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Sweet Spot

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There’s a place in the small of John’s back, right over the swell of his ass, that dimples when he bows his spine. Those dimples are perfect thumbprints for Rodney to exploit, fingers splaying over John’s hips and thumbs pressing. The pressure is like guidance. And as bad as John is with authority, in bed with Rodney, he sometimes lets himself be pushed around. It’s exciting that Rodney knows what he wants – that he’s been thinking about it, about John and about how and where he wants him.

The fingers on his hips guiding John onto his hands and knees in Rodney’s bed – it gets John hot and hard already, knowing how much Rodney wants him. That place, the small of his back, is where Rodney spreads his hand when he pushes inside John with a long groan. It’s where his fingertips dig when he builds momentum, heat and irresistible friction dragging phantom fingers over every inch of John’s body, centered at that place Rodney hits inside that lights John on fire.

John angles his pelvis, shoves up into Rodney’s hand, onto Rodney’s cock. He muffles his moans in the pillow, stifling them with his face in his forearm. His fingers fist the sheets, pulling them off the edges of the mattress – Rodney will bitch about that later but later doesn’t matter. What matters are the fingers holding onto him, digging into his ass and scrabbling over his hips, Rodney’s dick thrusting deep inside, and the thrum of arousal that vibrates through John’s entire body.

John rides the edge, rising to meet Rodney’s thrusts, precome smearing his belly and the bed linens. He rides it until Rodney’s babbling, those searching fingers wild over John’s hips – and then he props himself up on one elbow and fists his cock, pumping himself as slowly as he can handle while Rodney’s fucking him. He feels it yawn over him too soon – it’s always too soon for John; fucking is flying and John doesn’t want to feel the ground under his feet again. But then he’s coming down hard, seizing up in Rodney’s hands, even as Rodney keeps driving in and out. And a half minute later, Rodney curves over his back, kissing his shoulders, babbling as he drags his hands over John and comes.

That place, the small of John’s back, is where Rodney’s hand rests when they fall down on the bed, side by side, crumpled sheet over the wet spot. It’s where Rodney half apologetically kisses a red fingernail mark a little later, John smiling over his shoulder at the sweet, unnecessary gesture.