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He’s a fine specimen: that’s undeniable.
“Up to the edge of table,” Bones grunts, and Khan scoots appropriately forward, long legs and strong thighs parting against the edge of it. He has perfect posture, and Bones already knows not to wander the full one-eighty degrees around; a back like that’s hard to resist. He hasn’t dug enough on the inside yet, but Bones certainly knows that if he were going to bioengineer a human, it’d look just like this on the outside.
He ends up sending the guards out because this is a sickbay, not an armory, and he sends the medical assistants out because he doesn’t want any distractions. Or casualties. The guards are happy to wait outside, but they aren’t going any farther, and their phasers are warm and ready.
There’s a subtle smirk on the edge of Khan’s lips, and it’s disturbing how much it looks like he knows. He holds his arms out when he’s told and lets his sleeves be rolled up. Bones is just taking scans, and he lies through his teeth, “It works better when fabric isn’t in the way.”
“Shall I take off my shirt, then?” Khan offers, sounding mostly bored, but there’s an air of a taunt in it that Bones doesn’t miss. Playful encouragement or arrogant amusement.
But Bones’ throat is dry, and he does want to see that, so he merely nods. He steps back to watch as Khan peels the tight material over his head, tossing it across the room like they’re in a strip club. The process has disheveled his dark hair even worse, and it tumbles half into his eyes. Just like bed-head. He places his hands on either thigh, sitting perfectly straight, so his perfect chest sticks out, all his muscles awash in the many flickering lights. He has the outlines of a six-pack, and for all his time in a relatively primitive stasis, he doesn’t seem to have lost a shred of function. He flexes his chest as if to demonstrate, and Bones’ scanner starts beeping wildly.
Bones shuts his open mouth and grumbles to himself incoherently. Honestly. He shouldn’t be doing this. He’s conducting medical tests, not buying an escort.
Not that that isn’t a tempting idea. He betrays his own rule and paces around Khan, admiring the curve of his spine and his sharp shoulder blades, broad shoulders and creamy skin. He doesn’t have a single patch of purple or blue, not even red, not even after everything they’ve been through. Remarkable. Delicious. Bones grumbles again—not delicious.
Can he come up with an excuse to get those tight pants off? They bulge in the front around what’s sure to be a sizeable cock, but they’re not clinging enough in many other places. They leave more to the imagination than the shirt did. Bones takes a subtle, steadying breath and steps forward, reaching for a pump on the side of the table. He squirts some of the clear gel into his fingers—a lubrication for the probing type of lasers he’s about to use. He isn’t sure there’s anything to be learned from them—to be honest, he hasn’t even touched their setting since he got a chance to look at that one dead Bolian—but they’re an excuse to touch, and that’s good enough.
The look on Khan’s face says he can guess as much and go ahead: smirk a mocking invitation. Bones hesitates anyway; Khan lifts a challenging eyebrow. Hands lathered up, Bones steps up between Khan’s legs and presses his palms to those strong pectorals, just barely resisting the urge to squeeze. He can feel them rise and fall with Khan’s breath. “Having fun, doctor?” Khan purrs.
Bones grunts, “Shut your mouth,” and lets his fingers move on. Why can’t he ever have a courteously quiet patient? Can’t he just enjoy the exam without being coaxed into more? He slips his fingers down Khan’s abdomen, lathering up all the tight, pale skin, then sliding up to run over Khan’s collarbone and shoulders.
Usually, he lets patients do this.
He doesn’t usually have patients of this... caliber. He runs the gel down both of Khan’s arms, taking care to get it all, twisting around. As he makes his way to Khan’s back, the door opens and one of the guards strolls a couple steps in, calling, “Everything alright in here?”
“Damnit, man,” Bones curses out of habit. “I said to clear the room! This is a very invasive procedure, and even prisoners deserve a little privacy!”
“But sir—”
“If he kills me, you can kill him on the way out.” Bones holds his glare until the officer begrudgingly leaves, the door automatically closing up behind him. Bones mutters, “Idiot,” under his breath. And it’s mostly unfortunate, because now that’s in his mind as a possibility. But Khan wouldn’t kill him here and now, surely. If that were going to happen, it would’ve done so already.
So he tries to focus just on the fun he’s having, letting his fingertips stray tantalizingly close to the hem of those dark pants. As he runs back around, he goes too low and catches underneath them.
Khan coos, “Should I take those off, too?” Bones makes a mental note to take a look at Khan’s vocal chords—no human has any right to sound that erotic, even a genetically enhanced one. Honestly, he’s met more species than he can count on his fingers and toes, and he’s sure he’s never heard a sexier voice anywhere in the universe.
But he repeats, “Shut up,” anyway, because the man’s still a killer, not a candidate to bed. Even if that’s a very tempting concept, and Khan’s clearly trying to bait him...
The scanner isn’t full-body. Bones forces himself to step back and say, “Lie down on the bed—and don’t say anything.”
Khan doesn’t need to. His eyes say it all. But he stretches obediently out along the table, as though it was his plan all along, and Bones is the one playing into his hands. He lies perfectly flat, with his arms at his sides and his legs together, and it’s even easier to see the evident tent in Khan’s pants. It would be so easy to lie. To say he needs to lather that up too, to peel back all the clothes, leave Khan naked and beautiful, the most handsome creature ever created, right under Bones’ fingertips...
But that would rest too heavy on his conscience, no matter the silent offer. Bones walks around to the other side of the table, hand inadvertently running over Khan’s legs, so he can lower the metal arm over the table, adjusting and holding out the bright head. There’s a handle on the side for just such a purpose—it’s manually hand-guided. He types in the type of scan, and he drops that hand to land on Khan’s crotch. He leaves it there to steady himself as he brings the device up Khan’s body, and he tries not to look at Khan’s eyes, which are boring into him. Khan’s cock twitches in his fingertips—it’s probably just as long as the rest of him.
Bones is deliberately slow. He deliberately holds the scanner too far in some places, so he has to lean harder on Khan’s crotch and fiddle around for a better angle. He tries to will his fingers not to close around it, but he ends up squeezing more often than he means to. After a while, he’s doing it frequently and obviously, simply because Khan refuses to moan, and Bones knows it must feel good. The thick cock in his hands is getting harder and harder, and Bones seriously considers abandoning the scan charade and throwing his career away right here. If he were going to leave Starfleet, this would be a hell of a way to go.
Instead he sees it out, and he turns off the scanner and pushes it back where it started. He leaves taking his hand off Khan’s crotch for last.
He doesn’t get a chance to. As soon as he turns back to the table, Khan shoots up, grabbing Bones hard by the hair at the back of his neck, jerking him forward. Bones cries out and stumbles into Khan’s solid body, and their lips are smashed together.