Work Text:
Carlos was good with his hands.
They were reliable, dependable. Carlos could trust them to handle the most delicate piece of scientific equipment or to carefully add a chemical to a volatile compound without worrying about shaking fingers or sweating palms. His handwriting was the only legible scrawl in the lab. His hand had mapped the familiar curve of Cecil's knee when they sat outside the Arby's and his fingers knew all of the places that made Cecil gasp and moan and arch up against him in bed.
Scientists were good with their hands.
Even as his mind was unraveling at the mysteries of Night Vale, or he was inwardly wincing as the wrong words escaped his mouth, his hands always knew what to do.
The only time his hands failed him was when he was talking on the phone. There was no one to see him, so he wouldn't gesture with them. They got nervous and fidgety without something to occupy them and he would invariably end up gnawing at his nails or pulling on the cuticles. So he kept a small cache of objects to hold when he was on the phone, mostly toys. Rubber bands, paperclips, but also Kooshes, Slinkies, and small rubber balls he could bounce off the floor and walls while he talked to his fellow scientists and contacts back home.
His favorite, though, was a little light up yo-yo that he had bought from his niece for some school fundraiser. He liked the physics behind the motion of it and could recall some of the tricks his sister taught him when he was little, things he had almost thought he had forgotten until he slid the loop around his finger and felt the familiar pull and solid presence of it as it returned to his hand. He would run through the easy one-handed tricks he knew while on the phone, the sleeper and the forward pass, walking the dog and around the world. Occasionally once he hung up, he would practice more advanced tricks that he had looked up, or do two handed ones, like rock the baby, flying trapeze and splitting the atom.
This afternoon, he had finished checking in with his contact at the local university,yo-yo in hand, and was in the middle of practicing a more advanced trick that he had just picked up recently. He was completely lost in the enjoyment of pure play when he saw a flash of color out of the corner of his eye and lost the rhythm, the yo-yo falling from his grasp and rotating dejectedly at his feet, glowing a pale neon green. Cecil stood in the doorway in a pair of neat pinstriped trousers and a deep purple shirt with a lavender tie...work clothes. A messenger bag was slung casually across his shoulder, and Carlos kicked himself for forgetting that Cecil was coming over after work and letting himself lose track of time. Now his boyfriend stood there, with an expression that was mostly curious, slightly perplexed, and Carlos could feel his cheeks growing warm even as he lowered his head. His glance fell upon the yo-yo still dangling at end of its string and Carlos quickly snapped it back up, concealing it in his hand and pocketing it.
"What is that?" Cecil asked, pulling the strap of his bag over his head and setting it on the floor near the door. He took a few steps forward and gave Carlos a light peck hello and looked at his pocket. "Science?"
"No," Carlos said, reddening again and taking a small step back. "Just a toy. It--uh--it helps me think."
"Can I see?"
Carlos couldn't think of a good reason to refuse, so he reluctantly pulled the yo-yo out of his pocket and handed it to Cecil. Cecil took it and studied it, turning it over in his hand. "What is it?"
"You've never seen a yo-yo?"
Cecil shrugged. "We didn't really have much in the way of toys growing up. It was mostly stuff we made or that people gave us."
Carlos wanted to kick himself again. Cecil's childhood and family were both sensitive subjects and he had just stumbled into that territory blindly. But Cecil didn't seem upset, just studied the toy again with apparent interest and then gave it back to Carlos. "Show me how it works?"
Carlos would have refused, if it hadn't been Cecil. If he wasn't giving him that look, that happy, hopeful look. Carlos could never resist that look. He took the string and slid it around his finger again, let his hand and wrist work while he explained how a yo-yo worked, the concepts of potential energy, kinetic energy and gyroscopic stability, then did some tricks with it when Cecil asked.
It made him nervous, the way Cecil sat there and watched him. He still had some lingering self consciousness from his early years, when he was teased for his too-thick hair, too-big teeth and too-dark skin, for preferring to hole up in his bedroom Saturday nights with his chemistry set instead of going bowling, skating or to the movies like most of his peers. His love for science served him well now, in a career he enjoyed and excelled at, but the little nagging fear, of being laughed at, being ridiculed, always hung in the air anytime he did anything unprofessional or silly.
Cecil, however, appeared delighted with the tricks that Carlos showed him, in the endlessly enthusiastic, open manner that proved he was sincere. And when Carlos shyly offered to teach him, Cecil eagerly accepted and let Carlos slide the slender loop of string around his finger. He taught Cecil how to work the yo-yo and then showed him a couple of basic tricks, often taking Cecil's hand in his own to demonstrate how to position his hand for a certain throw.
"You're good at this," Carlos commented, impressed. Cecil was able to perform almost every trick Carlos taught him after trying it one or two times. Cecil pulled the yo-yo back up into his palm and turned to Carlos with a smile.
"I have a very good teacher," he said, reaching up with his free hand and gently tugging Carlos down for a kiss.
Carlos was good with his hands.
But it was nothing compared to what his boyfriend could do with his mouth.