Having Rodney inside him was sublime. Slight burn, gently complaining muscles that couldn’t help but remind John that it had been a while, or maybe even longer than a while, since he’d done this kind of thing. Rodney was thick, wholly encased in him, pinned unmoving beneath John’s body. John lifted ever so slightly, hands braced on Rodney’s shoulders. Strong shoulders, not protesting the weight at all; rounded with muscle covered in almost delicate skin. Perfect skin. Down, back down to take Rodney in once more, John’s gaze focused on the way Rodney’s eyes widened and narrowed as his cock was cruelly grasped. Blue flashed bright and glassy.

The fingers that had earlier marked their place on John’s shoulders were now wrapped, strong but not forceful, along John’s ribs. Not pushing or pulling, not guiding. Holding, thumbs brushing tiny strokes of sensation along nerves that swore they were ticklish when anyone else was touching them. Not for Rodney; for him they sang. John always dreamed that Rodney sang when he fucked, erotic nonsense spilling out in breathless groans and hissed curses.

Rodney’s mouth was closed, his voice absent. His body wasn’t, though. John could feel each muscle as it tensed, poised. Rodney wanted to move, but John had him pinned. Engulfed, consumed. Taken. Up again, concentrating on the ache that came with disconnection. Craving the anticipation that awaited just before down. John wanted to bend down and kiss Rodney, to taste all the things he wasn’t saying. Instead he clenched his thighs, holding Rodney secure in case he tried to move. Rodney wasn’t going anywhere.

Or was he? John was about to lift up again when Rodney’s hands pushed, forcing John upright. Higher, John’s own weight driving him down until Rodney’s erection was even deeper inside. John sighed with the twitching pleasure of it, of the feel of Rodney’s thighs as he brought his legs up, giving John a backrest.

Whispery, dry fingers trailed across John’s chest, pausing to press his nipples and card through the hair there. A moment later, they were at his hips, urging him up. He went, only to have Rodney follow so then it was back down and a flash of sublime again, a warm flood of again again again arcing up onto his tongue. Held by Rodney’s hands, John waited as Rodney withdrew a little, sinking back to the bed. He was suspended there until Rodney brought them back together.

And apart again, perfectly timed so John caught the rhythm. Rodney’s hands came off forward off his hips, sliding higher and pushing John back, until John was arched over Rodney’s knees. It stretched, craning John’s spine and belly until the skin of his torso was taut. Tight and sensitive so that when Rodney’s fingers danced along the lines of John’s ribs there was no hiding, no artifice. John couldn’t see Rodney’s face, couldn’t touch with hands he had planted on the bed to keep him upright. Rodney was touching him, inside and out, smooth-rough thighs propping him up.

Slow thrusts, careful now because there wasn’t another way when John was balanced too carefully like this. Rodney pushed just right and John’s eyes slid closed, breath tumbling out as a helpless moan. Rodney answered with his hands, one caressing John’s cock and the other lifting his balls. Displaying him, opening John to Rodney’s eyes.

Rodney could see John, could watch John shiver with every glacial movement. Rodney’s hands were warm, their softness betrayed by the bone and muscle hiding underneath. John’s body watched for his eyes as Rodney stroked, as sure as if Rodney had been doing this for years. Firm, knowing hands that said Rodney knew what John needed.

What John needed was brushing that spot deep inside, teasing along his cock outside and guiding him everywhere they touched. He was gasping, thighs trembling with exertion and slick with sweat. Rodney wasn’t immune; his body shook with each possession so John clenched down hard. He needed Rodney inside so he couldn’t leave, couldn’t take himself away ever. Rodney’s body was whispering to him and John wanted to capture the echoes, have them murmur to him in odd moments.

Rodney’s voice was like a wave crashing down on top of him, pulling together all those sensations and doubling them. John heard his name, moaned through Rodney’s lips like he was the one making their pleasure and not Rodney. John tried to answer, wanting to make Rodney see how this was him, how he was sublime.

Instead, John’s body tightened, turning into a statue of muscle and bone all around Rodney’s perfect self. Through the haze of pleasure that was trying to blind his closed eyes, John felt Rodney respond to what he hadn’t been able to say. His name, cried out as a mantra like John was all inside Rodney and clamoring to get out.

Then those hands were bringing John back, pulling him down until they were chest to chest, Rodney easing out of his body only to climb back in his mouth. John opened, letting Rodney find himself where he’d hidden, right next to John’s soul.