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Khan gasps at more than just the particularly hard thrust that stabs right into his prostate. He’s reacting to everything—the complete overload of his senses. There’s a bite to his ear at the same time, sharp teeth grazing the lower shell, and his nostrils are full of the thick, musky scent of his lover and sex, and all he can hear is the deep growl that rumbles all down his spine. His fingers tighten around the white railing that feels so very much like plaster but is really no more than holomatter.
The balcony floor beneath him feels real, the cold night air around him feels real, the drop to the palace grounds below looks as real as it did back then—straight out of Khan’s memory. This was really his palace, the second in his great career, the one that looked out over the grand dessert and had high arches for all the doors. It towered above the surrounding citadel, boasting of his power. The leader of what would later be known as the Eugenic Wars needed such grandeur simply to uphold the legend of it all. Khan was a powerful man, and he lived in a powerful word.
But that all slipped away from him. He watched both his people and theirs die beneath him. He saw blood splattered all over these walls. When he first built this world in the Federation’s test holodeck—an astonishing new technology, right now just a prototype—it was with a bittersweet regret. He thought he could handle this. He thought he was past his... past. He thought he was stronger: that he lived through his childhood poking and prodding and the horrors of war and the glass cage Marcus kept him in, and he could take the painful memory, the reminder of what he was. Is. The great man he used to be, not crushed beneath the threat of his now-breathing crew. He... had a harder time than he’d expected.
But he didn’t show it.
And Jim knew it anyway.
And Jim turns all his tears into little moans and sharp intakes of breath, fingers scratching to hold on for entirely different reasons. Perhaps Khan was too clingy despite his shell and walls; he’s been spun around. He’s been bent over the railing. His black shirt’s been scrunched up and his pants have been pooled at his feet, and his cheeks have been spread and he’s been speared on the mammoth cock of the man he now calls captain. Though, he’s always called Jim that. Jim’s never been anything less.
Jim’s exactly the kind of therapy he needs. Jim brings the pain—he sinks his teeth hard into the back of Khan’s neck, leaving a deep bruise that’ll be gone in the morning. His nails scratch angry, red lines down Khan’s sides, digging in and keeping a firm grip lest Khan presume to move. Khan wouldn’t. He needs this. He arches his spine and presses his ass back into Jim’s crotch, rubbing when he can and trying to get more. Jim chuckles over his shoulder and hisses, “Whore.”
Khan doesn’t say anything. He still has his pride, even if it seems otherwise. He doesn’t give in; he simply takes what he’s given. Jim slams inside again hard enough to make him grunt, and Khan’s pushed further over the railing by Jim’s toned chest.
“Some great leader,” Jim purrs, and he says it like he’s mocking, but Khan can hear all the sexual static and adoration under it—Jim just likes to talk dirty—he’s incapable of being clean. “You should’ve been a slave in the royal harem instead, with the way your ass opens up for cock. You were practically built for it, my lovely little augment...”
Nothing about Khan is little. He can’t resist. His bow lips twist into a smirk, and he purrs over his shoulder, pausing to gasp the next time he’s taken, “Your harem, Captain?”
Jim chuckles and licks the back of his ear, making him shiver. The fucking is still going hard. Jim’s relentless. Khan can take it. Anyone else would have trouble standing, but Khan relishes the pain of his ass getting bruised, slapped red with Jim’s thighs and the dull scratch of Jim’s pubic hair, the collision of his balls. “You’re in that now. That’s what matters.” Jim kisses Khan’s hair pseudo-tenderly. Khan can feel it, and he croons. One of Jim’s arms slips around Khan’s front, and then both hands are on his nipples, rolling the sensitive buds and rubbing them hard, grabbing and twisting the little pebbles. Khan always had sensitive nipples, but Jim always knows how to play his body particularly well. Jim tugs them while he fucks Khan’s ass, purring, “My lovely concubine...”
Khan snorts. But he doesn’t protest. Jim wouldn’t be a bad king. This place was full of bad memories. It nearly consumed him. All he could see were the bloodstains and the outlines of bodies, the memory of where this knife was thrown or where that gun was shot. Now that all shifts, as his perspective so often does around Jim—how nice would his four-poster bed look with Jim sprawled out in it, framed in crimson satin sheets and gold pillows? His creamy skin would stand out, not as sharply as Khan’s, but beautifully, nonetheless, and how would Jim look draped out in his bath...?
Jim doesn’t give him the option to visualize. When Khan tries to twist his head around, Jim grabs his neck and shoves him forward. It’s a harsh movement, but it isn’t painful. That’s not part of this round. Khan understands and stays where his lover puts him. Instead, he focuses on pressing his ass back, taking as much as he can. He’s pounded into with a relentless vigour, and every thrust makes his cock swing between the wire rails. He’s impossibly hard; how could he be anything else with Jim mouthing the back of his neck like that, Jim caressing his nipples just right, Jim fucking him so strong? But he doesn’t touch himself. If he could, he would let this last forever. A few more hours, he thinks, and he might have an entirely different view of these memories.
Or maybe he’s just covering pain with sex, distracting himself with pleasure. At the moment, he doesn’t care. He might crumble later, but Jim will still be there to hold him. For now, Jim lifts one hand to wrap around his throat. Khan’s head is forced to tilt back, one of Jim’s fingers guiding his chin. His mouth is wide open, tongue out, gasping for air like a dog. Jim squeezes his neck, and Khan’s gasp is halfway between a shrill cry and a moan. The other hand pulls his nipple out as far as it’ll go, holding it there, pink skin stretching, body trying to obey. Khan’s knuckles are as white as the railing itself. His thighs are buried deep in the wire, his spine curved as much as it’ll go. He wants to lean his head back on Jim’s shoulder, but he’s at Jim’s mercy. Khan knows what Jim’s doing. A lover’s distraction. It’s appreciated.
“You were a great man,” Jim whispers. The quiet tone is so strange against the contrast of his raging hips, the almost violent way he claims Khan for his own over and over again. “You did what you had to. You’re still a great man.” His fingers begin to squeeze again, just a little, just enough for Khan to lose a bit of air, for lack of oxygen to make him light headed and put him just that tiny bit on edge. He’s already losing it, already drowning in the sensations, but Jim’s hell-bent on overwhelming him to the brink of no return. All he can hear is the sound of his own body being marked and Jim’s soft voice whispering, “You’ve had a hard life. But that’s over now. You’re with me. And I’m going to keep you safe and warm for the rest of your long, healthy life, my darling Khan...” The tenderness in his voice is something so foreign to Khan that he can barely understand it. He can feel how much Jim cares in the pressure placed on his nipple, the caresses at his throat, the bruising force put into pounding Khan’s pleasure home. They’re connected from the back of Khan’s ankles to the thrum of Jim’s cock to Jim’s pink lips, enveloping him in more adoration than he can process. More love.
He’s never loved anything so much in his life, and he doesn’t even know how to express it back. He doesn’t know if he can. Maybe it’s a good thing Jim has him facing away. He doesn’t want anyone to see his face when his walls crumble, and that’s just what’s happening now.
Jim strokes his bobbing adam’s apple soothingly. Jim’s thrusts become deeper and grinding, pulling out less, pushing in hard. Jim places a lingering kiss to Khan’s cheek and whispers, “Come for me.”
At this moment, Khan wouldn’t deny Jim anything. He’d conquer the world all over again and gift wrap it to place at Jim’s doorstep. Jim gave him freedom and the universe.
Khan comes with the force of that, his cock busing into the open air, white jets shooting out and tumbling down into the imaginary depths below. He can’t even wrap his head around how that works right now. All he can handle is the incredible pleasure rushing through him, the ecstasy of being filled and the bliss of being touched, the rapture of being kiss and Jim, wonderful, wonderful, Jim. Khan’s moan is loud enough to pierce the holodeck walls.
And Jim’s spilling inside him a moment later, screaming and pressing a sweat-slicked forehead to the back of Khan’s head. Khan’s glistening all over. Jim’s hips grind to a halt, milking it out and marking Khan more. Khan revels in the feeling. He never wants Jim’s cock to leave, even when he’s spent, and he’ll hold Jim’s cum in as a sub-par replacement.
Jim stuffs him full of warm seed, and then Jim’s flagging dick is slipping out. Khan clenches around it, earning a grunt and a light slap to his ass. He reluctantly loosens. He lets Jim pull free.
Then he slumps to the floor of the illusion, leaning against the cold rails and feeling overheated to the point of a fire. Jim slinks down next to him, satiated and panting just as hard.
Jim’s arms wrap around Khan tight. Jim skips all pretenses. Jim cradles the back of Khan’s head and strokes his back in soothing circles. Khan, boneless, is only happy.
He started miserable.
Jim already fixed that.
Khan murmurs a deep, “Thank you.”
And Jim kisses his cheek, mumbling, “I can see why armies fell to you.”
Because of his strength, his intelligence, his ability to destroy them otherwise. But Khan knows that Jim’s complimenting his looks, his interaction, his abilities in a proverbial bed. He doesn’t have a reply.
He leans over to kiss Jim, needing that most of all.
Jim kisses his back and taste like home.