etben | GO AWAY GO AWAY

Rodney shows up at John’s door, thinks it open—he’s been getting better at that, he thinks, that or the doors have been getting used to him, and before the door has slid shut he’s planned a course of experimentation that would, god and ancients willing, allow him to figure out which is which. He says, all the more awkward because he can tell how awkward it sounds, that they should have sex, now, please.

John looks up, frowns for a moment—then puts down his book and says that yeah, he could do that.

Rodney steps forward, further into John’s room, and realizes that he has no idea what he’s doing. When John kisses him, though, it’s all fine—not because John’s lips against his magically impart knowledge, but because that first pressure, with the brush of stubble and the slightest wet hint of tongue, reminds him. He remembers, suddenly, that this is John, and Rodney knows John like he knows his mother. A part of his mind is reminding him to beware the perils of unreferenced possessive somethings, because to whose mother does he think he’s referring, young man? But Rodney ignores Mrs Treutler’s memory in favor of getting John to make that noise again, the one that’s maybe a whimper and maybe a growl.