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Kirk halts in the doorway to his quarters, surprise flickering beneath his skin.
Khan's standing before the small window Jim rates as a captain, in his usual black, hands locked together at the base of his spine. His back is rigid with tension, and somehow he manages to stiffen even further as Kirk takes another step into the room. He half-turns his head, that proud, pale face cut out against the darkness beyond, and only the blaze of his eyes marks him as human.
Kirk steps up beside him, but doesn't touch, not yet, not when Khan's coiled so electric next to him, a phaser with a finger on the trigger. Kirk knows better, for all that Khan is being rehabilitated, for all that Marcus has been punished and the augments freed, than to think that the man next to him has been tamed.
"What's wrong?" He breaks the silence, reaches out and persuades one of Khan's hands free, tangles his fingers with his lover's.
Khan accepts his affection, though flinches, just a bit, at the sound of Kirk's voice, as if startled by the intrusion of anything physical.
He gets like this sometimes, locked up inside his own head. It's apparently a consequence of the augment procedure; all the medics on the ships the augments serve on have this long-running argument over whether the augment's obsessive personalities are nature or nurture. Hard to not be obsessive, when you have perfect recall and can spot every single flaw, nearly every potential mistake, before they even start.
Khan swallows. His throat clicks dry. His voice is dark, deep, and so sad Kirk's heart could break. "The last mission to find the downed exploratory probe."
"Yeah?" The entire thing had been a clusterfuck. Three security team people had died, five had been injured, all because the intelligence they'd managed to pick up on the planet hadn't included the presence of hideous, massive cat-creatures with cloaking abilities. Kirk had done his self-flagellation, gotten drunk, written the condolences.
Khan shifts, a ripple of muscle and darkness, ill-at-ease. "I should have known."
"The intelligence-"
"Fuck the intelligence," Khan snarls, though he doesn't pull away from Jim. His voice is rich with self-loathing. "I was designed for this. I should have predicted the intelligence would be insufficient. I should have-" and he breaks off on a harsh noise, gazes blindly out the window, trembling.
Jim holds on. He curses the augment program all over again, for the millionth time. Because along with the strength, the speed, the intelligence, the engineers bred unshakable loyalty into the augments' very bones, a responsibility that encompasses the world, a narcissistic certainty that they are capable of fixing, controlling, everything. This bizarre combination of narcissism and self-loathing isn't unusual for Khan, or for any of the other augments.
Still. He needs to get Khan out of his head.
Jim lets go of Khan's hand, steps behind him. Hooks his hand around the front of Khan's neck, draws his lover's head back down onto his shoulder. Khan comes willingly, and that is, as always, the best thing Jim's ever known: that this man, so far beyond him, so strong he could tear Jim limb from limb, submits himself to Jim like that.
He bends, the long white column of his neck a vision, head on Jim's shoulder. His breathing whispers across Jim's neck, and Jim slides his hand up over that sharp jaw, those sullen lips, the brush of Khan's lashes against his palm, until he spears his fingers into the thick dark fall of Khan's hair, holds him there.
"I'm going to get you out of your head," he whispers into Khan's ear, and adores the slight shudder that garners him. "Remember your word."
Khan goes stiff. His pale eyes gaze at nothing, tension rigid in every line of his body, the fierce uncertainty of a half-tame beast.
Jim waits for the word. If Khan doesn't give it, no big, they don't have to do this; if he does, that means he accepts, submits himself to Jim's will, even for this small space of time-
"Vengeance," Khan says, and relaxes against Jim's body.
The same triumph he feels every time Khan trusts him with this ignites, burns low in his gut, banked fire waiting to roar.
"Good," he whispers, and curls his hand into a fist in Khan's hair, wrenches his lover's head to one side to expose all that unmarked skin. He bends, breathes hot across the sweep of Khan's jaw, and Khan's fingers curl into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to flee.
Jim seals his mouth at the juncture of shoulder and neck, nips - Khan shudders - then bites, sucks hard, testing.
Khan sways forward, but doesn't break Jim's hold, though he is stiff, fighting down his own programming, the instant snap into rage that's burned into his blood. Still, he isn't hitting out, snarling-
He's trying. A low sound breaks from his throat, and Jim lets go, uses his hand, fisted in Khan's hair, to force Khan to step back with him towards the bed. Khan follows, blindly, trusting him to lead the way. The other hand he slips up, over Khan's hip, his ribs, his chest, to curl loosely about the front of his neck.
Khan growls. The noise reverberates into the bones of Jim's hand.
Jim expects that; the augments are animalistic in some ways, even as their intelligence is beyond human, and none of them enjoy exposing their throats. He reprimands it with a yank to Khan's hair and a bite to his ear, then sidesteps, lets go of throat and hair, and shoves Khan back and down onto the bed.
Khan's knees hit the edge of the mattress and collapse under him. He sprawls, languid, sculpted in black and white, those pale eyes searching Jim's face. Already, he's half-hard, tenting his black slacks. "What do you plan to do?"
Jim raises a brow.
"Sir," Khan adds, and there's the edge of rebellion in his voice that Jim loves.
He kicks off his own shoes next to Khan's, climbs onto the bed beside him, this perfect terrible creature, this hideous strength that checks itself at his will, this beautiful mind that allows him control.
"Hands above your head," he orders, and Khan obeys, though not fast enough for his liking, knowingly insolent, and Jim reaches up, cups one side of that fine-boned face in one hand, and slaps him with the other. He's measured the force perfectly, the bark worse than the bite, and his hand on the other side of Khan's face keeps him from turning too fast with the blow.
Khan grunts, more from shock than pain. If any other being but Jim hit him, he would have no compunction about murdering them, efficiently, remorselessly, and yet he lets Jim do this. His eyes flicker with surprise, half-lidded now as Jim rests his hand where he slapped him, feels the heat rising red beneath his palm.
"Going to give me any more trouble?"
Khan thinks about it. Then he smiles, slow, predatory. "No, sir."
"Good." Jim swings a leg over, settles atop Khan's thighs. He ignores the hopeful cant of Khan's hips, hooks his fingers around the hem of Khan's shirt. Khan's skin is warm against his own, rising into his touch, and as Jim rucks his shirt up into his armpits, Khan's mouth opens on a sigh, the rest of him writhing slow beneath Jim's hands.
"Arms up," Jim says, and pulls Khan's shirt off, flings it over his shoulder, then sits back. All that pale skin, flecked with scarring, shifting with the roll of muscle, to mark as he wills; the long line of Khan's throat, dark with a bruise; the deep valley of his vulnerable abdomen; Khan's expression, sharp, waiting, expectant, his eyes a pale halogen flame. He hardly knows where to start, and settles for running his nails down over Khan's chest, spans them over the bowl of his stomach.
Red lines rise in his wake, and Khan shudders. "Sir?"
"Speak," Jim says, affecting boredom as he slides his hands back up over Khan's ribs, knuckles fitting perfectly into the spaces.
"Would you-" and then Khan goes quiet, and Jim heaves an internal sigh. If he hated the augment program for nothing else, he would hate them for this: making Khan feel like he has to be so strong he can't ask for anything, not even in bed.
"I can't give you what you don't ask for." Jim spirals his fingers inward towards one tight nipple, catches it between thumb and forefinger, applies steady pressure.
Khan gasps, arches into the touch, his tightly controlled strength emerging for a moment as he half-lifts Jim off the bed with that one motion.
"No requests?" Jim twists.
"Ah-" Khan's moan splinters into a shattered whine, "kiss me, sir."
Jim lets go, and offers a slight smile. Not what he wants to give, not a grin of adoration, because Khan doesn't respond well to such open affection, this early in the game. "Of course."
He bends, catches Khan's mouth with his own, the kiss brutal. He practically devours the other man, and even as he's doing that he catches Khan's nipples with his hands and twists both.
Khan bucks into him, straining into his mouth as he flinches, and Jim swallows his whine. Khan's arms twitch where they lie on the bed, but he controls the urge to reach for Jim, flip him over and pin him, and Jim rewards him by sitting back, letting go.
He surveys his conquest with pleased eye. Khan bears his marks, red and purple, chest scored with lines, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, dark and hazy with satisfaction.
Jim shifts off of Khan and strips his trousers off, Khan raising his hips to assist without being ordered. Progress, good. Jim throws the trousers aside and looks back at Khan, and his mouth waters. Khan's underwear is tented, a damp patch spreading from where he's slick, the fabric near-black, and as Jim lays a hand on his hip, Khan's cock jumps.
"Eager, aren't you."
Khan rumbles low in his chest, and opens one eye all the way to gaze at Jim. "Of course. Are you going to do anything about it?"
Just for that, Jim reaches up, draws one finger down the center of Khan's body, and as Khan rises into his touch, hips lifting, he hooks his other hand over the waistband of Khan's underwear and strips it off in one smooth motion. Khan's cock smacks into his own belly, leaves a glistening smear of precome behind.
"Of course I am. Not for a good while, though." He glances at Khan's cock. "You need to bring that down some, or I will. And you won't enjoy it."
Khan's gaze sharpens, comes alive with interest as Jim rolls off the bed and saunters to their closet. Which, yes, it's always flattering to have someone so interested in what he can do to them, but he doesn't need Khan thinking. Jim sifts through their collection, contemplating, and then selects several leather straps and the largest vibrator they own.
When he turns back around, Khan hasn't moved; his eyes are closed, his body languid, and he's willed his erection down. He remains still even as Jim places one knee onto the bed, mattress dimpling beneath his weight, and reaches for his cock.
That stillness ends the moment Jim snaps the cock ring in place around his balls and the base of his cock. Khan twitches. His eyes fly open, and he levels an absolutely venomous glare at Jim, but says nothing. That's not part of the game.
"Onto your front," Jim says, slapping Khan's hip to encourage him. It makes him smile (internally, of course, Khan would be annoyed if he was too cheerful in this context) to see Khan do so with a minimum of grumbling, his muscles sliding sleek beneath the unmarked plain of his back. "Arms behind your back. Straight and together."
Khan gives him a dubious glance, but obeys. He tenses as Jim begins to bind him, sucking in a hard breath, and even though they both know him to be more than capable of breaking these bonds if he doesn't like them, Jim still pauses and runs a hand over his back.
"It's okay. You can do this. I'm right here, and that means you're safe."
He keeps murmuring meaningless comfort until Khan relaxes with an effort, letting his dark head fall against the pillow, and then Jim finishes the bindings as quick as he can. The rest - hips, ankles, and thighs - will have to wait until he's off the bed, since while Jim's strong, he's not strong enough to carry Khan.
Jim settles cross-legged in the little space Khan's left him on the bed. It's an awkward fit, but they make do. It takes a moment to dig out one of the little packets of lube they stash beneath the mattress, and he settles his free hand on Khan's ass.
Khan rocks up into the touch with a pleased noise, and Jim bends and kisses the damp hair curling at the nape of his neck. "So good for me," he whispers against Khan's ear, and though Khan will never show it on his face, he knows the words mean something to him.
He parts Khan, exposing him, that little pink furl of muscle and skin that is so incongruous in its delicacy with the man Khan is, harsh and restless and commanding, then tears the package open, drizzles lube across his fingers and Khan's entrance, slides one finger, than two, into that clinging heat.
Khan rolls his hips back into Jim's fingers with a pleased groan, opens to his touch, and Jim is again so suddenly, fiercely proud of him, this bitter, closed man who bends for him so beautifully.
A third finger, spreading them to watch that reddened clench stretch about his hand, and a sharp thrust, and Khan makes a sound like he's been punched, mouth gone slack, eyes hazy. He's so hot inside, a furnace Jim wants to burn in, and so serpentine in the way he undulates, rippling like water, into Jim. All danger and strength in the world beneath his hands, and Jim bends and bites at the curve of his spine.
Khan sighs.
Jim slides his fingers out of Khan, leans to one side to pick up the vibrator. It's a large, blunt, black thing, wide enough for Khan to struggle with. It seems impossible, as he places the tip against Khan's entrance, for it to fit.
Khan's fingers curl against each other, thighs going rigid beneath Jim. They both know he can take this, that he has before, but this is okay, this is good - expressing his discomfort, trusting Jim to listen, is a positive step.
Jim places his free hand on the dip of Khan's spine. "You have your word."
Khan's jaw works. His lips are white with tension. Then he nods, once, and fights himself into submission.
Jim pushes the vibrator in with one steady motion, watching how Khan is forced to open to it, the tiny entrance to him stretching red, then white. It has to hurt, this unyielding object settling inside him, and Khan's brow furrows, his eyes shut, teeth set into his lower lip. A fine tremble wracks him. Sweat slicks the line of his back. Every exhale is a soft hiss, and when Jim turns to pick up one of the straps, Khan's toes are curled into the sheets.
The vibrator settled, he gets off Khan's thighs, slaps his ass, gets a shocked grunt in return. "Come on. Up." His hand print, red, heated, rises on Khan's skin in seconds.
Khan opens his eyes, and with that incredible strength manages to get his knees beneath him and sit up in seconds, no matter that his arms are bound. He could ask for help, but at this point, Khan still has his pride.
Jim loves watching him like this, the subtle shifts in his expression as he's forced to adjust to the vibrator in a different position. Gingerly, he sets one foot on the floor, then another, and stands. A flicker of discomfort washes over his face, but then he goes blank, watches Jim with hungry eyes. Even Khan, for all his skill, can't hide the desire in his eyes.
It's the work of a few moments to hook the strap through the ring at the back of the vibrator and then buckle it at the front of Khan's hips, above his reddened, straining cock.
Khan growls, but cuts off at a sharp glance from Jim.
"Stay there." Jim goes and gets a pillow, drops it on the floor beside his desk. He nods at it, and Khan, white marked in red and purple, bound in black yet never tamed, stalks to it, folds onto it with such grace Jim's heart near stops.
He kneels behind Khan, bites deep into his shoulder.
Khan stiffens, whines, the sound hurting, honest, vulnerable, but doesn't pull away, and Jim loves that in him, this naked feeling, this confession of humanity, that he can be hurt.
He buckles cuffs onto Khan's ankles, checks the fit with two fingers hooked between leather and skin, threads the straps through the D-rings and ties them off, so Khan's wrists are bound to his ankles, spine bent in a subtle arch.
Khan's head falls forward, and he relaxes.
Jim grins, reaches down, through straps, brushing against the sweaty hollow of Khan's back, and flicks the switch on the vibrator.
Khan inhales, hard, sharp, and strains, though not hard enough to break the bindings, and oh, Jim loves him all the more.
Not enough to assuage him just yet, not when Khan's still present, thinking. He rises to his feet and circles to the front, watching his lover struggle to process the unending pleasure, the pain of not being able to relieve himself.
"You stay there. I've got some reports to write," he says, smiling.
Khan's head snaps up, and he stares at Jim with naked anger and desperation. He opens his mouth.
"Problem?" Jim says, low.
Khan shifts, glares, but finally bites back his fury, and settles onto the pillow to wait.
--
"Tell me what you want."
Jim's foot idly trailed up along the augment's cock, toes pressing harder as he got to the tip, pushing the engorged flesh against the man's sweat-slicked abdomen.
"Ah... ahh...a-ahn..."
On his knees at the captain's feet, Khan breathed shallowly between strangled moans, and tested the strength of his bonds once more, knowing well that it was pointless.
He'd been in that position for hours now, legs spread, body bound and offered for the captain's pleasure. His cock throbbed with need, bound and unable to find release, increasingly closer to complete desperation.
At least Kirk was now actively paying attention to him, rather than doing reports for Starfleet. The captain was sitting on the bed, toying with his captive at his feet.
Various leather straps held Khan's arms behind him, securing his wrists to his ankles, leaving his legs open for the other man. The bindings were thick enough to resist the strength of three men at least. They bit into his skin and left marks the captain found most lovely, even if they didn't last very long afterwards.
Khan was no normal man. He could have broken free, if he'd really wanted to. But doing so would put an end to their game, and that was completely out of the question. Besides, at this point he would have held the position that Kirk ordered him into, even if there were no straps.
A vibrator of ridiculously large girth was buried deep inside the augment, set on maximum and securely attached to a harness around his waist and thighs so that it couldn't be removed easily.
His legs trembled and the vibration only added to the maddening feeling that there was a furnace of hunger inside him.
He was painfully stretched and dripping with arousal, and yet he still felt desperately empty.
A machine couldn't possible replace his owner's cock. His cheeks felt a renewed wave of heat from the shame when he realized what thoughts had been crossing his mind, but there was no denying how far they'd come. He was too proud to admit it aloud, but this was what Kirk was for him, now. Lover, owner, captain, family.
The one who made him whole, as well as the one who could deliciously break him and put him back together at will.
Kirk caressed Khan's cheek with a mix of gentleness and cruelty, fingertips sliding over his cheekbones, tracing the edge of his jaw, before playing with the taut muscles on his neck, nails scratching the pale skin every so often. The touch was electrifying. Khan's skin glistened with sweat and was so over-sensitized all over that anywhere that Kirk touched him seemed to be on fire. The blond's fingers slid lower, fondling the other man's pecs and twisting a nipple harshly before letting go. Khan made a little choked noise, halfway between pain and protest at the loss of that contact. Being touched by Kirk was like being caressed with a live wire. He was utterly addicted.
"You have to say it... or you won't get to come..."
"I... I w-want... you..."
"Not specific enough." Kirk's foot became more cruel now, dishing out pain more than pleasure, but Khan took it all, anything the blond was willing to bestow on him, and the pain seemed to only make him even more turned on. The ring around the base of his cock was pure torture however; he needed to come so badly he thought he might go mad. The blond had been toying with him without respite for hours now, and even an augment had limits.
Khan had always found taking charge and acting on things far easier than voicing his need and baring his soul; or maybe his body was just more straightforward and betrayed him more easily than his lips did. He tried again, shame and pride tearing at him as he forced the words out.
"I want you... in... inside me..."
"Hmm..." Kirk hummed appreciatively, considered whether it was enough, and decided to torture him further. "Yes, but doing what?"
Kirk's foot slid along his captive's cock again, hot and heavy.
"...f-... fuck..." The augment whimpered, his whole body trembling from the strain.
"How eloquent. Yes?"
"F- fu...fucking me..."
"Good... You're almost there. Just a little farther and I might have mercy on you... Come on, say what you want me to do to you."
To be fair, it was becoming increasingly hard for Kirk to resist the urge to flip Khan over onto the bed, pull out the vibrator and fuck him senseless. He wanted to pound the augment into the bed until Khan was reduced to a mass of keening, shivering, raw pleasure, bucking under his owner and begging for his cock to hit all his sweet spots harder and faster.
At this point, the augment would probably come the moment Kirk removed the cock-ring, so that would have to wait a bit longer, until he'd truly made him come undone, mentally and physically.
Only then would he allow him to come, and that release would be so infinitely sweeter as a result...
--
"Fuck me, sir," Khan says after an age, staring up at Jim, wrecked beyond all measure. "Please-" he hesitates, then says, again, quieter, "Please?"
It only took him an hour and a half to ask. Better than when they first started this, where Jim had spent a solid day sitting and waiting for Khan to ask for something, anything. Not that Jim has gotten any work done in that hour and a half; if Khan ever asked to see the reports he'd worked on, the only things he'd see were traces of Jim's incoherent keyboard smashing and distracted attempts at writing. Luckily, Khan's never asked, probably to preserve the illusion.
Jim sinks back in his chair and looks Khan over, and Khan lets him, lets him see the strain of his cock, the damp puddle of clear liquid beneath the head, the bruises littered purple and red on his neck, his chest, where he's strained against the restraints, his lips bitten red-raw, sweat beaded at his hairline, in the hollow of his throat. Jim is the only one in all the universes Khan would allow to see him like this, and that knowledge burns.
Khan ducks his head at Jim's silence, covering the red flush of his cheekbones, and Jim snakes a hand forward, fists it in Khan's hair and jerks his head back, meets those strange, changeable eyes, smoldering pewter now with need. "Tell me again," he says, low, adoring the flinch and Khan's visible struggle to obey.
"Fuck me. Sir."
Jim smiles, slow, and rises from his chair, pulling Khan upright with him. He keeps his other hand beneath Khan's elbow to steady him as tired muscles are asked to bear his weight.
Khan whines as the change in position shifts the vibrator within him. His legs tremble, exhausted, and he stumbles like a newborn foal just figuring out the world, swaying, his weight heavy on Jim's arm. Every step jolts another cry from him, these soft, broken, wanting sounds that Jim hoards, dragon-like, sounds that are only his to know.
"Down you go." Jim eases him down to sit on the edge of the bed, bends around him to start unbuckling the restraints holding his arms at his back. With Khan this out of his head, he doesn't want to risk Khan injuring his shoulders by putting too much weight on them when he fucks him.
Khan just sits, breathing hard, shifting and finding no relief from the thick intrusion into him. As the restraints fall from his wrists, he bends his fingers, tests his joints, and then sags sideways into Jim like a puppet with no strings, trusting Jim to hold him up. "Please. Please, sir- I can't-"
Jim kisses his temple, damp, hot, and loops an arm around his shoulders to help him lie back. Khan goes, sprawls against his white sheets, flushed red all the way to the valley of his stomach, his cock near-purple now with want. A thin clear strand of pre-come falls from the slit, and Jim, cruel, swipes a thumb across it, just to see what Khan does.
Khan cries out, hips lifting into the touch, chasing that sensation and then forcing himself back down when Jim frowns.
"Sorry. Sorry. I'm so sorry, sir-"
"Are you really?" Jim undoes all the restraints, tosses the straps aside, and trails his fingers down into the space between Khan's testicles and his entrance, curves inward to feel his prostate, hard and wanting where it presses against the unyielding toy.
Khan moans, half-delirious, lax muscles twitching and finding no traction, the only thing he can do lie there and accept what Jim does.
"Sorry, hm? Maybe I should take this out-" he bumps the heel of the vibrator with the heel of his hand, and Khan whines, high, in his throat, twists, "-and just use my fingers, milk you so you get no pleasure. Ride you until I come as many times as I want, and leave you wanting." He wouldn't really, not in this situation. Khan's cock is a wonder of the world that he's had inside him many a time, but when Khan's like this, the only thing that works for him is Jim's cock inside him.
"No, no, I'm sorry-" Khan pleads, the words slurred, tumbling over themselves. So strange to hear his meticulously controlled and eloquent officer stumble, and so good.
Jim pretends to think about it. He grabs the base of the vibrator, twists it one more time for good measure to watch Khan's cock jump, and then withdraws it in one smooth glide.
Khan moans, and Jim watches with dark satisfaction the empty clench of him, red and slick and shining, closing on nothing, wet-
On impulse he hooks one arm beneath Khan's narrow hips and lifts him up, ducks and presses his mouth to that needy entrance in a filthy kiss. He licks into him, heat and salt and need, and Khan can only moan, one hand tangling weakly in his hair.
Khan twitches, grinds into Jim's face, his voice reduced to a weak, thready thing, near-sobbing with want and overstimulation. "Sir, I can't- I can't-"
Jim pulls away for a moment, glances up Khan's body. Khan's face is red, his lips bitten swollen, his nipples drawn into tight pink pebbles, and his eyes are drugged, black, lost. His chest heaves.
The knowledge of how deeply Jim controls Khan is a punch to the gut, and he bends back to Khan's opening, points his tongue, delves deeper before pulling out to lap gently at the hot tender skin, torment and kindness in one. Khan's hand jerks in his hair, falls to the mattress, and Jim lowers him down.
"You will."
He strips out of his clothes, kneels on the bed and grabs the discarded lube, gets his hand slick and shiny. He lifts Khan with his other hand, until he's exposed again, the vulnerable little part of him that is only Jim's. Jim feels more powerful here than even on the Enterprise's bridge, because Khan is better than him, in nearly every way, and yet he can break Khan down like this, make him this starved, wanting, human creature, begging and whining for a touch, a kiss.
His fingers sink into that clinging heat easy. Khan's slick, open, greedy for his touch, tightening around him with a moan like he's grateful for it.
"So wet for me," Jim hisses, tucking another finger in, thumb pressing at the stretched rim of Khan, white and trembling, "so easy, like all you need is my fingers. What do you say? Think we should try and get my whole fist in there?"
Khan trembles. A grunt tears free of him, and he claws weakly at the sheets, accomplishes nothing.
"You're open enough for it, and it's bigger than my cock-" he curls his fingers, drags them slow and torturous as he withdraws them, shoves them back in, hard, "-might be better for you, as empty as you are."
"Sir-" Khan manages, "I-"
Jim goes still. "Yeah? Got something to say?"
Khan writhes, slow, sensuous, a ripple of motion all over his body, and his eyes, when he finds Jim's, are something Jim could drown in. His voice is a rasp, broken, gone so far beyond pride. "I want your cock, sir." He licks his lips. "Please," and his voice cracks, shatters, dies.
"Oh, darling," Jim stretches up, bites at the curve of his shoulder, gentles it into a brush of lips over the hollow of his throat, "you'll have it." It's the work of moments to slick himself up, though he has to grip himself at the base to keep from coming all over Khan's chest. He scoops up Khan's knees in the crooks of his elbows, presses him up and back until he's near bent double, and presses up and in until just his tip is in, spearing Khan, holding him open. A promise not yet fulfilled.
Khan moans, a long, liquid sound that still has the power to make Jim's knees shake after all this time. His back arches, instinctual, though he doesn't have the strength to do anything but cling to the bed; can't even work himself down onto Jim's cock. His own cock is dark with need, though he doesn't touch: only gasps for breath, his dark hair stuck to his forehead with sweat.
"God, you're so good," Jim pants, thrusting in steady and hard, piston-like. Khan shouts, his knuckles going white against the sheets as Jim sets up a rhythm, watching for the shift in Khan's expression that lets him know when Khan's found it, that elusive state beyond words or shame or time, that place like flying. "You're doing so good, you're trying so hard, I can't believe you're mine-"
Khan whines with every thrust. His legs slide out of Jim's grip, settle about his hips. A bony heel knocks Jim in the back with every withdrawal, but he doesn't mind; his attention is fixed on that beloved face, strange now in ecstasy, the darkness of his hair, the crimson of his mouth.
Then, Jim sees it: the moment when Khan lets go, of guilt and arrogance and all the things that have built him up and broken him down, and lets himself fall. He fumbles upright, stretches to cradle Khan's sharp cheekbone in his hand, and Khan sighs, turns into his hand. The dampness of tears smear across his palm. Jim nearly breaks.
He grinds inward, hard, one last time, and comes with a shout of Khan's name.
Khan's eyelids flicker. He whines as Jim pulls back, come spilling white and glistening from the redness of him, and then half-twists, oversensitive, as Jim scoops it up on his fingers and pushes it back inside, fascinated, still, with his openness, the heat and slick and vulnerability.
Khan tosses his head on the pillow, would claw at the sheets but for how weak with need he is. Every breath is a whine, and Jim burns with pride and possession and adoration.
He shifts up the bed to lean on the headboard and pulls Khan into his arms. Khan comes easily, a heavy weight, head lolling on Jim's shoulder, and shivers when Jim whispers against his ear,
"You're so good. You're so fucking beautiful like this, and I'm so lucky that you'll let me make you this."
He reaches down Khan's body, curls his fingers lightly about Khan's cock, red-purple, leaking, rigid.
Khan jolts, begins to shake. His toes curl into the sheets. "Sir, please-"
"Shh," Jim says, and strokes him gentle and slow, "it's okay. You've pleased me. You can come."
Khan arches into a straining bow, yells, comes across his chest and Jim's hand. He settles back, eyes blind, gazing at nothing, long limbs wracked with shivers. Turns into Jim's arms, his body, buries his face in Jim's shoulder, and trembles.
"Come on, then." Jim gathers him up, though it's difficult when Khan is so lean and long, a tangle of limbs, and stumbles through the room to the bathroom. As captain, he has access to water for bathing, though he rarely uses it over the sonic shower. He gets Khan into the shower with him, kicks on the hot water, and settles at the bottom of the shower with Khan curled into him like Jim is all he's ever needed in the universe.
They sit together for a moment, Khan's shaking reverberating through his skin and into Jim, the goosebumps of receding endorphins prickling across his arms, tucked against Jim's chest. If he's crying, Jim can't tell, both of them wet from the shower, and he respects Khan enough not to ask.
Jim brushes his teeth, maneuvering clumsily around Khan's dead weight, then reaches for the shampoo and washes Khan's hair for him. Curling his fingers into those thick, dark curls is an addiction, and the low rumbles Khan makes when he hits a particularly good spot make Jim's heart practically liquefy with love. He has to shift Khan around to clean the rest of him, and Khan, still limp and out of it, makes a valiant attempt at helping but doesn't really do much other than nearly knock into Jim's nose.
"Stop that," Jim says as he scrubs them down. "You were so good for me, I think you deserve a break. Besides, I like doing this for you."
Khan lifts his head from Jim's shoulder and gives him a baleful look. Water drips from the dark tendrils of his hair, beads in his eyelashes. "So you say." He blinks, as if coming back to himself, and looks about their tiny shower for a moment. "I was... good?"
"Yes," Jim says, as serious as he can be. "You were incredible. You did everything I wanted you to do." He scrubs his own hair for a moment, then reaches forward to clasp Khan's hand in his own soapy one. "Was I good for you?"
Khan startles, gives Jim a look expressing the stupidity of the question. The fucked-out lazy darkness of his eyes belies his annoyance, though. "You were, as ever, exactly what I needed." It's as close as he'll ever get to expressing his gratitude, but Jim doesn't mind. That he would allow Jim to see him naked, vulnerable, wanting, stripped of pride and thought and needing Jim in the most base way, is enough confirmation of what Jim is to Khan.
Jim grins, leans across the tiny space separating them, and closes the encounter, ends this in-between world where Khan is the human he has never truly been, as he always does: with a kiss.