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The doctor arrives just past one on a Thursday afternoon. He's got dark skin, which catches Cecil off guard for a second, but his brown eyes are so deep and lovely and his hair, Cecil just wants to run his fingers through it. He's very buisnesslike, and keeps one hand on Cecil's shoulder while he's listening to his heartbeat with the device, and it still makes Cecil's pulse race a little. He wonders if the doctor can hear his heartbeat pick up.

"So what's been afflicting you, specifically?" The doctor asks, writing something in his notebook.

"I'm sure your secretary informed you, Dr...?"

"Ochoa. Caros Ochoa. He did, but I prefer to hear about the illnesses from my patients themselves."

"Well, I, ah..." He wrings his hands in his lap. It was hard enough to write it out in a letter for the secretary, but now the doctor is sitting here in front of him, fixing him with this steady gaze like he's some experiment to be studied, and Cecil is squirming. "I haven't been...right lately. I'm irritable, and irrational, and- and my teeth ache, and I'm sore for no reason."

Carlos hums in thought, and there's a hand on the side of Cecil's face suddenly, fingers blushing along his cheek. "Any pain?"

Cecil is sure he's bright red as he shakes his head no.

The doctor presses in just so and Cecil winces. "There?" A nod. "A sharp pain, or a dull one?"

"Dull. Like...a stiffness."

"I've seen this before," Carlos says, pulling his hand away and Cecil's cheek feels cold now. "You've been clenching your jaw, probably unconsciously. It's most likely stress; that would explain the other soreness as well, and at least part of the irritability. Have you been under an unusual amount of pressure lately?"

Cecil thinks it over, then shakes his head again. "Not that I can think of. I don't...I don't have much to worry about. I've got the inheritance, so no money troubles. No family, so no family obligations..."


"There is none."

Carlos' eyes flick up to Cecil's for a moment, then he's writing in his notepad again. Cecil feels a rush of embarrassment- it's unusual for a man of his age, in his mid-30s, as well off as he is, to not have settled down yet with a wife. "What I'm going to suggest," Carlos says in that honey-oak voice, "is that you look carefully at your day-to-day life and find where the stress is coming from."

"That's not...everything, though." Carlos arches one eyebrow, and Cecil struggles to find the words. "I, ah, have...urges. Dreams. I can't control them. I can't make them go away."

A horrible silence descends in the drawing room. Carlos seems to be waiting for him to continue, but even if there was more to say, Cecil can't bring himself to say it."Are these dreams sexual in nature?"

Cecil nods stiffly, unable to look Carlos in the eye.

"Well, that's not ideal, but it's not uncommon, and-"

"They're deviant."

The words fall like bricks between them. Carlos clears his throat, and Cecil hears the rustling of paper. "Ah. Well. I might suggest distraction, then. Perhaps reading a chapter in your Bible each night?"

Cecil swallows hard, cheeks still burning. "Right. Yes. I'll try that."

"Good, good. And send word if things don't...improve. I'd like to be kept updated."


Two weeks pass and once again Carlos is peering into his eyes, a bright light blinding him but not obscuring his vision enough to not appreciate every detail of Carlos' face. "The soreness is worse, you say?"

"Everything is worse." Carlos sets down the mirror he had been using to reflect the light in Cecil's eyes and makes a gesture for him to continue talking. "I'm having trouble sleeping, and when I do, I have those dreams. I'm acting erratically, I'm easily upset, I get distracted by the smallest things. I'm snapping at the help, I'm-"

"Are you still having the urges, along with the dreams?"

"I'm afraid so."

"And you've been keeping busy?"

"I try to keep myself preoccupied every minute, but it does no good. I've even been reading my Bible twice a day, and it still escalates. If anything, the dreams are getting more vivid."

Carlos steeples his fingers and presses them to his mouth, lost in thought. The action draws Cecil's attention to Carlos' lips, and he gets a brief image of what it would be like to feel them press against his, to feel Carlos pressed against him...

He tears his thoughts away, horrified that he was thinking such things about a man of science, of all people!

"Mr. Palmer," Carlos says, breaking him out of his reverie.

"Please, call me Cecil."

Carlos pauses for a minute, then: "Cecil." The rest of his sentence is lost to the viscount as the sound of his name falling from the doctor's lips sends pleasant shivers up his spine.

He only realizes something is amiss when he sees Carlos looking at him like he's expecting something. "Sorry, I'm afraid I drifted off."

"I was just asking if you could describe the details of any of these dreams. Any specificity at all would help."

Oh. Oh, dear. Cecil's throat tightens up and he's not sure he can speak at all, really. But Carlos is waiting, so patiently and there beside him and he thinks he can smell his cologne and focus, Cecil. "There are...The places vary. Sometimes I'm in my room, sometimes I'm in the library, sometimes I'm in a- a meadow, or someplace like that. Sometimes I don't think I'm anywhere at all."

He stops. Carlos doesn't say anything. It's clear he wants Cecil to say more, so he braces himself and keeps going. "There are- people there with me." He can't bring himself to say "men", but he's fairly sure Carlos understands the implication because there's the scratch of the pen on the notepad again. "They used to be faceless, but now...they're not. It's...people I see, in the market, or sometimes the help, or lately, most commonly-"

He breaks off, and his lips press into a thin line. He can feel Carlos' eyes boring in to him. "I can't. I'm sorry, I just- I can't."

"Mr. Palmer, I'm your doctor." And there's a hand on his knee, the warmth seeping through the fabric of his clothes and into his bones. It's like his touch sends waves of fire across his skin, and really, a little touch shouldn't have him feeling like this. "You must be willing to be honest with me."

Cecil nods, chancing a look over at the other man. He doesn't look upset, or disgusted, just- intense. Perhaps a little concerned. "I am. Willing."

"Good." And Carlos smiles at that, and oh, it's lovely when he smiles. "So who is it lately, then?"


Cecil regrets the word as soon as it leaves his mouth. Carlos' eyes widen slightly, and his smile fades. Yet, he doesn't remove his hand, which makes Cecil feel slightly better in the midst of his intense humiliation. No, he just...leaves it on Cecil's knee, and it's starting to affect him in very undignified ways and as much as he doesn't want the touch to leave he can't help but worry that Carlos is going to notice.

It's so quiet he can hear the chirping of the birds outside. Carlos is still looking at him, lips slightly parted, and Cecil just wants to lean forward and taste. Wants to lick his way into the doctor's mouth until he's moaning, then pull him down for a very through examination. Oh, these are the urges he's been trying so hard to not feel, to distract himself from, but they're in his head nevertheless. Why can't he just be normal, be healthy, and-

"Cecil. You're clenching your jaw."

"Hm?" Suddenly he's aware of how hard he's grinding his teeth and when he lets up on the pressure, his mouth hurts. "Oh. Thank you."

"It's my job," he says simply, taking his hand away at last, and Cecil wishes he hadn't. "No need to thank me."

Right. His job. Right. Cecil takes deep breaths, trying desperately to calm the heat still simmering in his core that gathered at Carlos' touch. "So how do I...fix this? How do I make it go away?"

Carlos sighs, looking down at his notebook like it's let him down and he's disappointed. "I'll be frank with you, Mr. Palmer. I've never-" something catches in his voice, and he has to clear his throat. "I've never had a case quite like you before. I'm not sure what the protocol is here."

Part of Cecil wants to be pleased- Carlos has never had a case like him? But the other part is horrified. "So it's incurable?"

"I didn't say that." Carlos tucks his notepad into his pocket and stands, looking determined. "It's entirely possible it's only a passing phase, and your subconscious will sort itself out. But in case it doesn't, I'll do my best to help you. I'll do some research when I get back to my practice and see if I can't find anything to alleviate this. We'll figure out something. Just keep reading your Bible as much as you have been, perhaps more, and please send word if it gets any worse."

A wobbling smile spreads across Cecil's face. Uneasy as he is, he trusts when Carlos says that he won't give up, and the way he speaks about wanting help Cecil- it gives him a warm, fluttery feeling. Things might be alright after all.


"I came as soon as I could, are you alright?"

Cecil is sitting in the drawing room already when Carlos bursts in. Well, not "bursts", per se- he's not so inelegant. But there is a sense of urgency in the way he enters the room. He's lugging a case with him this time, instead of his usual satchel. 

"I'm- I'm perfectly fine. Well, now I am. I'm sorry to worry you, I was just- I suppose I exaggerated-"

"Don't be sorry." Carlos sets down the case and sits next to Cecil, grabbing his hand and pressing two fingers against his wrist to check his pulse. His grip feels hot against Cecil's skin. "Can you tell me what happened?"

"I was just- I was doing my midmorning Bible study, and I started worrying that I'd never be cured, and then- I don't know, suddenly everything went out of focus and I was gulping down air but it still felt like I was suffocating. My heart was racing, and I was sure I was going to die- Am I going to die?"

"No, you're not going to die, Mr. Palmer." Carlos brushes his hair away from his face, and Cecil holds his breath. "It sounds like an acute attack of anxiety neurosis. You're alright." 

"Anxiety neurosis? Is that what's been making me...sick?"

"Only a side effect, I'm afraid."

Cecil lets out a low mournful noise and buries his head in his hands. "Am I destined to live with this forever, Carlos? I've been hoping it would go away, but it's only worsened over time!"

"Mr. Palmer, please calm down. This isn't helping anyone. Look at me." Cecil lowers his hands and Carlos gives him a brief smile that only lasts a second before it flickers and vanishes. "Good Lord, I- Don't take offense, but you look a mess."

"I know. I've been sleeping odd hours, I'm tightly wound, I- I've been drinking, to calm my nerves."

Carlos' brow furrows and he stands there for a long moment, just watching Cecil. "I've been researching," he says finally, "and I think I've found something- well, I'm not sure if it's possible that it's affecting you, but it's the closest I've seen."

Cecil almost jerks off the couch in his eagerness. “You’ve found-? What is it?”

Carlos looks at him for a moment longer and it seems as if he’s debating something in his mind. “Hysteria.”

For a second, Cecil can only blink up at him, processing it. “Hysteria? But isn’t that- don’t only women get that?”

“Usually, yes.” Carlos clasps his hands behind his back. “But your symptoms seem to fit the definition almost to the textbook, and I can’t find much else. It’s a very slim chance it will work, because it is generally a women’s disease, but-” He shrugs, sighing. “It’s the best I’ve got right now. I brought the treatment-“ he gestures at the case at his feet, “-and even if it doesn’t cure you, it won’t hurt. But I won’t ask you to do anything if you don’t want to. I can go back to the practice and keep looking-”

“Yes. I’ll do it, I’ll try it, I’ll- yes.” He regards the case with a little more interest now. He’s not quite sure how hysteria is treated, but he’s willing to try.

Carlos looks a little taken aback at his enthusiasm. “I’m not giving you a guarantee that it will work. In fact, it’s highly unlikely.”

“I don’t- it’s possible though, yes?”

“Well, when women have similar symptoms this helps them, and I think it’s possible to adapt it enough-”

“Yes. Let’s- I’ll try.”

Carlos nods, slowly, then kneels and begins to unclasp the case. His hands hover over the handles. “The treatment, it’s…intimate.”

“That’s fine.” He stands to move to where Carlos is, but the doctor waves him away.

“I’ll need you on the couch for this. On your back, if you will.” Cecil complies, settling down on the couch, hands folded on his chest. “Oh, wait, Cecil, before you do that, I need you to do something else.”

“Yes?” Cecil asks, turning his head to watch Carlos as he unties a length of cord from the case.


At first, Cecil isn’t sure he heard him right. “Pardon?”

“I’ll need your trousers off, at least.”

He doesn’t move, staring at Carlos with disbelief. The other man glances over at him with an unperturbed expression that clearly says “get on with it”. So Cecil does, feeling horribly self-conscious. He also removes his vest and tie, but chooses to leave on his undershirt. As he lies back, naked from the waist down, the tension from before increases drastically. What does this treatment entail, exactly?

Carlos lifts a wicked, engine-looking device from the case and Cecil can’t hold back the small squeak of nervousness. “What does that do? It- it looks, ah, painful.”

“It’s shouldn’t be.” Carlos opens his notebook, scans a few pages. “No, I’ve made appropriate adjustments, and with correct preparation, it shouldn’t hurt. Not unbearably, at least.”

“But what does it do?”

In response, Carlos carries the device to where Cecil’s lying, kneeling again near his feet. His hands are on Cecil’s bare thighs now, and it’s so warm and electric and right that Cecil has to bite his lip to keep from saying something very uncouth. “Bend your legs, please. Just- yes, just like that. And if you could spread them a bit? Very good. Keep them there, thank you.”

His body is reacting to Carlos’ hands so close to his center, exposing him completely. He’s beginning to get hard and he’s absolutely mortified. “Carlos, I am so sorry, I’m not-”

“Physiological response, perfectly fine. In fact, it might be better for the beginning of the treatment.” Carlos leans down and hauls up the device, setting it between Cecil’s legs. It looks like a small simple engine, but with an apparatus jutting out on one side. The apparatus itself is rounded, smooth, and appears to be made of some kind of plastic. “This is called the Manipulator, though personally I think the name sounds rather crude. Now, you asked what it does.”

He picks a tallow candle rather casually off the end table and breaks off a piece, rubbing it between his hands. “It is used for curing hysteria by inducing parosysm. Normally with women it is used internally until reached-”

Cecil props himself up on his elbows, sputtering inanities, while Carlos calmly heats up the tallow in his palms. “Internally? What- but how- but I don’t have the, ah, same- I don’t have what women have.”

“I’m aware,” Carlos says, and he’s smiling softly, which goes a long way towards calming Cecil’s nerves. “I went through medical school, Mr. Palmer.”

Cecil laughs a little at that, but he’s still a bit apprehensive. “So where is it going to- go, then?”

“Still internally,” Carlos says nonchalantly, rubbing the apparatus of the device with the now-soft tallow. Cecil watches his hand move up and down, up and down, stroking the machine, and his mind conjures up how it would feel to have that same tallow-slick palm rubbing on his own length, and it sparks arousal all the way through him.

He’s definitely hard now, there’s no hiding it. Still- “How? I don’t have-”

“The anatomy textbooks speak of something inside the male body as well,” Carlos says, getting two of his fingers well and thoroughly coated with the waxy substance. After a moment of consideration, he coats a third one also. “Now this is just a pet theory of mine, but I believe that by using the machine to reach it, we can produce parosysm in males just as we do in females.” He puts a hand on Cecil’s inner thigh and Cecil sucks in a breath. “I’m going to get you ready for the machine now. Is this alright?”

Cecil nods, face flushed and feeling a little dazed.

“Hey,” Carlos says, and his thumb rubs small circles on Cecil’s skin. “If at any point you wish for me to stop treatment, just say as much and I’ll stop instantly.”

Cecil nods again, more confidently. He’s nervous, and very aroused, but Carlos doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. “Understand? Good. I’m going to start now.”

Then his fingers are trailing underneath Cecil’s length and across his hole and he gasps. He’d fall off the couch of Carlos wasn’t holding down his abdomen with his other hand. “What- What’s-”

“Mr. Palmer,” Carlos says firmly, “I need you to relax for this part. Trust me.”

“Alright,” Cecil says, arms trembling a little. “Alr-ight!” Because Carlos just ghosted across his entrance again, but this time he’s lingering, rubbing circles across the area. The tallow makes everything smooth and Cecil didn’t know it could even feel this good down there. “Ah, Carlos, that’s-” The sentence jerks to a halt because Carlos just put a finger inside him.

“Tsk,” Carlos admonishes. “Please relax.”

“Attempting to,” Cecil breathes, trying to convince his body to stop clenching around the intrusion.

It must work because Carlos’ finger is sliding in and out, in and out, assisted by the tallow. It’s…not unpleasant. It’s not pleasant, either. It’s- Oh. There’s another one.

This time there’s something to clench against, and when he does involuntarily, it’s…nice. Carlos scissors the fingers inside of him and there’s stretch and it burns but it’s also good and before he can stop it there’s a low moan bubbling up from his throat.

He freezes, worried that he’s ruined the treatment somehow, but Carlos only pauses a moment before going back to the same back-and-forth he had been doing earlier. His other hand presses comfortingly on Cecil’s hip.

A third finger, and this one really burns, but when Carlos flexes them inside Cecil it holds the promise of pleasure. Every slide inward, every slow drag is a little less pain and a little more tingling that seems to go straight to his manhood. He’s biting his lower lip, trying to hold back his grunts and groans that keep threatening to spill over. Then Carlos curls his fingers and


Everything flashes white for a moment and Cecil cries out, throwing his head back. “Oh, God above, Carlos.”

The fingers stop moving entirely and Cecil squirms, trying to get more, anything. “Is it good?”

“So good, yes, please,” Cecil pants. It occurs to him a moment later that he’s probably not supposed to be enjoying treatment quite this much, but before the rush of shame hits him Carlos brushes that same spot and Cecil can’t feel much of anything except yes.

Then he’s empty and aching with arousal, whining at the loss. “Carlos-”

“You’re ready, we can start the machine now, I think.” Carlos’ voice is a little strained and when Cecil lifts his head to look at him, he’s breathing slightly heavier than usual and his cheeks are ever so lightly red. “Just…lie back.”

Cecil does as he’s told, staring at the ceiling, wondering if women feel like this when they get treated for hysteria because no wonder it’s on the rise. Carlos guides the device in, then, and Cecil’s mouth falls open in a silent cry. Because…oh, it’s…bigger than Carlos’ fingers, and he’s not sure…

Carlos is smoothing his hands up and down Cecil’s thighs, murmuring soft comforts. “There you go. You’re alright. You’ve got this. You can take this, can’t you?”

And Cecil is trembling now, full-body shakes as the apparatus sits inside him, and each small convulsion sends the device pressing against different things, sending thrills through him. He’s twitching, hips arching involuntarily, pressing the arm of the machine up so close to that wonderful spot but not quite there. “Carlos- I- ahhh…”

“How are you doing?”

Cecil closes his eyes tightly and nods. He can’t speak, because he’s pretty sure all that would come out is broken begging.

“Alright. I’m going to start the machine. Don’t get startled.”

He takes deep breaths, savoring the feeling of being full in a way he never knew he wanted. It’s so frustrating, though, the apparatus just…inside him, not pressing in or even thrusting the way Carlos had been doing with his fingers. If only it would move-

And there’s a click down between his legs, a whirring noise, and the apparatus is thrumming within him. Cecil’s back arches so far he’s sure it’s going to snap in half, but oh, he doesn’t care, the device is pressing against everything, moving and shaking and- ah-

His hands scrabble frantically at the material of the couch underneath him, desperately searching for something to cling to. He’s so hard he’s positively dripping, and he knows he must look an absolute sight-

“Here,” Carlos says, and there’s a noticeable tremor in his voice. Cecil had almost forgotten the doctor was there. With no insignificant amount of effort, he turns his head and makes eye contact with the other man. Carlos looks transfixed, hypnotized at the sight of Cecil writhing about on the couch. “I…I don’t think- I think the machine might not be lined up, ah, exactly right.” He reaches down, but instead of moving the machine his hand lands on Cecil’s chest. It drags down, down, the touch spreading fire across Cecil’s nerve endings, avoiding Cecil’s cock completely and finally coming to rest at the machine. He shifts it slightly to one side and-

“Oh, God! Carlos- nggh- hah, I c-can’t, need- need-” Cecil thrashes as the apparatus presses right up against that sweet spot, sending low vibrations throughout his entire body. Every ragged pulse of the device massages that spot without mercy, wave after wave of unrelenting pleasure crashing down over him, making his toes curl, making him mewl with the want of it all. “Carlos, please, so good- ah! N-need mo-more, ah, right there, p-please don’t s-st-stop!”

“Oh, my.” Carlos breathes, still hovering over Cecil. “This is- this is new. Normally- with the women, I don’t- I’m being remarkably unprofessional, forgive me-”

“O-ooh, Carlos, I- oh, Lord-” He can’t stop bucking his hips, driving the apparatus deeper into himself because it feels so fucking good moving inside him. He’s a whimpering, moaning, mess; arching and fucking himself down on the machine. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful and more than anything in the world, he wants climax. He twists his hips just so and this time when the device slides inside, it rams into that spot and he sees stars, unable to do anything but let the sparks consume him, and he’s so ready, so ready.

Tears are gathering in his eyes but he can’t care enough to be ashamed. Carlos is beginning to look undone. “Usually this is where- ah, where the women reach parosysm. Maybe- I don’t know, additional stimulation?” Cecil is reaching out blindly and Carlos automatically takes his hands, lacing their fingers together. It gives Cecil a point of contact, and he squeezes when the device gives a particularly sweet judder. It’s all so good, too good. “C-Ca-Carlos, n-not sure h- nngh!- how m-much more I can t-take!” A sob tears out of his throat. “N-need to- Oh G-God, please let me-”

“Cecil, oh, Cecil, God, you’re beautiful like this,” Carlos says breathlessly, letting go of Cecil’s hand in favor of cupping his face. “What can I do, how can I help?”

In response, Cecil yanks Carlos down, kissing him feverishly. Carlos makes a surprised noise against his lips, but then he’s kissing back, mouth hot and firm against Cecil’s and not enough. He licks inside Cecil’s mouth and that’s better, but it’s still little relief. Cecil grabs handfuls of Carlos’ hair, just as he’s fantasized about, and when his squirming makes the device move inside him he throws his head back, unable to take it, it’s too good, too much.

Carlos moves down to his neck, licking and biting at the sensitive skin. It’s all overly sensitized, and each point of contact is another throb of painful arousal. He’s not sure if he’s trying to move away from the device or toward it at this point, just that he’s so far gone he can’t think straight. “Carlos,” he sobs, needy and ready and fuck. “I c-can’t- I can’t s-stand it anymore, too much, t-too much.”

The other man moves away from his neck and kisses him again, hard. One of his hands steals down between them and wraps around Cecil’s length, stroking once, twice, and Cecil is climaxing so hard he thinks he might black out.

It goes on and on, the vibrations from the machine milking his peak for everything it has. When he comes back into himself his fingers are numb, his back is cramping, and he’s incredibly oversensitive. The still-whirring apparatus inside him is far too much stimulation and he jerks against the sensation. “Carlos, please, I can’t-”

With fumbling hands, the doctor quickly shuts off the machine and draws it out of Cecil. “I- I daresay think that- I’m going to tentatively declare this a success, with, um, post-examination pending-”

Shaky and loose-limbed, Cecil pushes himself up into a sitting position. His gaze narrows in on Carlos, with his kiss-swollen lips and hair mussed where Cecil had been grabbing at it. It’s a lovely sight, especially when his eyes flick downwards and he sees the clear tenting at the front of Carlos’ pants. Carlos follows his lie of vision and blushes, obviously flustered. “I apologize, I- I’ve been terribly unprofessional, I’ll just go and-”

“I can help you with that,” Cecil says.

Carlos stops, opens his mouth, shuts it again. “I’m…I don’t…how?”

Cecil reaches out and Carlos hesitantly takes his hands and allows himself to be pulled onto the couch. The viscount pushes him back into a sitting position before sliding off the couch and onto his knees, urging Carlos’ legs apart.

He read about this in a romance novel once, one of the raunchier ones. And it seems to work well, at any rate, because when Cecil leans down and mouths at Carlos’ length through the fabric, Carlos gives a surprised noise and grips at Cecil’s shoulders. He closes his lips around where the head should be and presses his tongue down. Carlos groans, head falling back. “Ah, Mr. Palmer…”

“Call me Cecil, if you would,” Cecil says, unlacing the ties on Carlos’ trousers. “I believe we’re to that point.”

“Cecil, yes, Ce-cil!” He yelps the last part as Cecil gets the ties undone and draws his tongue up Carlos’ cock. Cecil decides he likes how Carlos feels against his tongue, and he likes Carlos saying his name heavy with pleasure even more. He takes Carlos into his mouth, sucking and humming alternatively. There’s a bitter-salt taste already, and this shouldn’t take long, Carlos is already so wound up, so hot, so ready. Something about the idea makes Cecil smug- that Carlos can get so desperate just from watching him and kissing him.

One of Carlos’ hands fists in Cecil’s hair and- well, that’s not exactly unpleasant. “Your mouth, Cecil,” Carlos pants, and Cecil can tell he’s trying to hold himself back from thrusting into it. “So good, ah, y-you have the mouth o-of an angel, or perh- ha- perhaps a demon-”

Cecil flicks his tongue against the head, along the slit, and there’s a broken gasp from above him. “Oh, God, Cecil, I’m- I’m g-going to-”

He takes Carlos down deep, humming, and the hand in his hair pulls while his mouth is flooded with Carlos’ release. Carlos cries out his name as he climaxes, which…well, Cecil could get used to that. He swallows everything Carlos has to give him and only pulls away when he’s sure he’s got it all.

Carlos is sitting limp on the couch, breathing heavily, and when Cecil looks up at him a little unsure, he gestures next to him. “Come here.” He doesn’t have to wait long before Cecil is pressed against him, still floating and a bit blissed-out from his own orgasm. Carlos kisses him then, slowly and languidly, and he must be able to taste himself on Cecil’s lips but he doesn’t seem to care. “So, Cecil,” he says, “do you feel improved?”

“Like a new man,” Cecil assures him before kissing him again. “Though I think I may require periodic treatment.”

He can feel Carlos’ smile. “It would be amiss for me to neglect a patient in need, wouldn’t it?”

“Awfully so,” Cecil agrees.

“I think- perhaps even more adaptations could be made to the treatment. A more…manual approach. That is, if you’re willing to test it for me.”

“I’m all yours, doctor.”