presurgery | PSL no. 2: cruel wars

PSL no. 2: cruel wars

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Usually, when someone tells you they'll start, they'll actually initiate, but he supposes with Khan he shouldn't expect any such leeways, huh? Allowances. The man more or less drags him across the table on his knees, sitting him down on the edge of it, their height difference reversed and John gets the very curious, very exciting experience of being kissed from below eye level, which is usually something he reserves for women (and even then, only if he's lucky). It's a hard kiss, aggressive and demanding and John gets a little lost in it, there, the feeling of tongue and teeth and the taste of saliva, lips, soft, hands, rough. He's breathing harshly through his nose, steadying himself with his arms half-thrown around Khan's shoulders.

Drawing back abruptly, lips feeling wet and sensitive and basically dying to go again, John shifts impatiently, unfolds his legs from beneath him and more or less swings himself into Khan's lap, fully expecting the man to support his weight as he slides onto the width of his thighs, a leg on either side of him, straddling him on the chair. Like that, they can go back to kissing, right? Just like this.

Exhaling hard, more of a half-panting sound, he leans in again, mutters that's good, that's great against the other man's lips and pushes his tongue into his mouth, greedily, arms tightening around his shoulders. He's all bloody expanses of hard muscle and bone and the rush of blood underneath. If you didn't get a little horny from that, God help you, he thinks, angling his head to one side and pressing closer, shifting in the other man's lap a bit. ]

[ John draws back, then shifts closer, swinging himself onto his lap with a leg on either side of him. Khan automatically wraps one arm around his waist, balancing him as they go back to kissing, John pushing his tongue in between his lips hungrily. He groans, pushing his other hand into John's hair, fingers sliding through the strands, over his scalp. He allows the other man a moment of exploration, keeping still and letting him deepen the kiss. Oh, but he's so close - so close - it's perfect like this, absolutely perfect. Feeling suddenly starved, terribly so, Khan pushes back against John's lips, pressing his tongue into his mouth and tasting him properly, the pace quickening exponentially between them.

He can feel John's cock through his dark trousers, his own tight around his crotch. Moving his hand from John's hair, he starts working on his belt blindly, entirely unwilling to break the kiss for even a second. It takes him only seconds, undoing the belt buckle, then buttons and zipper, before he pushes his hand beneath the hem. He doesn't go directly for the other man's cock, though he'd rather like to - instead, he slides his hand around his waist and down, beneath the fabric of his underwear, palming his arse underneath. Fingers digging into one, strong buttock, slipping along the crack lightly, he pulls him closer yet, their cocks pressing together through the fabric of their trousers.

Around them, the complex is almost eerily silent, the lights dimming a fraction while the night draws closer. ]

[ It's really very simple. Granted, beneath the simple, it's terribly complex, but just for now, here, yeah, it's simple enough. His body's responsive and hungry, his cock more than half-hard already and as Khan grinds back against him, palm on his arse, fingers everywhere, he can feel that he's certainly not alone. He likes that. He likes being not alone, he likes that someone's desperate enough for him to groan into their kiss, pulling him close enough that they're nothing but chests and crotches, bum in lap. Arms taking and grabbing and holding. It's suitably desperate, all of it. Suitably.

Drawing back from the kiss only long enough to grab the hem of his own shirt and pull it over his head in one, semi-fluent motion, he bares himself to Khan again, really he could've kept his clothes on and they could've done it like that, but he likes the symbolism of it. Not afraid of you, it says. You bit me before - and before that, you drugged me, and before that you killed everything I love, but I'm not afraid. That's what it says. He drops the shirt off to the side, the table a mess now behind him, in stark contrast to the orderliness and quiet of the library. Their breathing sounds ragged and loud in that stillness.

John shifts back, grabs onto the hem of Khan's shirt as well and slips his hands underneath it, exploring his abdomen in broad strokes of palm. He's all muscle. Jesus, he's firmer than concrete, pretty much. John shifts back up against his cock, glancing up at his face. He wants to see him fall apart a little.

And shit, does he not want it to be from another bullet to the brain. ]

Edited 2021-01-17 05:25 (UTC)

[ When John draws away from the kiss, Khan very nearly leans forward to counter him, to get that taste and warmth back inside his system. But somehow, he manages not to, though he'd be hard-pressed to pinpoint why; usually, what Khan wants, he takes. With regards to humanity, he's taken their whole world, hasn't he? Regardless, something holds him back long enough for John to pull his shirt over his head, throwing it off to the side to blend in with the rest of what they don't need, now, in this little pocket of time. He stares at John through narrowed eyes, gaze raking over his naked upper body, the scar on the left shoulder, his musculature. His cock hardens further, a fast and desperate surge of blood, and when the other man shifts back against it, he actually gasps, his breath sticking in his throat.

Pushing his other hand down the back of John's trousers, the hem loose and gaping away from his body, he palms his other buttock roughly before spreading him open. He can feel the warmth of him, the subtle dampness, against his fingertips and the thought makes the heat in his body soar. With a growl, he leans in abruptly and kisses the outline of John's bullet scar, lips sliding over puckered skin, his tongue burying in, as if he's trying to re-create the path of the projectile itself. He wouldn't, though, he knows. At this point, he simply wouldn't.

Ah. Perhaps here's why he hesitates around John Watson when he doesn't, ever, under any other circumstances. Mouthing wetly against his skin, he digs his fingers into John's buttocks, sliding his hands further in until he can feel the ridge of his arsehole. He strokes it gently, following the rim and pressing lightly in, not enough to penetrate but certainly enough to send a message. It's another question, asked. Another rule, re-established. ]

[ Oh, he liked that, did he?

As the man leans in to tongue John's little bit of heavy scarring, John can feel the way Khan hardens against him, the motion itself making John's own body do much the same, really. His cock going hard and pounding in his half-open trousers. What're you going to do, not a lot of sane people in the world find bullet wounds particularly attractive. Charismatic, maybe, sure, but hot? No, that's probably just Khan with his perfect, unblemished skin (that John can't see nearly enough of, come on) and his huge hands, spreading John's buttocks apart, fingers slipping over the rim of his arsehole, making it contract slightly in response. Breathing out heavily, John pushes Khan's shirt up further, baring a large part of his midriff as well, fingers digging in as he follows the outline of muscle, taut and unyielding, rock-like. He looks his fill blindly, with his fingers, head pressed in against the side of Khan's face, hair getting in his eyes and tickling his nose and it's so bloody good. So good.

As for the arseplay... He should mind, let's be real, this is, what, the second time they're fucking and who knows what's going to follow, yeah? Who the hell ever knows. It took Sholto and him a couple of months to work themselves up to the point where arseplay felt natural and they never took it further, either. Anal just wasn't a priority when they both had to get up in the morning and be ready for battle. All that aside, John feels his balls draw up a little at the mere implication of it, the slight pressure, his rim getting rubbed softly. A shudder, and he turns his head enough to let his lips slip over Khan's ear, licking his earlobe, sucking it in between his lips for a brief moment. His cock is very, very interested, and you could wonder about that, right? You know, considering how he hasn't for years and they don't have lube and other rather medical concerns he ought to nurture.

John just doesn't feel very nurturing right now. He'd usually leave that to the nurses, anyway. Thus, he draws back, only enough to breathe out hard over Khan's ear, spit-slick and close, so close. ]

Not going to complain about it. [ There's a slight pause, after which his voice takes on a hint of amusement, warm, hard-edged. ] Will definitely complain if you don't, actually.

[ Mm. John has large hands, warm and steady (as you'd expect, really, from an army doctor), and when he feels up Khan's upper-body, his skin actually tingles in response, adding to the heat already rushing through his veins. When the man leans in and sucks on his earlobe, his breath hot and loud against the shell of his ear, Khan very nearly just takes him, then and there, his cock is certainly hard enough and his arse - well, his arse obviously isn't prepared. And humans require preparation, don't they, foreplay, lube. Time. To avoid injury or pain, two fundamental objectives in the framework of human existence.

Will definitely complain if you don't says John because he's in that state of mind when certain things, reservations, go fluent, hard edges blotted out by instincts. Khan smiles against his chest, drawing away and looking up at him. Then, pointedly, he pulls one hand away and brings it up between them, sucking his index and middle fingers into his mouth. His impatience flares at the taste of him - of his skin, of sweat and arousal and arse - and God, at one point, he'll eat him, arse first, take him apart with his tongue and nothing else.

But today, no, they're running things differently. He'll set a course for them and trust the other man to follow in his own stubborn way, to make his body and his mind take flight like he's done since their confrontation in the Altai Mountains (though honestly, the poetically figurative version does beat waiting for his actual brain to re-assemble itself). Reaching down once more, chin tilted slightly to give John access to the side of his head, whatever he'll like, Khan pushes his two, spit-slicked fingers up between his buttocks, probing his arsehole for all of five seconds and pushing his index finger in a little past the first knuckle. ]

[ Watching the other man as he pulls back his hand and sucks on two fingers, Jesus, he's doing that entirely on purpose, John's cock jerking between their bodies, John thinks about the - well, the technicalities of it. What this really is at the end of the day. This is pain relief, plain and simple, lube's the only way to make penetration comfortable and making people comfortable is care. Which means, his cock jerking again as Khan's hand returns to his arse, probing his arsehole shallowly for a second, two, three, that this? This is care. This is Khan caring for his experience when nothing, absolutely nothing in the whole bloody world could stop him, if he didn't. Not John, not anybody. And that thought, the thought that Khan cares, that Khan certainly wants to take him, but on John's terms, is so arousing that he gasps even before the other man pushes his finger past the rim, into his arsehole, a shallow, penetrative pressure. However, when he does that, the gasp turns into a low, keen sound, his back arching a little, pushing back against his fingers. More, it says, give me more. ]

It's fine. [ He gets out, jaw clenched and forehead coming to a rest against the side of Khan's face, cheekbone, temple. He's shivering a little from the intensity of it. Just a bit. ] You can give me more, come on.

[ Because his crotch is pretty much burning from arousal at this point, he reaches down between them and frees first Khan's cock, then his own from their confinements. Underwear down, aside, gone. Inclining his head a little, forehead slipping down over Khan's cheek, his breath ghosting over his lips, John glances down, just gives them a good long look, the way they're matching and still different, all exemplified by that one body part, yeah? God, you got to love basic anatomy. Reaching up and mirroring Khan - in this company, you follow in the great leader's footsteps, after all, he licks his left palm and shifts enough to reach down, closing his fingers loosely around the other man's cock. Light, shallow strokes to match, apparently that's how it works for them.

Lead and follow. ]

[ John gasps, his arsehole tight and twitching around Khan's finger and he'd keep him like this for a little while, all shivering and needy, if the man hadn't asked (told) him so nicely to give him more. John's got a very commanding nature, really - all talk about leadership aside, the man could have been a leader in many more aspects than his medical capacity. He's chosen differently, though. He's chosen to follow, as well, just as he's chosen to be a soldier and a doctor both, shooting and healing. Contradictions, seemingly... except. Normally, Khan's a leader and only that - but John's rubbing off on him in more ways than just the physical, isn't he, because right now, he does it - follows - adding another finger next to the first and pushing into the other man, bending his fingers and brushing over his prostate.

And when John folds his fingers around his cock, stroking it too lightly, he groans and shifts, hips jerking upwards, into his grip, searching for friction. He leans in and kisses John again, hard and uncompromising, fucking his arse harder, too, hooking his fingers inside. He's breathing heavily, eyes falling shut. John's so tight around his fingers, God, imagine what it would feel like to fuck him for real, just sinking into him, pulling out, then in... He presses his tongue into the other man's mouth, takes him at either end, feeling the warmth of his hand around his shaft, not enough by far, not enough.

Blindly, he releases John's buttocks, reaching between them with his free hand and folding it around his, giving it a hard jerk upwards, then down. His voice, when he speaks, is a hoarse growl: ]

Faster.

[ They've reached a point where it's stupid to question it. They've simply moved beyond it, the doubts, the logical arguments, the quiet self-admonishing, right? The way Khan pushes into him fully, two huge fingers stretching him with the side of pain that he'd forgotten he likes so much, makes John groan, low in his throat and shift a little on the other man's lap, pushing back against it. Jesus, it's good, it's intense, especially as Khan then just hooks his fingers in him and starts fucking him for real, brushing over his prostate on every in-stroke and John's eyes are falling closed while he just - sort of floats in it, floats with the way Khan kisses him, penetrating his mouth, too, and shit, he's missed someone just taking him there, anywhere, wherever he's supposed to go. Apparently, for now, this is it, this is where. His cock twitches between their bodies, darkening as he draws closer to his climax and the man isn't even touching him! For God's sake, he's just showing off again.

He huffs out a breath, gasping for it, as Khan draws back and folds his free hand around John's, forcing his grip to turn tighter and faster. Tells him to do it, too, because they're still in the ordering about mood, are they? Okay, then. Okay. John grunts, shifts again and moaning as Khan's fingers push over his prostate once more, and tightens his hold, stroking the other man faster, harder, his thumb pressing in against the vein running along the underside of his length, brushing over the head, dipping into the slit, again, again. His vision feels blurry around the edges as his balls start drawing up.

Leaning his head against Khan's shoulder, just sort of hanging there a moment, taking it, taking all of it, obliging happily, he's breathing raggedly, muttering something along the lines of are you going to tell me when to come, too, though he can't honestly be sure, because his brain is mush and unlike Khan's, it doesn't regenerate very fast. ]

[ John's grunting and pushing back against his hand, seeking out his fingertips, clearly, wanting it, desperate for it, and Khan's light-headed, too, God, now! He thrusts upwards into John's hand (so obedient, isn't he, when they fuck and he'll treasure that for the contrasts, for what it reveals), releasing him and curling his hand around the back of his head instead. Like that, he holds him close, fucking his arse at a fast, steady pace and breathing hard against the side of his head and neck. Pushing his fingers in, he pauses, focusing on massaging John's prostate, keeping him nicely stretched and open around both of his fingers.

Vision narrowing down to just this moment, just the two of them, the tightness of John's arse and the weight of his body on top of his, Khan allows the rest of the world to fade into nothing but background noise; a brief glimpse of the desk, littered with books and papers. The iPad, screen black, reflecting the lights from the ceiling passively. The quietness around them, the relative emptiness of this complex. True, his people are around - some of them - but in terms of physical presence, of flesh and blood and bone, they're minuscule in comparison to the rest of this labyrinth.

Just like him and John. At this basic level of existence, body against body, everything bleeds together, doesn't it? They're one. They're the same.

He shuts his eyes hard when he comes, light exploding behind his eyelids, his cock pulsing between John's fingers. ]

[ They've made a mess of the library, pretty much. Actually, they've made a mess of a lot of things, like inter-species relations, yeah? The friend-enemy line which is a thing and they should adhere to it, except if they did, John wouldn't have Khan's fingers up his arse and considering how they're massaging his prostate, oh, so bloody good, that's just not an option anymore. No, no, not an option. His lower body's singing from the prostate stimulation, the stretch of his arsehole, the steady pounding of Khan's long, big - well, digits. In him. He's in him.

When the other man comes, it's quiet and almost subdued, if it weren't for the way his cock is pulsing hard between John's fingers, throbbing and darkening and John watches it out the corner of his eye, the way Khan's cum comes to cover his fingers, dripping down the shaft, sticking. Jesus. Jesus Christ, it's so mind-numbingly good. He softens his grip on the other man's length, then, knowing he must be sensitive, just sort of holds it loosely near the base while his focus sinks right back down into his arse. Talk about thinking with that part of your body, yes. He starts pressing back against Khan's hand at every in-stroke, working himself against his fingertips, feeling how he's basically milking him. His breathing sounds desperate and shallow. He feels sort of faint from it, working himself towards his orgasm, slowly but surely. ]

Oh, God.

[ All he manages as Khan pushes over that sensitive spot at a particularly lovely angle. John is shaking at this point, every muscle in his body trembling as his balls draw up and precum's coating everything within immediate touching distance. He's dripping from it. And moaning, low and harsh, face burying into Khan's shoulder, the smell of him, the presence, rock solid.

He's taking him there, he isn't abandoning him halfway, he's taking him there. ]

[ John fucks himself on his fingers now, just pushing back and gasping, shaking against him and it's good, it suits him. Khan keeps him close, the physiological traces of his own orgasm receding fast. Unlike ordinary people, he doesn't necessarily collapse following a sexual climax - like he doesn't in general. Instead... well. His blood rushes onwards, doesn't it? And right now, as John works himself towards climax on his fingers (so tight, so wet, and there's something indescribably attractive about the way he just loses his reservations and goes for it), meaning Khan's body's catching up to the implications rather fast.

He shifts. Grunts as his cock slowly hardens, again, because blood flow is blood flow and his isn't stopping or slowing unless he's been subjected to grievous injuries. Shifting against John, who's got his fingers curled lightly around the base, he pushes his forehead hard against his shoulder and rocks up against him, following the motion of John's hips as he thrusts back and forth around his fingers. He doesn't necessarily need to go a second round, really. But it's too tempting right now, with John so close to climax and his fingers buried in his body, to take what he can, whatever might be left, and to float with him for a bit longer.

To keep them here, like this, for as long as he's able. ]

[ John's on the brink of it, really, he's just swaying back and forth right at the edge of the cliff and it's amazing, it's so liberating. He isn't thinking about Sholto, he isn't thinking about how Sholto died, although he ought to, supposedly, he's only thinking about the immediate, next step, the climax hovering right outside his grasp, right there, oh, oh, fuck. He's sweating profusely, his chest shining from it, his face, too.

And in his grip, Khan's going hard again, however the hell that's even possible when the man came, literally, two seconds ago. John gasps, feels his own orgasm washing over him like a bloody tsunami, nothing to be done, it's over, that's - that, Jesus Christ... He groans, it's a hoarse, guttural sound as his hips work himself down over Khan's fingers, his entire lower body contracting repeatedly and his cock pulsing, still untouched, completely untouched, strings of cum everywhere. Mess, again. They're making a mess of it.

Not to mention, Khan's hard and John has just enough mental capacity left to start stroking him, not too fast, he wants a taste of that in a moment. His movements are slickened by the previous round's cum and it's sort of nasty and sort of lovely all at the same time. John's vision is all black edges, collarbone and shoulder and the side of neck. Only slowly does he lift his head and stare directly into Khan's face, eyes unfocused, but narrowed. ]

Okay, I'm going to blow you.

[ John comes without anyone touching his cock, how ambitious of him. How characteristically tenacious. Khan feels his arsehole contracting around his fingers, sucking them in and his cock jerks. One day, he thinks, he'll feel that properly. Around the length of his cock. The thought makes him feel almost dizzy from want, a new wave of arousal pushing through his system as his body warms up for another round. He opens his eyes slowly when John draws back, making eye contact, seeing himself reflected in the other man's eyes.

I'm going to blow you he says.

Well.

His cock positively jumps at the thought and he shifts, his breathing quickening. Oh, really? Is he? Khan hasn't actually - there was once, many years ago, also a human but unlike John, not exactly a lasting relation. Hadn't been a very good blowjob either, granted, but Khan had broken his neck three seconds after to complete his mission so he probably shouldn't complain. Eyes narrowing to slits, he pulls his fingers slowly from John's arse, then spreads his legs. Nods, downwards, stroking the back of John's head a couple of times, fingers gliding through his hair, pulling lightly at the strands.

He doesn't bother verbalising his command (get on with it) because John takes orders like a professional soldier, doesn't he, and a decent one at that.

Besides, his throat has gone dry. ]

[ As Khan spreads his legs and nods down at his cock in John's grip (get to it, it says and he will, Jesus, give him a moment), John more or less melts down onto his knees, definitely sinks in a really haphazard, boneless fashion, because his arsehole's still twitching and his trousers are hanging halfway down his thighs. It isn't just the library they've made a mess of, bloody well look at them. Both of them. The floor's merciless on his shins and patallae, but he ignores it, a bit too focused on Khan's cock now that it's on perfect eye-level. His breathing sounds shallow still, you got to forgive him, he just came, okay, hitching in his throat as the smell of cum hits his nostrils, making his own spent cock twitch pathetically. How the hell did he manage to get hard that fast, hasn't he got a refractory period at all? Like, is that a superpower they've got, the Augments?

It's a moment's wonder, then the hunger to just fill his mouth gets too overwhelming and he leans in, licking a long trail up the underside of it, following the thick vein there, the skin darkening and cum sticking to it in places, coating John's tongue within seconds. Oh. He'd - forgot. He'd honestly forgot how much he loves sucking dick, it's been years since the last time, sensory recollections fade from one second to another when you're partaking in a global war. Everything that isn't necessary for your survival, you forget. He'd forgot.

Now, he remembers.

Groaning, gutturally, he stretches his neck and swirls his tongue lightly around the head, also sticky with cum, probably highly sensitive since Khan just came, what, ten seconds ago now. With a frown of concentration, he keeps it at that at first, just getting a feel for what the other man likes, letting the taste of cum cling to his palate and glances up at him. His hand's in John's hair, he's still holding the reins, after all. ]

[ He watches as John slides to his knees between his legs, feeling lazy and finished from his climax as well as impatient for a new release, simultaneously. It's an odd crossing of emotions and urges and when John licks a trail up the underside of his cock, he has to make a snap decision as to which impulse to focus on. Luckily, Khan's very adept at making snap decisions.

Good decisions, too.

Licking his lips, he curls his hand around the back of John's head, stroking the skin along the nape of his neck softly. When he licks the head of his cock, his tongue glistening from a mixture of saliva and residual cum, Khan shifts very, very slightly in response. Inwardly, though, he has to force himself not to shudder, the bared head of his cock completely over-sensitive. The pressure of John's tongue, slight as it is, is too much and too little at once. If he'd been less concerned about his own composure, he would have probably tried to thrust up against his lips, just for the added sensation of friction.

As it is, he settles with whatever pace John's picking out for them. His breath heavy but even, he watches the other man intently through narrowed eyes, spreading his legs a little more to accommodate him. ]

[ There's a good man - Augment, whatever, very good. Khan just strokes the skin at the nape of John's neck and shifts a tiny bit, apart from that he seems completely unfazed by what's about to go on between his legs. John raises an eyebrow up at him, all the challenge he can muster, really, his mouth full of cum and lots of saliva, he's pretty much drooling for it, right... So he leans in more, tugging his teeth away behind his lips before following the glans with an o-shaped mouth, tightening his lips just below the dip of the head, the whole round shape of it engulfed in his mouth as a result. The tastes explode on his tongue, cock and skin and fluids and oh God, oh God, it's fantastic. It's amazing. If he'd had anything left in him, he'd get hard again, too.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, he doesn't. He's spent. Done. Means he can concentrate, yes.

Sucking sloppily on the head once, twice, before he slides down along the shaft, tongue pressed up tight along the underside, John reaches up and balances himself against Khan's naked thighs, strong, very strong, lots of muscle shifting beneath his fingers as he bends his head further. He can take about half of it, before the head gets in collision with his gag reflex and he has to stop, sadly. Shit, he used to be able to deep-throat Sholto, for crying out loud, the man was hung like an elephant. Where did that ability go?

It's a moment's dull pain, remembering exactly where it went, then he's back on track. Khan's cock, very good, very good.

He draws back a bit, feels the slide of it, drooling absolutely everywhere, then pushes back down, creating a good feeling of suction along half the length of it as he hollows his cheeks. ]

[ When John takes him into his mouth, the head of his cock sliding along the width of his tongue and into that tight, wet heat, Khan's hand tightens against the back of his neck, his muscles working all the way up his upper-arm and shoulder. Oh. Oh. Watching the other man, the visual almost as exciting as the physical sensations - John's mouth, stretched widely around him, his cock disappearing into him inch by inch - he has to force himself not to thrust inwards, the need for release suddenly sharp and imminent. He groans. Runs his hand down John's shoulder, stroking him, feeling how his body's working in parallel to his, his neck and shoulder muscles tensing and releasing. ]

Mm.

[ He shifts again, his movements more jerky and less controlled, at the feeling of suction around his length. The stimulation goes straight to his balls and for a moment, he has to look away, his gaze tracking aimlessly around the room instead, towards the ceiling, over the table, seeing nothing. Oh, but it's... so good. It's exactly right. He thinks about shoving his cock all the way down John's throat, about how it would feel, just sinking in all the way, being completely enfolded by him. He doesn't do it, of course. Besides the fact of their physical vulnerability, humans also need air.

As his hand roams down John's shoulder, his fingers slip over his bullet scar again, this time the back of it, the exit wound. It must have been a terrible injury, though he's fortunate enough that it went right through; if it had splintered inside of him, the damage would have probably been incompatible with normal function. Potentially, he could have died. Humans do that, after all, easily. Looking down at John again, on his knees, his mouth wrapped around his cock (such a vulnerable position to take, such a giving position, too) he folds his hand over the contours of scar tissue and ruined muscle, simply keeping it there. ]

[ John didn't do this before Sholto, suck cock, that is. Sure, there were certainly times he'd have liked to, but social conventions and expectations being what they were, he hadn't caved in to it. Took the outbreak of a war and, what, for all society to crumble, before he worked up the balls. At some point, it simply became unbearably ridiculous to fight himself when, potentially, he cold die tomorrow. Or today. Sholto had convinced him (do you want to go to your grave, Captain, knowing you never had everything out of it that you could?) and the rest is history. Old, ancient, dead history, even. Like the scar tissue on his left shoulder that Khan seems so intrigued by. Frowning, John focuses on the sheer volume of Khan's cock in his mouth, the way he's filling him up. Not as big as Sholto, but few people are. Luckily, it doesn't take a bazooka to shut up John Watson properly, Khan must be very happy about that right now.

Eyes closed, concentrating on tightening his lips around the width of the other man's, Augment's, whatever, it doesn't matter, cock and falling into a slow, careful bobbing rhythm of his head, he reaches up and closes his fingers around the base of the length, engulfing a bit more of it. Should help on the visual. Not much cock left uncovered, right? The sounds of his mouth are sloppy and wet as he finishes each backward motion with a good suck around the head, tongue dipping greedily into the slit for the taste of precum and, well, Khan, yeah? The essence of him. It's a little bit dirty, a little bit wanton, but what're you supposed to do, really? He's going to test himself again afterwards, hope for a clean bill and go back to his routines, most of which do not include sex with the enemy, mind you.

Most days aren't this, after all. Though, if they were, John isn't sure he'd have a problem with that either. Making someone as stoic as Khan squirm just a little is actually quite a nice challenge, comparatively to rewatching the Bond movies for the umpteenth time. Or, God forbid, reading scientific articles 12 hours a day, every day. Come on. Who wouldn't want this, yeah, who bloody wouldn't? ]

[ His breathing quickens, his point of focus narrowing down fast to the wet suction of John's mouth, the warmth around his entire length, the rhythmic friction. If he stays like this, still and composed, this blowjob might very well continue for a long time yet - he's on his second round, after all, and while he doesn't have a lot of sex and consequently, not a lot of seconds, he's intimately aware of his own physique, of the way his body works.

Yes, he could control this all the way to the finish line, until John's jaws are aching and his tongue's raw. If things had been different, he might have. He usually takes his pleasure in very restricted doses and keeping things under control is a large part of that. He looks down at John, between his legs, working his cock, the muscles in his thighs twitching each time he dips his tongue into the slit. In reality - beyond the confines of his role, the person he's become in lieu of a peaceful world - this is... maddening. Almost painfully so. His balls feel unbelievably tight.

Licking his lips again, he tightens his hand against John's shoulder. He breathes out deeply, inhales. Breathes out. Then, with a deep growl, a raw edge of desperation beneath it, combined with an urge to break loose, he grabs onto the back of his head, holds him still, and pushes in. He wants - more, tighter, more. He wants the very back of his throat. He wants what's beyond it. And John's giving it to him on his knees because they've transcended beyond their ordinary roles, the soldier slash doctor slash assassin and Khan, as a leader, who's been nothing else for the past two decades.

He thrusts inside, all the way into John's throat, and the tightness feels overwhelming so he stops breathing, staring aimlessly at the other man, his balls drawing up hard. ]

[ The shift happens from one moment to the next, pretty much, one moment John's calling the shots, working his length as quickly (not that quick) and as deeply (medium depth) as he wants, the next Khan's growling (Jesus, if he had another go in him - yeah) and grabbing onto the back of his head desperately, pushing his cock all the way down his throat in one slick slide of length and - you know, all of it, all of his bloody upper-average length, down John's throat it goes. Not to be a saint about it, John's entertained the idea of deep-throating him, sure, but to be completely fair, he hasn't done it, physically done it - in years, not since Sholto and Sholto always asked nicely, mind (please, Captain, I want to fuck your face), whereas Khan more or less (a bit more, not so much less) shoves it in. To the base, John's nose burying into his hairless crotch and his airway blocked by hot, hard flesh.

His cock hardens a little between his thighs, just whatever tiny jerk it's capable of giving and John thinks, well, okay, apparently we're doing that, and apparently we like it. Grabbing onto both Khan's thighs with his hands, fingertips digging into hot muscle and sinew and skin, he balances himself properly against the other man and stays like that for a couple of seconds, trying not to listen to the way his body's panicking. God, it's good. It's so good, it's fantastic.

Finally, with a loud retching sound, he pulls back, breathes in hard, only to push himself down over Khan's cock again, inelegantly forcing it back into his throat. One, two, three forward motions like that and he's not even really striking a rhythm, he's just eating him up, letting him fill him, take him. If that isn't enough, what with their given power dynamics, the way John's on his knees, submitting himself, bloody well the spoils of war here, he's going to say Khan's a bit greedy about the whole thing, yeah. He fixes his eyes on him, the vacancy of his face. Well, then, come on. ]

[ John simply takes it, swallowing him down and drawing away only when he's choking on it, the sound of him retching along with his staggered breathing loud in the stillness around them. It echoes he thinks, feeling almost madly untethered, it echoes, this thing they do. He's had John living here as a captive for months, knows his scent and his taste and the smoothness of his skin almost to the point of perfection. He could point him out under nearly any possible condition.

Even if he'd been buried in bits and pieces he'd be able to tell.

Eyes falling shut as he fucks John's throat, hard and fast, in, out, in, he feels his second climax building only a split-second before he actually comes. His cock pulses between John's lips as he goes completely still, spending himself down his throat. With his eyes closed, everything is darkness splintered with light, sparks exploding behind his eyelids, and if he's speaking the other man's name once, hoarsely, it's only because he's drowning in this release, drowning and floating in equal measures. His grip against the back of John's head loosens gradually, turning into something resembling a hold. He's not aware enough to make it truly count.

And despite everything, it's not a bad change at all. ]

[ Khan lets go, then, and it's about bloody time, that stuck-up, stoic... He can't really finish the thought, can he, because he's got his mouth full, his mouth and his throat blocked out and Khan's literally fucking his face, the way Sholto used to do, except this is a tiny bit less uncomfortable. He's just holding on for dear life, drawing breath when he's able (allowed) and taking it the rest of the way, yeah. His own cock's one-third hard now and it's not enough to really be a distraction, but the pleasant buzzing in his crotch mixes with everything else. The stretch of his mouth, the soreness of his throat. He sort of wishes he'll never get used to this feeling again, it feels fantastic, even if the mere thought implies repeat and they're not really there yet, are they? Oh, they're a lot of places, but not there. John thinks.

When Khan comes, however, it's not just the pulsing of his cock that gets to him, it isn't just the way he spends himself down his throat in hard explosions of (probably genetically improved) semen - it's the way Khan speaks his name, croaks out a low John and proceeds to hold him rather than claw at the back of his head, like a caress. He swallows hard, dutifully, like a good little soldier and only slowly draws back, feeling his throat empty, his mouth, Khan's cock popping out between his lips with a wet popping sound. Jesus. Christ. He's just breathing in and out raggedly in the silence, palms flattening against the other man's thighs. Holy - That was intense, huh. Is it always going to be like that?

Which, again, implies they're repeating themselves. Same stupid mistake. Inhale, exhale, inhale... John doesn't think it feels like a mistake, much. It feels pretty great. He looks up at Khan. ]

This is going to be a thing, isn't it?

[ Honestly, he'd like to say more, about them obviously not being able to keep their bloody hands off each other, about giving in to it - or not giving in to it, should and shouldn't, but his voice sounds croaked and cracked and hoarse. Cocksucker voice, if you ever heard one. Khan did give it his all those final seconds. Good. ]

[ His orgasm is powerful, the lingering feeling of overwhelming exhaustion brief but insistent. Khan leans back in his chair, tipping his head back for a moment and staring up at the ceiling, blinking slowly against the lights. John, meanwhile, pulls himself off his cock - the contrast between the warmth of his mouth and the coldness of the surrounding air makes him shudder very slightly in response. This is going to be a thing, isn't it asks John, his voice utterly raw, throat used, well-used. Khan breathes slowly, evenly. In and out. Then, he looks down at the other man, lips quirking upwards. ]

It already is.

[ He strokes the back of John's head for another half-moment, then shifts backwards a little to give himself sufficient room to move without elbowing the man in the nose. He tucks himself away and zips up, his damp skin rubbing against the fabric a momentary discomfort. Then, fluently, the traces of post-orgasmic bliss leaving his system rapidly, he gets to his feet and holds out a hand for the other man to either accept or ignore - whatever suits him, really, he'll surprise him either way which seems to be John Watson's prerogative. First, years back, when he threw himself at Khan before carrying his dead partner and comrade out of the Tower. Months back, not by shooting him (they're enemies in war, why would an assassination attempt surprise him in the least?) but by leaving himself open in the aftermath. Do what you want.

And these days, repeatedly, by offering resistance, tension, when he should (and could) by rights have given up.

So Khan offers him his hand now, having marked him and been marked in turn (if the others couldn't smell John all over him last time, they certainly will now), knowing full well that all inequalities between them aside, he's been responding to the other man completely in kind, since the very first time they met.

At this point, it's simply what they do. ]

Yeah.

[ It's a non-committal reply more than anything, the real reply lying in the way he accepts Khan's offer of a hand after he's tugged himself away and zipped up, like he didn't just ejaculate, what, two seconds ago. Where do they get all that bloody stamina from? He knows the answer, of course, seeing as he's read the papers, done the homework, yes, but it just makes you wonder what the hell those scientists were even breeding these - not things, not now, not anymore - for. Sure makes you wonder.

Usually, he'd probably have declined the offer of help, not because he's a terribly proud person, John knowns when he needs assistance and when he doesn't, he knows when to call in expertise, but because he doesn't actually need it right now. He can get to his feet on his own, thank you very much, even with his knees slightly sore and his trousers down his ankles. As it is, though, well - if Khan's offering, he's taking, apparently, seems to be the recurrent theme between them at this point. He takes what's on offer, and if you're putting it that way, Khan is being very, very generous. He could demand it all, really, yet he just wants John's hand.

So, John grasps his hand and hoists himself to his feet, releasing the other man to bend down and fix himself up, belt and zipper, careful not to zip up his still slightly swollen cock. It'll die down quickly. Especially with the discomfort of denim against his sticky skin. Jesus.

Looking around the room, then, which they've left in a even bigger mess than he'd first noticed, John takes a deep breath and crosses his arms over his chest, returning his attention slowly to Khan. He isn't going to say much, come on, his voice's in shreds, but he is going to say this: ]

It's going to get us in trouble.

[ A shrug, mostly to show that he doesn't care, he likes trouble, trouble likes him, then he steps back and turns around, not even bothering to grab his book on the way out. He'll pick it up tomorrow. Afford Khan another opportunity to fuck his mouth, right? ]

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PSL no. 2: cruel wars

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