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Help Me Understand

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"Get away from me," are the first words he can get out. And John ignores the fact that he can only whisper them between clenched teeth while he backs up towards the door. Because a door means escape and escaping was something John knew better than anything. Other than survival. 

"I won't hurt you, John," Dorian says. And his eyebrows raise and pull together and his eyes have such intent that John wants to punch him. He's acting so human in this moment but he's so far from it and is that all this was? Acting? Programming and understanding of human emotions and how to manufacture them? Pretending to care, pretending that he- 

Dorian reaches out then and grips one  of his hands into John's shirt, his other resting on his false leg. John stiffens, leans against the wall behind him and the touch sends off all kinds of red flags to his brain. Dorian moves quickly into John's personal space and John turns his head away from the piercing eyes that are analyzing him. Always analyzing. Eyes moving over his face, watching his body language to everything he does and says to him, trying to peel back the layers that make him the man he is to see the ticking heart underneath. And John hates that, hates it so much. He's never known anyone (anything) quite like this man (impostor) who can just read him (understand him) without trying (because they're so alike). 

"This isn't real," Dorian says. He taps against the metal with knuckles and the sound reverberates of the walls in the quiet room. His leg is sensitive and the vibrations travel up his to settle near his tailbone and his back involuntarily flexes away (towards) the fingertips settled on his prosthetic limb. Something flashes in Dorian's eyes then.

"But this is." Dorian continues the travel of one of his hands and settles it on John's chest over his erratically beating heart. And John wants to scream, wants to cry. And he thinks Dorian knows this too and it sets off more hatred deep in his gut. That someone can know him like this. He doesn't even know himself. He's been asleep for the past two years. He woke up remembering something that everyone else had forgotten and there was one thing John hated more than anything. Uncertainty. Waking up and looking in the mirror and not knowing who you were anymore. Years had passed, he thought he hadn't changed but others told him he had, others treated him differently and John didn't know what to think anymore. He just wanted someone to take him to the finish line.

"I'm real," Dorian says. John doesn't want to hear it and he lashes out but Dorian grips his wrist hard and his bones rub together. John hisses and jerks when suddenly a knee is between his legs. His eyes flicker to Dorian's.

"Help me understand you," he whispers. And John doesn't understand what he's asking but he kind of does at the same time. John shakes his head jerkily, about to tell Dorian how he could never understand something like this. How he can't do what he knows he wants from him and that he shouldn't want to. It was a human thing and no synthetic should be curious like this, no where near. But Dorian is languidly rocking his knee against John's crotch and when John's head tips back for a split second that look flashes again in Dorian's gaze. The knee is a bold pressure but gentle and it's everything that John isn't and his mouth opens to let out a gasp of air when Dorian unclenches his hand from his shirt and places John's hand on his own half hard cock. The press of his palm against his betraying body makes him move into it, and into Dorian.

"I want to see," Dorian says simply, "I've never wanted anything before."  He looks up at John and damn it all; he believes him. John wants to know why. Why now? Since when?  But all thought flies out of his head when Dorian leans his head down and attaches his mouth to John's neck. Goosebumps break out and the sound that escapes John's mouth is something he'll never admit to ever, because how the fuck did Dorian know that his neck was sensitive? Maybe he didn't. Dorian pulls back to look at John with hooded eyes.

"I have extensive knowledge of the erotic and what stimulates men," he says matter-of-factly. "I've known what would make you excited since I first saw you."

I'll be damned, John thought.

----- ----- -----

"I can't again," John pants against Dorian's shoulder. He's stripped naked, pressed into the wall and against Dorian and he isn't sure which he is closer to at the moment. Dorian's mouth is attached to his neck still,  and he hums. John's already come twice, shaking and arching into his own hand with Dorian watching him. And once to Dorian's own hands that were everywhere. Pressing into the divots in his lower back, into the spot behind his balls to stimulate him further. The fingers had slipped back and deep inside and John had lost it, couldn't take anymore when Dorian had lowered his head to force John to watch him while he released again. The noises had come out of him high and needy and his body was shaking from the pleasure. He's never experienced anything sexual quite like this. Body pressed against another so intimately, Dorian holding him up with that same knee because John knows he can't by himself at this point.

He feels so vulnerable and submissive and he hates it, hates Dorian, but he loves it. Loves Dorian. Loves him for making him feel like this. Helpless but wanted. Like he was the only thing that mattered, damaged as he was. 

"Yes you can. I know you can. I can feel that you can," Dorian whispers into his ear. And the fingers are back inside him, rubbing against his insides and pushing against that spot John didn't know existed and had him writhing against Dorian's solid form. He slips a hand up between their bodies, not to push Dorian away but because he needs to breathe. And shit because Dorian is probably monitoring his vitals and knows exactly what's happening.

"You're so perfect," Dorian says to him. And John's cock twitches against his belly at the words. Dorian whispers endearments into the skin of his neck, runs one hand up his metal leg and the other is busy inside him. Taking and giving. Forcing John to take the pleasure and John is going to cum, my gods, he's going to cum again. He places one hand behind him on top of Dorian's, and then another finger slips inside and they push deeper, push harder against his prostate and John cries out.

"Dorian, I-" 

"I know, John. Please, do it. I need to see it again." John's other hand is holding Dorian's jacket in a death grip as Dorian's free hand cradles John's cock. John's back arches against the pleasure and his body goes still for a moment. All John can hear over the pumping of blood in his ears is the wet sound of the fingers inside him and Dorian's hand on his dick.

"I've never needed anything before. Please." The fingers inside push just there and the fingers on his cock pull just there and John is coming again. His knees buckle from the force of it, arching and jerking against the fingers still moving inside. Dorian is pushing him against the wall, holding him up. John doesn't know where to put his hands and he slams his palms flat against the wall above his head as he lets Dorian ride him through his third orgasm of the night.

He's panting, basking in the afterglow of it all. His body is numb (in a completely different way now) and as he watches Dorian watch him with not so subtle awe, John thinks that was the whole point.

John lets Dorian take him to his bed. Lets Dorian sleep next to him.

He doesn't need any pills tonight.