"How many times do I have to say it?" It wasn't rhetorical. Numbers never were with Rodney.

Rodney hummed, a muffled buzz of consideration. "More than you have done already."

"Well, I'd kinda worked that one out for myself," John muttered. "I'll just keep on going until I hit the magic number, okay?"

Rodney made a sound that might have been grudging acceptance and John began. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I'm really, really, really -- did I mention I was sorry? Because I am. Lemons are not amusing, I get that now. Not to be taken lightly. Sorry, sorry -- uhn." The sudden slip-slide as Rodney moved and took him in deep was like sinking into a hot bath with frozen feet. He tingled and sweated and watched his fingers leave white dents on Rodney's hips that would be bruises by tomorrow.

"God, I love it when you grovel," Rodney said and glanced back over his shoulder, already moving on past his pique, focused and demanding, and yes, John didn't want him any other way. Maybe. "Well? Weren't you doing something?"

I was doing you, John wanted to say, but he didn't think he could stop again if Rodney decided that merited an apology, too, so he settled for leaning down and kissing the back of Rodney's ear, just there where it made Rodney quiver and whispering, "Say sorry for making me stop, Rodney, say --"

"Sorry!" Rodney said, his voice skidding high, high, frantic as John gave him a slow tease of a thrust and hoped Rodney couldn't hear his teeth gritting with the effort not to slam in, balls-deep. "Sorry."

Honors even. Thank God.


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