"Carlos, I'm home!" shouted Cecil, as he closed the door behind him and dropped his keys in the bowl. He slid his messenger bag off of his shoulder and leaned it against the bookcase, wandering into the living room. "Carlos, are you here?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry Cecil!" The voice came from the kitchen. Cecil waked into the room, and Carlos was facing away from him at the small kitchen table eating something, a book open on the table next to his plate. "How was work? I heard your show earlier, it was great."
"Work was excellent," said Cecil. "I just had do so some advertisement recordings for next week—" Cecil's jaw dropped and he stopped talking.
"What's wrong?" asked Carlos, looking up from his plate. "Did you get a text from Steve again? Look, I know he's annoying, but he's been really good about having you spend time with Janice, and…"
"CARLOS!" shouted Cecil, his imposing voice cracking at the end of his boyfriend's name. "How could you do this, oh no, oh no…" He went down to a whisper, sending worried glances around the room.
"Cecil, what's wrong?" asked Carlos. Cecil began opening and closing cabinets, rummaging through them frantically. "What are you looking for? The cameras the Sheriff's Secret Police put in? Because there's one in the lazy susan and one atop the microwave, but that's it in here.''
"Where are you keeping the—" Cecil lowered his voice so that Carlos could hardly hear. "The bread."
Carlos let out a loud guffaw. "That's all you're looking for? It's in the breadbox in the pantry." He took another bite of his toast, and used his napkin to dab the bit of jelly out of the corner of his mouth.
Cecil swept over to the table and slammed his hands on it, palms down. "Carlos, wheat is illegal. AND its byproducts."
"Yeah, but Cecil—"
"How much more contraband do you have around here? I'll help you get rid of it. If we can dump it outside and make it to a bloodstone circle in time…"
"Cecil, don't worry about it," said Carlos. "That was a one-time wheat and wheat by-product catastrophe. We figured that pretty conclusively back at the lab."
"I'm not worried about wheat-snakes or wheat-spirits," said Cecil, "I'm worried about what the Sheriff's Secret Police will do to you…"
Carlos shrugged. "Cecil, I don't really have time to worry about every empty threat those guys make. There's too much science to do."
"You-you really don't care, do you?" asked Cecil, watching Carlos closely. "You just don't care what the establishment has to say, at all…"
"I guess," said Carlos. "I mean, the evidence would point to that, so as logic follows…"
"That is so fucking hot," said Cecil, suddenly sitting on Carlos's lap, straddling him. Carlos looked to the place near the other side of the table where he had just been standing, and wondered for a moment how Cecil had moved across the room so quickly. His attentions were quickly turned when Cecil roughly shoved his hand down his pants, groping.
"Marie Curie!" exclaimed Carlos. "Cecil, what are you…"
"Shut the fuck up and eat some toast, you dirty animal," said Cecil, grabbing some from the plate on the table and hastily cramming it in Carlos's mouth when he tried to protest. Carlos chewed a little as Cecil pulled his tunic off, throwing it to the linoleum floor. Carlos opened his mouth, toast half-chewed, to speak again, but Cecil stopped him with his mouth, pulling him into a sloppy kiss.
Cecil's tongue entered Carlos's, and danced briefly with his before probing the half-chewed toast. Cecil groaned and withdrew from the kiss. "Carlos," he said, his voice wavering slightly, "I want to suck you off so fucking bad right now."
"Um, okay?" said Carlos, still not completely sure what was going on, but growing increasingly tight in the pants all the same. Cecil stood, pushing Carlos's chair back with a foot as he did. Carlos began to take off his lab coat, but he was stopped when Cecil pulled his dick out of his pants, nuzzling his cheek against it as he did. Carlos's hands went to Cecil's head, entwining in his slightly thinning blond hair. Cecil's tattooed arms gripped Carlos's thighs through his pants, a tight grip that sent tingles up his legs to his balls.
"Shove that toast in your cum-sucker, you fucking whore," said Cecil. Carlos grinned, not quite caring anymore about why this was happening, but wanting so much continue. And if the man he loved wanted him to eat some toasted bread while he ducked him off, that was something he could do. He grabbed some of the remaining toast and took a large bite of it, making eye contact with Cecil as he did.
This eye contact did not last, though, because Cecil's long tongue slid its way up his shaft, causing a tremor through him, and he broke the gaze. That was fine by Cecil, who worked one hand up to caress Carlos's balls, pushing his mouth over his erect phallus.
"Aaah—" gasped Carlos, using his strong, science-worn hands to work Cecil's head up and down his dick. Cecil curled his tongue around the head as he went, leaving little kiss-like impulses to Carlos's sensitivity. Cecil stroked his tongue down, to the base of the scientist's shaft, and Carlos felt the shudder through his testes and his chest.
"Oh Cecil, oh Linnaeus, I'm going to cum, Cecil!"
Cecil pulled his mouth off of Carlos's dick for a moment, just long enough to say, "I want you to frost my fucking toaster strudel." He went back into it, pushing his lips over the cock with a ferocity he hadn't before, and Carlos soon shuddered, shooting off into Cecil's mouth, his muscles tensing and then releasing in Cecil's grip. Cecil sat there for a moment, caressing the inside of Carlos's thigh with his finger. Then, he stood up, walked to the sink, and spit, running the water.
"Holy shit," said Carlos, roughly pulling up his pants, still in a bit of a daze from what he had just experienced. "I—holy shit."
Cecil just grinned, rinsing out his mouth by the sink. Carlos swallowed the toast in his mouth, which he hadn't realized was still there until just then.
"Cecil, I've got to make some notes on that, my Sagan, that was amazing…" Carlos reached into one of his pockets, pulling out a small notebook and gold pencil. "I mean, that's the kind of thing, I mean, I wouldn't get it peer reviewed or anything, but that was—what?"
Cecil's eyes were locked on the small pencil in Carlos's hand, and a large grin stretched across his face. "Oh," he moaned. "You naughty boy."