John expected Rodney to taste like coffee, but he was wrong. Rodney tasted like the cranberries in the last powerbar he'd eaten, a little like the metallic smell of the lab, slightly like the dust on his shirt, and like the sharp salt tang of sweat.

John expected Rodney to be pushy and quick, expected him to talk, even in the midst of kissing, but he was wrong. Rodney kissed in every way possible. He kissed sweetly; he kissed slowly. He kissed sharp and biting and rough. He kissed with focus; he kissed sloppy and wet. But all his kisses were pure Rodney.

John was pretty damn happy to be wrong. He was pretty damn happy to finally be kissing Rodney. He was pretty damn happy to find out that he was braver than he thought.