John wasn't sure about the fisting thing, but Rodney wanted to give it a try. Rodney said "trust me, you'll like it" and "seriously, I know what I'm doing" and "oh my god, don't be such a baby, now shut up and let me work." Rodney's a real sweet talker.
So John lets him. What the hell, right? If it makes Rodney happy, John can take a little weirdness.
Except it takes a lot of planning before they even get to the weirdness, a lot of Rodney telling John what he can and cannot eat, then a lot of non-sexy things going on in his ass, but Rodney finally gets John on his hands and knees, butt up in the air, and gives him a couple fingers. This, John likes. Rodney's got great hands, strong and flexible. He's wearing a latex glove, which isn't all that sexy either, but it always feels good to have Rodney's fingers sliding around inside him, teasing and rubbing, and John pushes back into it and Rodney strokes his hip and talks him through it and slowly, slowly, slowly Rodney eases his hand inside John, and then stops.
John grips the sheet in his fists and tries to figure out if this is good or bad. He can't tell, doesn't know what he's feeling. He's jumped out of airplanes, had dirty frightening sex, killed people, nearly died, been turned into a bug, but what the fuck is this? This is new. Rodney's fist is like a -- it's -- it's like Rodney --
It's like Rodney's reaching up inside him, like he's going for a kidney, a lung. John can't actually breathe.
Rodney says John's name, pets his side, stays absolutely still.
John remembers how to breathe and just does that for a while. Rodney tells John how good he's doing, that they're going to try a little something, is that all right? And John says yeah, okay, and Rodney flexes his fist, gently twists his hand, and it's good, it's good, that's what it is it's really good, like nothing else ever, if only Rodney would shut up about what a fucking genius he is.