This time, however, Rodney hadn’t waited to break, and it seemed he’d taken John at his word. Hands that wore calluses in places where a scientist’s hands shouldn’t be callused ran over John’s torso, thumbs and forefingers pinching nipples a little too tightly for comfort, and John’s stomach knotted. Rodney couldn’t make him feel good – not from within the distorting haze of the enzyme that granted physical superiority while stripping away the mental safeguards that stopped sane people from simply taking what they wanted and acting on every urge. Rodney could drag it out, though; he could make it lasting and memorable.
That just--that last bit hurts me *every time*. Because John *knows* that lasting and memorable? Are not what he wants here.