only after what feels like forever. He's bloody well submerged in water, and he feels sweaty now. Lovely.

Very lovely. Balancing himself against the edge of the pool again, he waits for Khan to reemerge. Since he basically orgasm-denied him by way of himself, he probably owes him now. Like he didn't before. Your life, John Watson, he'd said. John knows they wouldn't have been as gracious on his side of the fence, if their roles had been reversed, so maybe he does have to be a little bit grateful, yeah. Maybe he does. It prompts a hard, sharp-edged smile, hardly more than a tug at the corner of his mouth. As Khan returns in stages, wet and glistening and looking a little more god-like (yet all the more human) now than he did ten minutes ago, it's the sex hormones talking, probably, John reaches out and runs his hand up his arm. ]

Come here.

[insuperiorstrength]

[ John starts trusting into his mouth, down his throat, in earnest and Khan takes whatever he gives him, his throat no doubt bruised in the aftermath but it'll heal in less than five seconds so who really cares? He certainly doesn't. He's too busy willing himself not to touch his own cock, tension building in his balls, particularly when John climaxes, his cock pulsing hotly between his lips, on his tongue. Khan pulls back just enough to catch some of his cum on the back of his tongue. He holds it there, even as John's cock slowly loses some of its hardness, coating the roof of his mouth in stickiness as he draws back.

He swallows only then, once he's popped the other man's cock out of his mouth. He tastes him carefully, the saltiness, the stringy texture. Then, he finally allows himself to breach the surface as he pulls himself up, sliding right into John's arms as the other man urges him closer. His cock slapping against his abdomen and leaving trails of precum in the water, he crowds John against the side of the pool, an arm on either side of him, and leans in. The mark on the side of his throat is bright, gleaming wetly in the sharp overhead lights and he leans in hungrily, tonguing it.

At the back of his mind, he acknowledges the rarity of this encounter - he rarely has sex anymore, mostly because he can't truly find anyone; he loves his people, he treasures them above all else, but - perhaps because of that - he doesn't want to fuck them. So, who is John Watson, then, to push him out of that trajectory and into his own, what sort of gravity would it take, what sort of enormity? Inhaling raggedly (his lungs unfolding after collapsing in his chest), he nuzzles John's hairline, near the side of his neck. Breathes him in. ]

[presurgery]

[ Khan obliges, probably less for John's sake and more for his own, his cock rock-hard against his abdomen, leaving trails of precum in the water and someone's going to have a ball cleaning up this mess, aren't they? Not that John particularly cares about such practical details right now, his hands itching to get on the other man. Augment. Whatever creature except, what, sharks, who can stay underwater like that and eat you raw. Hand slipping down Khan's arm to his waist, he curls his arm around him as he glides up against him, pushing him back against the wall of the pool and starting to aggressively mouth the spot on his neck that's still smarting. John inclines his head, giving him room while at the same time unceremoniously pushing his other hand down between the man's legs. He's not going for finesse here, he's going for the kind of directness you eat with when you haven't eaten for years. That kind of bloody hunger.

Jesus, the feel of him... His cock's hard and smooth and wet from water, making any kind of lubricant unnecessary at this point. Even so, John releases him after two sloppy drags of his hand, raising it to his face and licking the width of his palm, just to taste him. Water dilutes some of it, sure, but it's still there. Him, the scent of him, flavour... Humming slightly in approval, he drops his hand again and grabs Khan's cock properly, fingers tightening near the glans and thumb supporting the weight and width of the head. Water splashing lightly around them, he starts stroking him, even, steady movements, tightening more around the base, brushing his thumb lightly over the exposed head, pushing into the slit a little, before descending down over the man's length again. ]

God, you feel nice.

[ It's a mutter as he turns his head and presses his forehead against the side of Khan's face, pacing quickly upping noticeably. The man just denied himself, you got to give him that much, right? You got to give him that. Not an issue when you, like John, mostly just want to kiss him, lots of tongue, thank you, and taste yourself on him. He should rightly worry about condoms and what not, STDs, but he can test himself later, they've got the equipment and he needs something to do, you'd think, when he isn't hanging out with Mike. Actually, he probably needs an excuse to not hang out with Mike quite so much.

Not that he's thinking about Mike now, Jesus. Not at all. Not at all. He glances down between their bodies, the contrast of Khan's cock, darker and throbbing in his grip, his own hand slightly paler, though not by much. He's reddened in exertion at this point, Khan's actually managed to make him flush head to toe, that's sweet.

That's nice, like he said, very nice. ]

[insuperiorstrength]

[ John doesn't make him wait - he pushes his hand between his legs and touches his cock, giving it a couple of strokes before removing his hand (don't do that, don't-) and licking it. Khan, watching him out of the corners of his eyes, inhales deeply, lips stilling against his neck, his body tense from expectation. When John goes back to stroking him, his hand wet now and warm, so good, incredible, his breath shudders out of him, his hips thrusting forward into his grip.

For a moment, he loses track of time, losing himself completely in the feel of John's hand bringing him closer to climax, his thumb working the head of his cock with expert skill. He can't focus on anything except the burning pressure in his abdomen, his balls, the need to come so intense that everything else disappears. Groaning, he wraps one arm around John's waist and pulls him just a bit closer, drowning a bit in his proximity and it's so good, it's been years, it's been years --

He comes, soundlessly, his forehead pressed against John's neck. He can taste him all throughout, smell him; the man's basically monopolized every one of his senses. Staying close, he lets the climax power through him, hard and fast and overwhelming. John's a solid presence against him, in his mind and body as well, and at this point there's really no denying it - he's become a fixture, unplanned and unprecedented.

As Khan stays still against him, his body now thoroughly exhausted, he can't even pretend to be bothered by that. ]

[presurgery]

[ It doesn't take long. Granted, the man did deny himself his orgasm before, you could probably expect him to be needy as a result, but under any circumstances, John watches him through slightly narrowed eyes while he works his cock, feels the warmth of his flesh, the throbbing of it when he finally comes, spilling himself between their bodies - and like he thought a moment ago, someone's going to hate their life cleaning up this mess. Breathing heavily, still feeling groggy and sluggish from his own climax, he releases his hold on the other man's cock after a moment, when he feels it beginning to lose hardness, and rinses his hand in the water all around them. Not exactly sanitary, not exactly hygienic, but hey - what can you do, what can you really do. He swallows hard. Feels Khan's weight against him suddenly rather acutely, the heaviness of his body, all muscle and bone, but untouchable in some ways. You couldn't hurt him, even if you wanted to.

He doesn't want to. A frown as he realises, apparently he'll do this, but not try to strangle the man, that's good, that's great.

It's not. He's the one who'll be cleaning up now, won't he? ]

Okay, so we both had fun. [ Eventually, he turns his head in against the side of Khan's face, speaking more softly than his words really warrant, soft hair tickling his lips. He blinks slowly, lazily into a wall of dark strands. The smell of the Augment is thick and recognisable in his nostrils. Oh. ] Reality's going to be a cold shower in comparison.

[ With that, he places both hands, fingers spread wide, against Khan's hips and just - enjoys the feeling of him for a moment before pushing him backwards, or, you know, he's an Augment, the Augment leader even, John's basically just requesting that he moves. If he doesn't want to, he'll stay right where he is. And John isn't going to lie, here, he thinks that would actually be rather lovely. Except for the fact that he's turning into a prune and he'll smell like chlorine for days to come. Besides that, yeah. It could be good.

It could be good. ]