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

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[ For the past two weeks, they've laid waste to the Russian border, decimating all barriers including radars, mine fields and air defenses. He called in Rachita for assistance, going with a team of twenty-five and leaving very little behind, except for scorched earth and barren fields. Nature will restore itself in time, wasteful as it might seem. Maxim's still growing the lower parts of his legs and really, the Russians haven't paid nearly enough in damages as far as he's concerned.

For now, however, it will suffice.

He's taking a rare break this afternoon, a few hours of respite before joining his crew in the underground workshops, running weapon testings on a new gun with laser capacity. He's gone without sleep for ten days in a row, which isn't terribly uncommon during missions but it leaves him feeling slightly unfocused and mindless exercise usually helps. So he hangs away his bathrobe neatly before making his way to the pool itself wearing nothing except a pair of dark briefs, his footsteps light but steady against the tiles. ]

[ Really, there's not enough to do at the castle to make up for an actual everyday schedule, Mike and him filling their days with a mix of medical work (what little they can do outside of research, John doesn't think he's ever had a larger arsenal of random knowledge crowding up his mindspace), inane activities in the man cave that Atlas has prepared for them (including a popcorn machine which is quite a dangerous thing to put anywhere near two bored uni buddies) and exercise, either at the gyms available or, as now, here in the indoor swimming pool.

John has just got out of the water, Mike close at his heels, grabbing a towel and beginning to dry off, when a shadow catches his attention out the corner of his eye. Turning his head, he gets a rather magnificent view of Khan entering the premises in nothing but briefs (and thank God, they're dark like everything else the man wears or John would probably be making out anatomical shapes, yes). Glancing over at Mike who looks somewhat starstruck, he senses that Khan's doing the same and there's a moment where Mike looks from one to the other and then, stammering, excuses himself, hurrying towards the nearest exit. Mostly to distract himself, John follows him with his gaze until the door's closed behind him, only then does he turn his attention back on Khan.

Jesus, why did they have to make them so bloody good-looking? Don't tell him that was a strategic move, that was someone being vain, that's what it was. John licks his lips, starts drying off again and nods towards the water. ]

Have fun.

[ Oh, there's an audience. It speaks volumes as to his levels of exhaustion that he hadn't actually noticed beforehand and when the fat one insists on staring at him like a complete idiot, Khan stares right back at him, feeling nettled. Get lost, he thinks, apparently projecting exactly that because seconds after, he scurries out. John's looking at him too, a different intensity - something like hunger - in his gaze and Khan takes a moment to look him over, head to toe. Whilst not the tallest, he has a pleasing built. Square shoulders and sharp lines, weight nicely distributed, muscles subtle but defined. Mm. He could stand to take his clothes off more often, really.

Without wasting any words on John's comment - the sheer flippancy of that man! - Khan re-focuses on the water. Without pausing in his step, he walks up the edge, muscles tensing all the way from his shoulders to the back of his thighs as he sets off, diving head-first into the pool. There's barely any splash at all.

He heads directly for the bottom of the pool, five meters down. Have fun said John and thank you, he will. Settling onto the tiles, cross-legged, he lets out the very last air in his lungs, bubbles trailing to the surface. Then, he just sits there, the quiet along with the pressure of the water around his body oddly comforting - like stepping into a parallel universe, perhaps, or a small pocket of calm where time runs at a very different pace. ]

[ Wordlessly, the way Khan seems to do most things, the other man heads directly for the pool and dives right in, one long, elegant arch through the air, barely any splash at all. And before that, lots of muscle, lots of muscle showing, right? All the way up and down his backside, from shoulders to thighs and John keeps an eye on him, hopefully without being too obvious about it. Had their relationship been of another nature, hadn't John had an inkling he might get bloody well decapitated at some point for his nerve, he'd have told the Augment: showoff. Instead, he focuses on drying off properly (takes a bit longer than usually, he'll admit that much), waiting for Khan to emerge again, so he can bid him good day or whatever way he might otherwise be able to provoke the great leader a little.

Except, he doesn't. Emerge. He doesn't come back up for air at all. John waits a long moment, unable to find even a hint of bubbles anywhere. Waits a moment longer, but exactly nothing is happening. He knows the Augment isn't dead, come on, if all it took was a pool full of water, humans would have beaten these things years ago, but what the hell he's doing down there, whether he's - well, okay... Yeah, John doesn't know. He can't very well see, can he? Not from up here.

Dropping the towel off to the side, he waits another minute, maybe two and when the surface of the pool stays still and undisturbed, eventually he sighs, loudly, running an irritated hand through his hair and marches over to the edge, looking down. There's something like a dark outline on the bottom, but that's all he can make out. Why he makes the call he does, he isn't actually sure. It might not even have anything to do with Khan. Or it might have everything to do with him. Whatever the case, John takes one deep breath and jumps in, diving into the depths of the water, a couple of metres down, trying to figure out what the hell's going on.

Khan is just sitting there, on the bottom. Meditating, apparently. How? How does he do that, one thing is being pretentious to a fault, John has realised that's just how he works, his very peculiar makeup, he can't help it, too bad, but how does he not drown? Shaking his head hard, he makes for the surface again, because whatever Khan's capable off in regards to not dying from lack of air, John can't pull the same stunt.

He breaks through the surface, spluttering a little, heaving for breath. Legs kicking below. ]

[ There's moment of silence - nothing but the water pressure around him and the distant sounds of the complex itself. His thoughts re-arrange themselves, war and destruction slipping into the background, leaving room for... other contemplations.

Such as, where's John Watson? Did he leave along with his friend, the man from Rye? Khan hasn't registered his footsteps but then again, even with his enhanced hearing, there's quite a mass of water between him and the floor. He thinks about John, almost naked, drying off, muscles working under his skin in time with his movements. His confusion and anger when Maxim was at his worst, the way he'd administered the morphine later, showing a carefulness their scientists would have never bothered with. Even today, Maxim asks about him in private. Is the doctor well? Is he still here? Will he stay?

Very curious, for his people to attach themselves to anything beyond their own society.

Eyes falling shut against the water, he's just about to enter an actual, meditative state when something disturbs the water - he glances up slowly, just as John dives in, going down a couple of meters and hovering over him. It's a very brief visit, naturally, because humans can't hold their breaths for very long without extensive training. All the same, he came to... check, did he? To make sure? Of what? So many questions and thought patterns, all pertaining to the same man.

Looking up, he unfolds his legs and pushes off from the bottom. He's not making plans, thinking ahead, no, oh no. He's just following the logical consequence of his prior contemplations; that if John takes up his mind so persistently, then surely, it's time to bridge the distance. He does it in a very physical way, by coming up from beneath John's kicking legs, sliding up against him, front to back, and folding both arms around his waist. From one moment to the next, he goes from being all alone underwater, secluded, to having John's body pressed up against his, warm and wet and full of strength. He pulls him backwards, keeping him balanced against his own body, their legs entangling. ]

[ He doesn't even get as far as making for the edge of the swimming pool before something shoots up behind him, two very strong (very strong) arms fold around his waist and the whole, vast expanse of body presses up against his, dragging him backwards into the water, back first, legs kicking uselessly, entangling with another pair, water splashing everywhere. John gasps, grunts and fights to twist in the Augment's hold, finally managing to turn halfway towards him, getting plentiful glimpses of wet, pale skin, perfectly smooth and glistening, muscular upper body, shoulders, Jesus, shoulders. He's breathing hard, perhaps also harder than is strictly necessary as it's pretty obvious Khan isn't out to kill him. Had that been his aim, yeah, John would've been bloody well dead already. He still wonders about that, you know. He still wonders why he's living and breathing and well, when they're waging a war against each other on all other levels but the personal. Blinking water out of his eyes, he sucks in a couple of sharp breaths and looks up at Khan's face, his unusual eyes, those chiseled features...

Supposedly, he thinks, this has been a while in coming. They've probably both felt it, the attraction between them, curious as it might be, since John first arrived. It's sort of magnetic and sort of unstable and sort of very, very dangerous business, right? What the hell is he thinking about, thinking about... He purses his lips, twists some more in Khan's grip. ]

And what are you going to give me this time?

[ My life's accounted for already, after all, it means. Can't give it to him twice over. His voice's a bit hoarse.

Although it's better now, with Mike here, working medicine again and what not, there are still times, minutes, hours, day, when John remembers Sholto and wants nothing better than for the earth to bloody well swallow him up, since Khan insists on - well, not killing him, basically. Strangely enough, though, this isn't one such time, he isn't thinking about death at all, rather he's thinking about the shape of Khan's mouth, surprisingly sensitive for a man who didn't see the use of morphine for the guy with half a body left. Soft-looking. Shining wetly. John licks his lips. ]

[ John fights and wiggles in his hold, though the water's working against him as well as Khan's strength, making him unable to turn around completely or release himself. Instead, he ends up twisted in Khan's grip, his shoulder pressing against his chest. Beneath the water, his buttocks slide up against Khan's crotch. This close up, he can smell him very clearly, the distinctive, warm notes of his scent, the sharpness. Combined with his proximity in itself - physical, solid, real - it all feels intensely intimate and for a brief moment, he actually forgets to answer, too caught up in the shapes and lines of John's profile, the soft curves of his lips.

His cock is definitely hardening, though, as a response in itself. ]

What would you like? [ He leans in, his grip around John's waist loosening, transforming into a hold, instead. He spreads his palms out across the small of his back, stroking the skin there lightly. Suggestively. His voice, when he continues, is lower than usual. ] You're such a stubborn man, John. [ He very purposefully skips his last name. His lips slide over his cheekbone when he adds: ] Other than death, surely there's something you want.

[ It all comes down to this, ultimately: he's caught John Watson fair and square, survived him, even (technically speaking) and traded insults with him for the past two months. Back and forth they go, circling back to the same starting point each and every time. John's here because he wanted to die. Khan keeps him because he wants him alive. And between those two seemingly opposite motivations, here they are, slung together, under water and above and John's asking him what he's going to give him this time because he's searching, he's searching, knowing perfectly well that he won't find what he's looking for on his own. Alone. ]

[ There's a lot of physique involved here, isn't here? His arse sliding along the lines of upper thighs and hipbone and pelvis, cock, oh, there's definitely cock involved, too, he can feel it so vividly that his breath catches a bit in his throat. He hasn't, for a long time, not since Sholto... John swallows hard and twists around the rest of the way, Khan's lips slipping over the entire length of his cheek, as if he's mapping out his face. Like they need that kind of intimacy when he can just speak in a voice like that, yeah, Jesus, that's unfair, that's just coercion, plain and simple. At the back of his mind, he remembers Khan pulling him back against himself, touching him softly while he lured every single secret he held out of him with the help of a little truth serum, sure, but it had been his touch that had sealed the deal, hadn't it? Hadn't it? Another longer, deeper, shakier breath. Khan's hands are caressing him now, too. Stroking the skin near the small of his back gently, softly, so deceptively softly, coming from the man who bombs Russia to pieces and regrows half his skull without pain relief. Yeah, that man.

That man is asking him what he wants besides death and John leans in, pressing his forehead against the side of Khan's face, wriggling a little with his lower body to really tease out the beginnings of an erection going on down there in their combined nether regions. He isn't untouched by it either, after all, not going to lie, not going to pretend. His nose presses against one perfectly sharpened cheekbone and when he replies, his lips slide over Khan's cheek, bottom lip slipping along the indent at the corner of the other man's mouth. ]

I want you to shut up and kiss me.

[ He hasn't, in so long, not since Sholto - and now he's apparently going to do it with the - not man, Augment who maybe, maybe could've saved him, if he were half the leader he says he is. Still, the thought of Khan being anymore leader than he is now is terrifying, to be honest. Humankind would suddenly get to know another level of hell, John's sure. He knows. He's seen.

Yet, Khan is warm against him and the water splashes loudly around their bodies like this. ]

[ A slow smile. John's lips feel exactly as soft against his cheek as they look. Turning him until they're completely face to face, his breath catching slightly at the friction between their lower bodies, Khan closes the last remaining distance between them quickly, efficiently, and kisses him. The water splashing a little around them, he pulls John in all the way, licking his lower lip, nibbling at it very, very gently. Not here to cause damage, as John must surely know - if he'd wanted to, there'd be nothing left of him. Instead, he gives John a few moments to anticipate his next move before he pushes his tongue inside his mouth in one, smooth motion.

With a low groan, he tastes him, breathing him in simultaneously. Like this, John settles in his system, as a sensory memory - going forwards, he'll know the man by more than just his footfalls or his visual appearance. It makes him light-headed, thinking about it - Khan's close to a very select few, out of necessity and he deals with it easily on a daily basis. Usually, it's enough.

All the same, it's also a very conscious choice of abstinence and not necessarily... the one he'd prefer, in a different world and a different life.

Eyes falling shut, he runs one hand up John's back, his palm tracing hard muscle and soft skin, smooth, very - except for the left. His hand pauses over the outline of scarring, fingertips tracing the skin there, the left-over mutilation from what must have been a bullet wound with undisguised fascination. He doesn't break the kiss - rather, he deepens it, his cock hardening even further against John's thigh.

He has none himself, after all. Scars. ]

[ This time, the man doesn't tease.

He leans in, unassuming, for a kiss, having pretty much flipped John over in his grip, so they're face to face. His tongue is a soft pressure against his bottom lip, followed by a slightly harder (slightly, wouldn't take much for the man to tear him open) nibble with teeth that makes John's cock all sorts of interested, really. He's got exactly one second to take a deep breath before the other man's tongue breaches his mouth and pushes inside, filling him up with a low groan and at this point, John's done thinking too much about it, let's be real. His hands grab at Khan's upper arms, balancing himself off his body while his feet keep kicking a little in the water for leverage. Not that it's necessary, not with how Khan's just - holding him up, like he isn't 150 pounds of deadweight or something, Jesus. He meets him halfway, tongue sliding up along the slope of Khan's as he cocks his head to one side a bit, nose outlining the hard curve of a very nice cheekbone.

Like that, Khan's hand runs up his back, huge and firm and long fingers and John arches back against him, feeling how he traces his bullet wound, left shoulder, very bad day in southern Germany, that, Sholto had carried him 100 yards to safety and - Oh.

Khan's growing harder against his thigh, he's not far behind either and it's crazy, that's the sum of it. They're crazy. Drawing back with a gasp, John licks his lips, everything tasting like the other man now, everything feeling like proximity and arousal. ]

One of you got a good shot in. [ Breathlessly, as he leans in and starts mouthing wetly along the smooth line of Khan's jaw. ] Going to get one in now, too?

[ With his thigh, he presses up against the other man's cock, feeling the growing bulge of it through the very thin, very insignificant layer of fabric that is those dark briefs they're both wearing.

No, he hasn't for so long and he feels the need acutely, yeah. ]

Edited 2021-01-14 13:58 (UTC)

[ A long, heavy exhalation as John presses up against his cock. His mouth feels wet and soft against his jawline, the taste of him still prominent on the back of his tongue. One of you says John and it ought to be a stark, unpleasant reminder as to their conflicting loyalties but instead, it just makes Khan feel even hotter for him. He survived, after all. He survived one of them and humans only rarely, rarely do. He doesn't reply to John's question - it's not a matter of arrogance in this particular case, it's just the fact that Khan strongly prefers to let his actions speak for him in nearly all matters and this situation is no exception.

Leaning in, he presses his lips to the side of John's neck, feeling the pulse underneath, the rapid flow, the rhythmic beat. Yes. He sucks on the skin there, tastes salt and water and the same, warm edge underneath, John's personal scent, a code he's beginning to recognise.

With another groan, deep and rough, he grabs onto John's hips, fingers digging in harshly, a little bit uncontrolled, and pushes him backwards through the water, bringing them to the edge of the pool with two, fast kicks. He doesn't push John out of the water, naturally, simply gives him the chance to find purchase. His own cock is rock hard now, his arousal a constant throbbing between his legs and in the pit of his stomach.

Leaving a quick, sharp bite to the side of John's neck (along with a set of bright-red bite-marks), he adjusts himself in the water, putting both hands on the edge of the pool on either side of John's hips to steady his movements. Then, he starts mouthing his way down his chest, his pace fast and impatient, his body and mind completely synchronized and very much in need. ]

Edited 2021-01-14 16:51 (UTC)

[ Khan doesn't answer in words, come on, why should he, he's bulk and muscle and acts of war in one taut package, of course he just pushes John backwards through the water by his hips, the edge of the pool nudging at his shoulder blades, making John reach out on either side for purchase. Head nodding backwards a bit in this position, leaving him to stare up at the ceiling, water reflecting in patterns up there, he tries breathing normally through the sensory overload that is Khan's mouth against the side of his neck and finds it pretty much impossible. Too much suction, too much - Jesus, did he just bite him? Really? He groans, loudly, shifting back against the side of the pool some more, his cock throbbing between his legs.

Seriously, he should feel horrible about this. He should feel like a traitor and a defector, getting caught by the other side and staying there, because it's nicer than what Rachita's made of Europe, yeah? He even has Mike. A popcorn machine and now he's getting laid, too. To whom back in England would this seem in any shape or form fair? No one, that's who. Nevertheless, John doesn't. He doesn't feel horrible about it at all. In love and war, Sholto had said once when John had complained about the amount of suicides among his autopsy reports, why didn't they stay and fight like everybody else, all is fair, Watson.

Reaching up with his right hand, he touches a couple of fingertips to the bite mark, smarting as Khan draws back and drops down his chest, mouthing his way over skin there inelegantly and fast, obviously going places. John's hand buries into his hair without a second's hesitation. Oh, he's wanted to do that for months, that not-army cut that has the potential of hanging everywhere, if you - yes, he runs his hand through Khan's bangs, looking down at him. The angle of his face, his head, down, for God's sake.

His breathing sounds laboured in the relative stillness between them. ]

[ John buries his fingers in his hair, running his hand through it and Khan knows his hairdo is completely ridiculous by army standards but then again, those were made for ordinary humans with correspondingly human conformity standards. They're not like that, his people. Hair is a rare, personal choice and they wear it however they prefer. Khan doesn't actually care about the length, he keeps it like this because it's the longest it'll grow without a haircut, meaning it takes very little maintenance. If he'd wanted to buzz it, he'd have to actually keep up with it. No time. Not for something like that.

He mouths at John's midriff, lips following the subtly defined contours of muscle there, the water lapping at his chin. Beneath the water, John's cock is tenting his briefs and Khan licks his lips, staring up at him for a couple of seconds before uncerimonously slipping further down. Chin under water, nose, eyes - and forehead. Like that, he's got John's bulging cock utterly in his face, its outline - shaft, head and further down, balls - obvious beneath the wet, clinging fabric. Eyes open, he slips his fingers beneath the hem of John's briefs and pulls them away, hooking them behind his balls and baring his cock.

Then, he opens his mouth and sucks it in, lips tight around the shaft. He doesn't waste any time with pleasantries - some other time, maybe, if he can be bothered - and simply swallows the whole, hard length of it, allowing it to stretch his mouth and throat. He frees one hand from the pool edge and curves it against John's left buttock, keeping a firm hold on him to avoid him pulling back - because why would he want to, really? No need at all. ]

[ It's all very fast, efficient. One moment Khan's licking away at his midriff, following the contours of his abs, softer than Khan's, what did you bloody well expect, rock's softer than that, but well-maintained regardless. The next, Khan's head disappears underwater and he's hooking John's briefs behind his balls, baring his cock completely. John stares down at the outline of his upper body beneath the water surface, disbelieving. Is he going to - like that? How's he going to breathe? Then again, how did he manage to not breathe for ten minutes straight on the bottom of the pool? Might not be the right question to ask here.

He doesn't wonder about it for long, either, let's be fair. Because Khan sucks his cock into his mouth, the wet heat of it markedly different from the sensation of water, that pressure softer and yielding, whereas Khan's mouth doesn't give. Doesn't give an inch, Jesus. John gasps, loudly, hand returning to the edge of the pool and gripping it, knuckles turning white from the effort of it. It's tight. It's so good, it's so tight and hot and Khan swallows him all the way, just like that, in one go, because he's certainly not people and people don't do that, shit. Another gasp, borderline a grunt and he shifts against the side of the pool, feeling the other man's hand on his buttock, keeping him in place. He couldn't go anywhere even if he wanted to.

Except, he really doesn't want to.

Tilting his head backwards, he listens to his own staccato breathing, staring up at the reflections on the ceiling, light playing across the expanses there, his toes curling underwater and his hips straining against Khan's mouth, the sheer intensity of it. John blinks. Licks his lips. Mutters oh God, yes beneath his breath.

The last time he did this was a couple of days before they took Sholto. That's, what, two years now.

He's not going to last long. At all. Not at this pace. ]

[ John's cock tastes like him, his personal scent coming through with an almost mind-blowing purity and Khan only draws back a couple of inches, enough to feel the head stretch and fill the very back of his mouth. Then, he hollows his cheeks and sucks, taking care to keep it pleasant. His tongue is trapped beneath the heavy girth of the shaft and he doesn't move it much beyond that, seeing as he might very well end up crushing John's skin against the teeth in his upper mouth. Instead, he keeps himself as still as possible beneath the water, holding himself up with one hand against the edge of the pool, the muscles in his upper-arm and shoulder straining slightly to accommodate his weight.

His own cock is aching, his balls painfully tight. The scent and taste of John's cock combined with the constant stimulation against his lips, against the inside of his mouth and throat, all heighten his sense of arousal, of want. Blindly, he releases John's buttock and reaches down, pulling his own cock free and stroking it, harshly and without any sort of finesse. The abrupt shift from nothing to friction and tightness is almost unbearably intense.

He'd groan if he had enough air in his lungs to produce any sort of sound. Instead, he swallows John's cock again, all the way, until his lips are buried in the other man's pubic hair, and he's working his own cock faster yet, the water resistance making his movements inelegant. No less efficient, though. Please. ]

[ They'd had a joke once, in their battalion, about Khan's people. Question: What's the one thing humans do better than Augments? Answer: Jerking off, they're too callous for it to work. Admittedly, it was a bad joke, born of endless days in the field, either hurrying into battle or running away from it, no in betweens. Besides being a bad joke, it's also not true, John can now conclude, judging by the wet splashing coming from under the surface as Khan works himself in time with his efficient sucking. Very efficient, very intense, lots of warmth and friction, suction, tight throat action. John groans loudly and lets his head fall back properly, reaching down blindly and just dragging all ten fingers through Khan's hair, allowing himself a bit of a pull this time. More, come on, more. His hips, now without Khan's hand to steady him, start pushing forward and he's honestly not doing it to be rude, he just - it's so good, so good. He almost can't bear it. His breathing is constantly getting stuck in his throat. ]

Don't come - [ Could be an admonishment for the both of them, really, but it's directed at the way Khan's touching himself, faster and faster. ] - yet. Give me a fighting - [ A deep moan as Khan swallows him down again, all the way to the base and he's dying, literally dying, perhaps for the first time in his stupid life. ] - chance.

[ His lower body's falling into somewhat of a rhythm now, small thrusts against the tight ring of Khan's lips, seeking out that friction desperately. He's so close. It's so good and he's so close, fuck. ]

[ The other man's thrusting into his mouth now, his hips going at their own accord and that's good, chase it, he thinks, feeling an earnest satisfaction at the thought. When first John came to Beijing with him - was brought here, rather, against his will - he'd seemed intent on chasing very little, if anything. Khan's been waiting to see this side of him in full, though he's given away bits and pieces of it over the past months. His readiness to argue, to help Maxim, to remain standing despite his situation, despite death being his only way out from here.

Yes, that drive must be down there somewhere - in excess. Khan still sees him exactly as he stood, years back, with Major Sholto's body cradled in his arms and the longest walk of his life ahead of him. He can feel that gun against his temple. So when John pulls his hair with something that feels like intent, Khan listens carefully through the water and he gets his reward, doesn't he, because John's finally asking him for something, unprompted. Give me a fighting chance.

A plea he'd honour nowhere else.

Here, however, he steels himself, mouth still locked tightly around the shaft of John's cock. Then, he releases his own, the utter, physical disappointment nearly making him shudder. He returns his hand to the edge of the pool, a show as well as an answer, before he starts bobbing his head up and down John's shaft, fast, sucking him down at every in-stroke. He doesn't have to feel his balls (though he'd like to, actually - next time) to know how close he is. His pace quickens. He closes his eyes, focuses on keeping it even. ]

[ 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.

Edited 2021-01-14 19:58 (UTC)

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ 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. ]

[ It's a quarter past seven in the evening. The complex is dark, the lightening adjusting itself to the time of day and he's had to turn on a sharp reading light in the library in addition to the dim overheard LEDs. He could, potentially, turn them all up to max but there's something about the shadows lining the floor and the walls that he rather likes. Creates a sense of stillness. Thus, he's seated, straight-backed, in semi-darkness, the table in front of him absolutely covered in stacks of books, articles and sketches. He's working on the details of a new laser weapon for aerial combat, based on the new prototype they've developed in the lab.

He's aware of John's presence somewhere in the complex. They've got their routines, their two prisoners - researching at noon, eating and relaxing until evening (apparently, Atlas has created a rec room for them, complete with TV, a pool table and... a popcorn machine? It's quite strange and naturally, everybody's talking about it) and then, research again.

So while he hadn't exactly planned for the library table to become his personal workspace for the evening, he's not here completely by coincidence. Really, he rarely goes anywhere without a reason these days, there's simply too little time. ]

[ Of their two daily research rounds, John highly favours the second, the one after dinner, because that's when he does his research alone. It's not that he dislikes Mike, come on, Mike's a friend, a comrade and a thousand other things that fall into various sub-categories of the two first, but mostly he's also begun looking a John a particular way after the incident in the pool a week ago, like he knows, when John's pretty sure there are no clues to pick up on. They don't see each other more often than previously, Khan and him (minus the evening scroll a couple of days ago, but honestly, that could've happened either way - he thinks) and they don't act any differently around each other, when they do cross paths. So, really, John's got no idea what Mike knows. Nothing, possibly. He might just be reading too much into it. Yeah.

He probably is.

Tonight he's headed for the library that's become a fixture in his evening study seances, although he hasn't actually worked this academically since his uni days. He misses practical medicine, let's be real, he misses working on people, not - what, computers and the like. He misses actual tissue, flesh and blood and - yeah, fluids? Might be that he's missing fluids. Sounds a bit sick, now that he is giving himself time to pause at the thought.

Pushing the door open slowly, he steps inside, halting himself mid-motion at the sight of - someone else there, and not just someone else, that one specific person. Of course, he's here. Where the hell else would he be? John finishes his movement after another beat, closes the door behind himself, looking around slowly. ]

And to what do I owe the honour?

[ He's picked up John's scent before he actually enters the library, a comfortable heat of satisfaction settling in his body. The other man steps inside, his footfalls giving his actions away - pausing, thinking, then... onwards. How very much like him. Khan's starting to recognise his patterns and that thought, too, is intensely satisfying. It's been a while since the pool and though he hasn't actively thought too much of it - compartmentalization is an utterly necessary skill when you're ruling a quarter of the planet - he's returning to those memories now. Scent, touch, taste... His hand pauses over the diagram on the iPad for half a second at most before he continues. ]

You're often here during the evenings. [ His voice is quiet, unhurried. He erases a line, adds another. ] I wanted to see you.

[ It's a direct admission; no need to dance around the issue, after all, they both know what this is about. It's not about him, throwing tokens for John to reject or accept, as a captive soldier at the mercy of the enemy. He's not offering him anything except what they are, here, at this very moment. Gaze narrowing in concentration, he flips open one of the books, checks up on the drawings there and corrects his own. The calculation near the top of the screen flashes briefly in the darkness. ]

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PSL no. 2: cruel wars

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