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The FCC Won't Let Me Be

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Carlos doesn't honestly believe that Cecil swears. He can't imagine it, not in Cecil's smooth, sonorous voice, the voice that sometimes puts him to sleep after a long day of doing science. He's heard him say "asshole" once or twice, but only on extreme occasions; usually the most colorful he ever gets is calling people jerks.

But then it's the night of their first date, and Cecil nicks his finger on the glass as they escape from the window of Gino's. He hisses under his breath, just a tiny "Fuck!", but Carlos is still taken aback.

"Are you alright?" Carlos asks, after he gets over the way Cecil puts his finger between his lips to lick the blood off.

Cecil takes his finger out of his mouth, smiling his blinding smile. "Nothing could make this more perfect."

And Carlos would think that was it, go away with the knowledge that Cecil is a little more human than he comes off as sometimes. Except apparently, Carlos's lack of strong reaction is some kind of sign, an indication that it's okay to let his hair down.

"Fuck me running," he says, as they enter their tenth trip around Ouroboros Road, missing the turn-off- which is not so much a turn-off as an escape route- yet another time.

"Shit," Cecil says, as he fumbles the scoop while he's making coffee, sending the grounds onto the counter. "This fucking fucker, I swear to fuck."

"What the fuck was that fucking shit?" he says, as he trips over nothing as they're walking through the park.

"Maybe a stick," Carlos offers, unsure, as he is every time, whether he wants to hear more or not. "I've observed that there are many sticks out here. An unusual number for this time of year, in fact."

"My darling Carlos," Cecil says, with a lovestruck sigh, as he laces his fingers into Carlos's. "You're so goddamn smart."

Carlos tries to hide his reaction, not that Carlos really knows what that reaction is. Cecil has never actually sworn at- or maybe it's more appropriate to say towards- Carlos before, and Carlos doesn't know what to think about it. The sound of those horrible words in Cecil's beautiful voice does something to him, something that he can't explain. It's completely unorthodox, being, well, excited about the prospect of hearing Cecil swear like that.

Then again, orthodoxy is antithetical to the pursuit of true science. Carlos isn't sure if that's good reasoning or a poor excuse.

And then one night they're in bed, because they're at the stage of their relationship where they spent quite a lot of time in bed. They've just finished doing what people in the stage of a relationship where they spent quite a lot of time in bed do in bed, and Carlos is lying back against the pillows, feeling sated and a little debauched, in a good way. Cecil sits up, picking up his robe from where it's been discarded on the floor and pulling it on; it strikes Carlos as both a little prudish and an unnecessary obstruction of his view. Cecil does lean down and kiss Carlos before he goes to the bathroom, which placates Carlos a tiny bit.

Cecil uses the bathroom, flicking off the light when he's done. His footsteps are light on the soft carpet, almost soundless, until Carlos hears a thump, the sound that only a stubbed toe makes.

"Shitfuck," Cecil says passionately, hopping on one foot. "Jesus Christing motherfucking goddamn asshole son of a whore goddammit fucking goddamn chair I swear to fucking Jesus fucking Christ God fucking Almighty himself-"

"Cecil," Carlos says urgently.

Cecil stops hopping. "Yes, my love?"

"Come back to bed," Carlos says.

"I'm sorry for my outburst," Cecil says, as he climbs back in next to Carlos. "It's rude of me to-" and what he was going to say gets swallowed up as Carlos pulls Cecil on top of him, kissing him fervently.

"Swear at me," Carlos says.

Cecil looks at him in confusion. "I don't know what to say. I don't think I could possibly- you're so perfect, Carlos-"

"Then swear at me about that," Carlos says.

"Okay," Cecil says, kissing the side of his neck. "Okay, I can do this." He takes a breath, and when he looks down at Carlos, his eyes are dark, sharp. "You're fucking gorgeous, Carlos," he says into Carlos's ear, and Carlos bites his lip to keep from groaning. "Every time I see you, I want to fucking worship you." He licks a long line up Carlos's throat, ending in a soft bite to the underside of his chin. "Then I want to rip off your goddamn lab coat and fuck you like there's no tomorrow."

Carlos writhes underneath him, letting out a gasp as Cecil wraps his hand around his already stiffening cock, stroking it as he lets those terrible words spill out of his lips. "You make me fucking crazy," Cecil says. "I can't fucking stop thinking about you, how much I want you, how much I want to get down on my knees in front of you and suck your cock until you can't take it anymore, until all you can think about is how goddamn good it feels when I do it for you."

"You can do that anytime you want," Carlos says, breathless.

Cecil chuckles, a low sound that goes straight for Carlos's dick. He pushes Carlos's legs open wider, grinding down against him, their cocks rubbing against each other in the most delicious way. He puts his hands in Carlos's, holding them down on either side of his head while he slowly works his hips. "I fucking love you so goddamn much," he says, and his eyes are bright and clear, his smile sure and smooth even while he's taking Carlos apart completely. "You're the best fucking thing that ever happened to me." Cecil bends down to whisper in his ear, close enough that Carlos can feel his breath. "You're not fucking getting away from me, not when I've finally fucking found you."

"Don't want to," Carlos says desperately. "God, I don't ever want to, I love you so much-"

"That's right," Cecil says, grinding down harder against him, and Carlos feels like he's going to come at any moment, like the right movement, the right word would set him off. "You're so fucking beautiful, and you're all mine. I just goddamn fucking love that you want to be fucking mine."

Carlos comes like Cecil's just hit a button, unable to take it anymore, unable to last with all that in his head, the rich, overpowering sense of it. Cecil is gasping and shaking above him, and Carlos pulls his hands free and pulls Cecil down to kiss him, holding Cecil tight as he comes, not letting him go.

There's nothing in the room but the sound of their panting, the warmth of their bodies; Cecil turns them so they're lying face to face, still clutching each other, kissing as they come slowly down.

"I thought swearing was a bad habit," Cecil says quietly, once they can bear to allow the slightest inch between them.

"Terrible fucking habit," Carlos agrees, and Cecil smiles, kissing him again.