"No, please--harder." Rodney's voice was husky, like it never got except when they were alone in bed and he didn't need to assert his authority over anyone or point out exactly why they were heartbreaking examples of declining educational standards or yelp his outrage at the slings and arrows of a universe that was out to get him.
John rested his chin on Rodney's hip to study him, then rubbed his stubbled cheek across the skin and got a little outcry in response, but Rodney's eyes didn't open. His face was flushed pink and his body exuded heat. The movements of his head against the pillow had smudged his hair askew.
In what was probably an answer, Rodney dug the fingers of his left hand into the sheets as if to anchor himself and shifted. John could hear his breathing quicken and realized that just the thought of harder was jacking Rodney's urgency higher.
"You whine for bandages when you get a paper cut," John said. "Never thought you'd go for something like this."
Rodney shook his head from side to side on the pillow, tense like a cocked trigger, not patient or impatient, just suspended until John started again. John raked his jaw down Rodney's thigh and back up, wondering how long he could draw it out until Rodney broke and begged. He didn't draw it out--but he only started again because he wanted to, because he couldn't wait. He bit the base of Rodney's dick and Rodney cried out, convulsing on the bed as if John had just touched him with a live wire. A wave of heat broke inside John's head, pulse crashing like surf into his ears, scalp pulling tight. He bit up along the shaft, harder this time, taking Rodney at his word. Delicate skin turned red, marked by his teeth.
"Oh god, please," Rodney cried, "oh god, please--" His words bled together into a chant and the closer John got to the swollen head of his cock, the more desperate he sounded. When John sank his teeth there, Rodney sobbed and arched and came. The wetness hit John's tongue and slid back out, slicking Rodney's skin, and John sucked and got another hit, and then a few more, each dryer but jerking in his mouth with the same intensity. The contractions tapered off but he kept thrusting his tongue against the head with hard strokes until Rodney groaned and weakly batted him away.
John drew off and ground his hips against the bed a few times, shuddering and ready to stay in a holding pattern for a few more minutes, but the friction was so good that his hips sped up. He worked his dick frantically over the rucked sheets until he came, muscles clenching with pleasure, throat locking by instinct to cage any sounds that could betray him.
But he wasn't being tortured, he didn't have to hold in information.
"Oh fuck," he said, crawling up to collapse against Rodney, whose arms wrapped around him at once.
It felt something like an I love you.