Tonight, John looks very subtly different, in a way that Rodney just can't place; Rodney spends a whole lot of his time staring at John, so he's sure about this, sure enough that he's suspicious about the whole thing. Then again, Rodney's got him tied down and is just at the very point of fucking him, holding him open as he starts to slide in, so John could be bright green and Rodney wouldn't give a damn about it.
They have a long time tonight, an arbitrary weekend stretching lazily out over the next two days, and Rodney intends to make the very best use of it. You must understand here that Rodney is, quite proudly, a sick fuck, the kind that comes up with very specific plans to wreck people, and there's nobody who loves it like John. Rodney's got all kinds of things in mind, things that are going to end with John being incredibly glad the walls here are all but soundproof.
Rodney puts his hand around John's neck as he fucks him- not choking him, just holding him down, making sure he knows his place in this particular game. John is definitely into it tonight, making helpless noises, writhing underneath Rodney. They've barely even started and John's already ready to give it up, which goes just perfectly with everything Rodney has in mind.
"Do it," Rodney says, because somehow there's nothing hotter than John when he's got tears streaming down, perfect evidence of how Rodney's overwhelmed him, fucked him up. "Go on and do it, you know you can't help yourself. You're going to do what I want either way, so what does it matter?"
John doesn't say anything, just squeezes his eyes shut tight; a moment later, one perfect black tear rolls down the side of John's face.
"Oh god," Rodney pants, losing his rhythm for a moment. "Oh my god, you didn't." John nods, and Rodney leans down and kisses him desperately. "You didn't have to-"
John lets out a noise that's half sob, half laugh. "Enjoy it while you can, cause this stuff is uncomfortable as hell."
Rodney kisses him again. "You're really sick, you know that?"
"You like it," John returns.
"God, you have no idea how much," Rodney says, fucking into him again.
It's barely any time before John's face is a complete mess; Rodney didn't know that mascara would spread that much, but John's eyes are ringed in black, gorgeous tear tracks running down from them. The one and only downside is that Rodney can't taste them, just put his tongue to John's skin and lick them up, taste how good it is when John gives it up for him. He's willing to forgo it, though, happy to make that little sacrifice when the alternative is this good.
Rodney can't hold out very long, not when it's like this, not when John has done something this good for him. John's pretty much perfect for him, and things like this just prove it. The fact that the thing in question is John's willingness to wear makeup so that he can cry it off while Rodney fucks him, that just proves that they're both just way too weird to be inflicted on anyone but each other. Fine by Rodney; honestly, he doesn't want John inflicting himself on anyone else ever again.
Rodney pushes in hard, his hips stilling as he comes, filling up John's ass. John makes a disappointed noise, despite the fact that Rodney knows very well that he knows that this isn't over for him. He pulls out, and John hisses as he replaces his cock with the plug. Rodney puts a hand on John's face, running his thumb through one of the stark lines of tears, smiling at him, and John smiles back.
Then Rodney slaps him in the face. They're not done here, not by a long shot.