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Rodney should hate sex, but he can't. Stripped of expertise, of genius—it's a fraught and humbling reminder of his ordinary humanity, the dullness of his physical body. Want, need, and the promise of elemental pleasure simply are. There's nothing he can do about it, but sweat, stammer, try not to offend, until someone (today, maybe?) proves an exception to his rule.
John is skinnier than Rodney expected. Hairy. Strong, but hardly beefcake. Stitched cuts on his face prove uneasy reminders of an all too human vulnerability, and for the first time, Rodney wonders if they're not so different.
Maybe they're the same.