“You’re not – this isn’t –”

This isn’t what I wanted, is how Rodney imagines that sentence might end. He doesn’t give John a chance to finish it, though, curling his fingers around John’s ticklish side and pressing his thumb into the dip just south of John’s hipbone, close to the joint of thigh and groin. John’s breath hitches, goes shaky and fast like Rodney’s pressed an actual physical button, and Rodney leans in until he can feel each of John’s little pants fanning moist and hot over his lips.

“No?” he murmurs. “I’m pretty sure I was clear when we started this about what was going to happen.”

He had been, but John had taken him at face value, not read between the lines like he was supposed to, and Rodney wasn’t one to correct mistakes if they were the kind that weighed heavily in his favor; it's just better to let John figure it out for himself, he’s found. It’s the only way John learns.

A slow, wicked twist of his wrist has one nail sliding dangerously close to the base of John’s cock and John coming off the bed, grabbing at Rodney’s forearm with both hands to ground himself. He’s still quiet, however, even though Rodney’s been watching that familiar flush crawl steadily down John’s chest for half an hour now and knows exactly how little it would take to tip John over the edge; it’s infuriating, and Rodney wants to take John apart, break his tenuous grasp on control, make him writhe and beg and moan Rodney’s name until he’s hoarse with it.

“Rodney,” John says, and seems to gather himself together as best he can: “it’s not gonna work, okay? So why don’t we just forget about it, and I’ll suck you. Okay?”

Maybe, if it were any other night, Rodney might let him get away with it; John looks a little desperate and frightened, and Rodney has never, ever wanted to make John do something he doesn’t want to. But it isn’t any other night, and John needs to let go as much as Rodney needs to see him let go. There are lines of stress tightening the corners of John’s eyes and mouth, more shadows than the low lighting can account for in his eyes.

Rodney can help, and he’s going to. He’s not stopping until John’s a mess of a man, unable to keep his mouth shut, sweating the sheets damp under them, begging Rodney for more, more, more.

He’s got his hand around John’s cock a second later, fingertips gentle on the veined underside, teasing, and John’s so surprised by it he forgets to bite off the next, “Oh god, oh –” in time.

“That’s it,” Rodney says, rubbing his thumb just under the head to coax another drop of clear fluid from the slit. He makes sure John’s looking at him when he leans in and touches his tongue to it – he knows exactly what he looks like, how much it gets to John to see that thin trail of precome connecting Rodney’s lower lip to his cock. Rodney’s proven right almost instantly when John’s fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and try to push him down.

John growls, “Damnit, come on, I – come on,” as Rodney backs off, smirking, and he sounds properly angry now. “Suck me. Suck me or I swear to god, McKay –”

“You swear you’ll…what?” Rodney asks innocently. His thumb finds that perfect spot under the head again, pressing in even harder this time, and he feels the low throb of John’s pulse jump against his palm. Above him, John’s head thumps back on the pillow. “I don’t think you’re in the position to be making threats right now. Do you?”

“Fucking hate you,” John says. His voice breaks on a half-repressed sob, and Rodney tries pushing a little harder, testing the edge of the cliff under their feet.

He kisses around the sticky, swollen head of John’s cock and murmurs, “Do you really want me to suck your dick, John?”

The body below him goes controlled and tense all over, practically vibrating with the need to keep still. “Will – will you?” John asks, like he doesn’t believe it.

“If you ask me, I’ll do anything you want me to.” Rodney gives the leaking slit of John’s cock a few fond licks, arrowing his tongue into a point for the second and third pass and listening to John struggle with himself up above against the urge to respond to him. “You just have to ask, and I’ll do anything. I’ll suck you, if you want, or I’ll open you up with my fingers and slide in, fuck you hard and deep and long. You just have to ask, John.”

That’s it, right there – that is the end of what John can take, Rodney can feel it in the way John’s shivering, helpless and involuntary, the unsteady, frantic way he’s breathing.

“Please,” John whispers finally, “oh, god, Rodney, please.”

“Tell me, John.”

Rodney finds one of John’s hands with his and links their fingers together, squeezing, and John seems to take strength from that, because his voice is louder when he continues: “I – I want you to. I want you to fuck me. Like you said you would. I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t breathe.”

So Rodney does, slicking John up patiently, carefully, until John’s cursing at him again, begging for him to do it, “Now, now, now, oh god,” every time Rodney’s fingers find the bump of John’s prostate and linger too long. It’s hot and slippery and John makes the sexiest little growl when Rodney finally slides his cock in, mouth twisted into some unfamiliar, loose shape that Rodney could so easily come to crave.

John braces himself against the wall after the first strong thrust, mewling into the skin of his own arm, and Rodney doesn’t bother to check and see if he’s okay after that – trusts John to tell him now if he wants it a different way, and John does, says, “God, oh fuck, yes, give it to me,” as he twists his torso for a better angle; says, “Just a little – oh!” when Rodney grabs him by the hips and yanks him forward until John’s ass is in his lap; says, “Harder, harder, fuck me,” and doesn’t even need a hand on his cock to get there, stripping his own belly and chest with white, long ropes of come.

They don’t collapse so much as cease to hold themselves up and then suddenly find themselves in a messy tangle of sweat-sticky limbs.

“Oh my god,” Rodney groans faintly when he regains the power of speech, and searches blindly for John’s mouth to give him a kiss. It’s slow and tastes of salt, and it ends with a second, soft peck.

“Thank you,” John whispers.