Theo’s fingers trembled as he adjusted the microscope’s focus knob. He’d spent seventeen years studying soil nematodes, and today’s sample from the Arctic permafrost felt different. Unstable. Almost alive. Beside him, his lab partner, Dr. Silas Reed, leaned closer, his forearm brushing Theo’s sleeve. Silas smelled like antiseptic and bergamot — a scent Theo had memorized over countless late nights.
"Anything?" Silas asked, voice low. Theo didn’t turn. He knew Silas’s face too well: the crow’s feet framing pale blue eyes, the silver-streaked beard, the way his lab coat stretched taut across shoulders built from decades of competitive rowing.
"Movement," Theo murmured. "Not nematodes. Something ... quasi-partners." He shifted the slide. A microorganism pulsed, splitting into identical twins. "They’re replicating symbiotically. No mitosis."
Silas’s breath warmed Theo’s neck. "Fascinating." The word lingered, heavy with unspoken history. They’d met at Cambridge — Silas, a tenured biologist; Theo, a nervous PhD candidate. Back then, Silas’s marriage was crumbling, and Theo’s coming-out had left him estranged from his family. They’d become confidants. Then, during a conference in Reykjavik, Silas kissed him in a geothermal lagoon at midnight. That was twelve years ago.
Now, Silas’s hand settled on Theo’s lower back. "Remember Iceland?" Theo’s throat tightened. He did. Steam rising from black water, Silas’s laugh echoing off lava cliffs, the reckless way they’d shed their wetsuits and fucked under the auroras. His pulse quickened. The microscope’s eyepiece blurred.
Silas chuckled, low and knowing. "Distracted?"
Theo finally turned. Silas’s gaze wasn’t on the slide anymore — it tracked the flush creeping up Theo’s neck. Seventeen years of professional distance evaporated like dry ice. Theo’s reply died unspoken as Silas closed the gap between them. Their lips met — not tentative, not questioning, but with the hungry certainty of men who’d denied this too long. Theo tasted bergamot and stale coffee. Silas’s beard scraped his chin, rough and familiar. Hands fisted in lab coats, pulling bodies flush. Theo groaned into Silas’s mouth, the forgotten microscope humming beside them.
They stumbled through the lab, knocking over a tray of petri dishes. Glass shattered. Agar jelly smeared across Silas’s thigh like translucent graffiti. Theo laughed against his mouth — a raw, gasping sound he hadn’t made since Iceland. Their teeth clicked. Silas gripped Theo’s hips, lifting him onto the steel countertop.
Cold metal shocked Theo’s bare thighs where his lab coat rode up. "Christ, Silas —"
"Shut up," Silas growled, tearing open Theo’s shirt buttons. They clattered like hail on the linoleum. "Seventeen years of you pretending not to stare at my ass during centrifuging." His palm slid up Theo’s chest, calloused from rowing oars, thumb circling a nipple. Theo arched, knocking a microscope sideways. The permafrost slide skittered into the sink. Neither noticed.
Silas’s mouth trailed down Theo’s sternum, beard scraping wetly. Theo tangled fingers in silver-streaked hair, yanking him upward for a bruising kiss. Their teeth clicked again — less accident, more hunger. Silas’s knee nudged Theo’s thighs apart. The steel countertop chilled Theo’s bare skin where his trousers gaped open. Silas’s hand slid inside, palming Theo’s erection through thin cotton.
"Still jam-packed for me, Doctor?" Silas murmured against his throat.
Theo gasped, "Like Reykjavík." He fumbled with Silas’s belt buckle, knuckles brushing the damp patch on Silas’s briefs. The scent of bergamot and sweat thickened the air.
Silas bit Theo’s collarbone, teeth scraping bone. "Better," he rasped, tearing Theo’s trousers down his hips. Cool lab air prickled Theo’s exposed skin as Silas shoved him flat against the countertop.
Silas’s calloused hand wrapped around Theo’s cock, thumb smearing precome across the flushed head. Theo bucked, hips slamming steel. "Christ, Silas —"
Silas silenced him with a kiss, tongue thrusting deep. His free hand yanked Theo’s thighs wider, fingers digging into muscle. "Seventeen fucking years," he breathed against Theo’s mouth, spit-slick and urgent. "Every seminar where you adjusted your glasses instead of looking at me." His thumb circled Theo’s cockhead, rough skin catching on the sensitive ridge.
Theo arched, a choked gasp escaping as Silas’s palm squeezed the shaft, pressure firm and knowing. The steel counter’s chill vanished beneath the burn spreading through Theo’s belly.
A petri dish fragment sliced Theo’s shoulder — sharp, irrelevant. He grabbed Silas’s hair, pulling him down to lick the sweat pooling at his collarbone. "Your turn," Theo rasped, fumbling for Silas’s belt with his free hand. The buckle resisted, cold metal against his knuckles.
Silas laughed, low and gravelly, the sound vibrating through Theo’s chest. "Impatient," Silas murmured, guiding Theo’s fingers to the clasp. "Always were." The belt gave way, leather slithering to the floor like a shed skin.
Silas’s cock sprang free, thick and flushed against Theo’s thigh. Theo wrapped his hand around it, relishing the heat, the pulsing weight. Silas groaned, hips thrusting forward. "Christ, Theo —" His protest dissolved into a gasp as Theo’s thumb swiped over the slick head, smearing precome. The lab air tasted metallic, sharp with spilled reagents and their mingled sweat.
Theo leaned up, biting Silas’s earlobe. "Remember the lagoon?" he whispered. "How you pinned me against that basalt column?"
Silas’s answering growl was pure hunger. He shoved Theo’s legs wider, fingers digging into muscle. "Shut up and ride me."
Theo obeyed, slicking himself with spit and Silas’s precome before sinking down onto him. The stretch burned, deliciously familiar. Silas filled him completely, a perfect, aching fit. Theo braced his hands on Silas’s shoulders, rolling his hips in a slow, deliberate grind.
Silas’s head fell back, tendons straining in his neck. "Fuck, yes — just like that." His hands gripped Theo’s waist, guiding the rhythm — deep, relentless thrusts that rocked the countertop. Glassware rattled nearby, forgotten.
Theo’s world narrowed to the friction, the slap of skin, Silas’s ragged breaths hot against his throat. He watched Silas’s face—eyes screwed shut, lips parted, beard glistening—and felt a surge of possessive triumph. Seventeen years of stolen glances culminated in this: Silas unraveling beneath him, utterly his.
Orgasm hit Theo like a seismic shift — a blinding, shuddering wave that tore a raw cry from his throat. He pulsed over Silas’s belly, streaks of white, hot sperm stark against tanned skin. Silas followed moments later, hips jerking, a guttural groan tearing free as he emptied himself deep inside Theo.
They slumped together, foreheads touching, breathing ragged. Silence settled, broken only by the hum of refrigerated samples. Slowly, Theo slid off, wincing at the ache. Silas caught him, pulling him close. Semen dripped onto the steel counter, pearlescent in the fluorescent light.
Silas traced a finger through the mess on Theo’s stomach, voice rough with satisfaction. "Proof of concept, Doctor?"
Theo laughed, weak and breathless. "Irrefutable data." Outside, the Arctic wind howled, indifferent to the wrecked lab and the two men tangled in its center.
Silas slid off the counter, wincing as semen-streaked skin peeled from cold steel. He pulled Theo upright, steadying him when his knees buckled. "Christ, you're shaking." Silas wrapped his lab coat around Theo's shoulders, the gesture incongruously tender amid the carnage of shattered glass and spilled cultures.
Theo leaned into him, inhaling sweat-soured bergamot and the musk of their joining. "Adrenaline crash," he mumbled against Silas's collarbone. "And you're seventy-three, you lunatic. Your hip —"
"Fine." Silas's hand slid lower, kneading the small of Theo's back. "Better than fine." His thumb traced the shallow cut on Theo's shoulder from the petri dish shard. "Needs cleaning." He nudged a fallen vial with his foot. "So does this mess. And that slide ..."
He glanced toward the sink where their permafrost sample lay submerged in disinfectant runoff. The symbiotic organisms were likely dead — extinct before classification. Theo felt a pang of scientific loss, swiftly drowned by the warmth of Silas's palm sliding down his spine.
They dressed in silence, avoiding each other's eyes — not from shame, but the sheer weight of seventeen years collapsing into one reckless hour. Silas buttoned Theo's shirt with surprising deftness, fingers lingering on the last button. "Dinner?" he asked, voice casual, but his gaze held Theo's with unnerving intensity. "Somewhere without ... counters."
Theo snorted, pulling on his trousers. "Or microscopes." He paused, watching Silas retrieve his belt from a puddle of agar. "Silas ... what happens Monday? In the lab meeting? With Henderson breathing down our necks about funding?"
Silas buckled his belt with a sharp click. "Henderson can choke on his grant proposals." He stepped closer, cupping Theo's jaw. His thumb brushed Theo's lower lip — a deliberate, claiming sweep. "We're rewriting the protocol. Starting with shared office hours." His smile was slow, predatory, utterly devoid of professional decorum. "Extended field work. Very ... hands-on research."
Theo's pulse hammered against Silas's thumb. Outside, the wind screamed. Inside, the hum of freezers promised preservation. Theo kissed Silas's palm. "I'll requisition a bigger tent."
Silas laughed — a rich, unexpected sound that scattered the tension. "Fieldwork? Theo, I haven't slept in a tent since Thatcher was PM." He traced Theo's jawline. "But your bed. That's viable research space."
The fluorescent lights flickered overhead. Theo stared at the sink where their revolutionary sample drowned in bleach. "Symbiotic replication lost. Because we —"
"Discovered superior symbiosis." Silas pulled him close, beard scraping Theo's temple. "Priorities shifted. Adapt or perish, Doctor." His hand slid down Theo's spine, settling possessively low. "Monday, we tell Henderson the truth: Arctic samples require ... intensive paired observation. His funding depends on it."
Theo snorted. "He'll combust."
"Let him." Silas's eyes gleamed. "Then we submit that Antarctic proposal. Shared bunks on the research vessel." He nipped Theo's earlobe. "Twelve weeks. Minimal privacy."
Theo's breath hitched. Seventeen years of stolen glances condensed into this: Silas Reed plotting logistical debauchery with scientific precision. He imagined Silas's bulk in a narrow bunk, the roll of the ship pressing them together —
Alarms blared — sharp, deafening shrieks. Red emergency lights strobed. The temperature plummeted.
Silas shoved Theo behind him. "Containment breach?"
Theo peered past Silas's shoulder. Their discarded slide glowed faintly green in the disinfectant. The liquid bubbled violently. "Impossible — it was inert!"
A gelatinous tendril lashed from the sink, slapping wetly against the counter. It pulsed, thickening as it absorbed spilled agar.
Silas grabbed a fire extinguisher. "New protocol: Incinerate first, fuck later."
The tendril split — symbiotic replication. Two pseudopods quested toward them, dripping viscous slime.
Theo yanked Silas backward. "Forget the Antarctic! We're quarantined!"
Silas's grin was feral. "Extended hands-on research." He hefted the extinguisher. "Document everything."
The creature oozed over the countertop, leaving iridescent trails. Theo's scientific mind raced: Extremophile? Biohazard? His trembling fingers found Silas's hip. "Priorities?"
Silas pressed the extinguisher nozzle against Theo's palm. "Always you first." Their hands closed over cold metal together. "Then ... pest control."
Outside, the Arctic darkness deepened. Inside, new life pulsed — hungry, alien, and spectacularly ill-timed.
The gelatinous pseudopod slapped against the countertop again, leaving iridescent slime where their semen had pooled moments earlier. It thickened as it absorbed spilled agar, swelling like grotesque bread dough. Theo’s scientific detachment warred with visceral revulsion. "Absorption feeding? Silas, that’s impossible — disinfectant should’ve lysed every cell!"
Silas shoved the fire extinguisher into Theo’s hands. "Tell that to our new lab partner." He snatched a Bunsen burner from a nearby workstation, flicking it alight. Blue flame hissed defiance at the creature’s sickly green luminescence. "Incinerate protocol. Section 4.7."
Theo fumbled with the extinguisher’s safety pin. "You memorized containment protocols?"
"Last Tuesday." Silas’s grin flashed wolfish in the emergency strobes. "After you ‘accidentally’ spilled coffee on my lap during the centrifuge run." He swept the burner flame toward the advancing pseudopod. Flesh sizzled—a wet, popping sound like grease in a pan. The creature recoiled, emitting a subsonic hum that vibrated Theo’s molars.
"Acoustic defense mechanism?" Theo yelled over the blaring alarms.
"Or pain." Silas advanced, relentless. "Apply suppression!"
Theo depressed the extinguisher lever. White foam erupted, engulfing the creature’s main mass. Frost crystals bloomed across its surface. The subsonic hum intensified — a physical pressure behind Theo’s sternum.
Silas staggered. "Christ — cardiac resonance!" He slammed the Bunsen burner onto the counter, searing a retreating pseudopod. The hum ceased abruptly.
In the sudden silence, Theo’s ears rang. The creature lay motionless, half-frozen, half-charred. Silas prodded it with a pipette. No reaction.
"Viable?" Theo whispered.
Silas met his gaze, pale eyes blazing with adrenaline and something darker. "Define viable." He tossed the pipette aside. "Priority one: quarantine breach protocol. Priority two —" He grabbed Theo’s hips, pulling him flush against the counter’s edge. "— completing interrupted research." His thumb brushed Theo’s lower lip, still swollen from their earlier collision. "Hypothesis: adrenaline enhances tactile sensitivity."
Theo laughed — a ragged, disbelieving sound. "Methodology?"
Silas’s hand slid down Theo’s spine, settling low. "Hands-on replication." Outside, wind screamed. Inside, Theo’s pulse roared approval.
Theo twisted, extinguisher forgotten. "Now? With that?" He gestured at the frozen-sludge horror leaking onto Petri dish fragments.
Silas’s beard scraped Theo’s jaw. "Priority protocol." His palm cupped Theo’s ass, squeezing. "Fieldwork demands resilience." He kicked the Bunsen burner aside — blue flame guttered out — then shoved Theo backward onto the countertop. Steel chilled Theo’s bare thighs where his trousers sagged open. Silas’s knee nudged them wider.
"Your hip —" Theo protested.
"Operational." Silas ripped Theo’s zipper down. Calloused fingers wrapped Theo’s half-hard cock. "Adrenaline-enhanced sensitivity. Hypothesis confirmed?" His thumb smeared precome across the flushed head.
Theo arched off cold metal, gasping. "Fuck — yes." He fumbled for Silas’s belt. "But the creature —"
"Document later." Silas’s teeth grazed Theo’s throat. "Current focus: symbiotic release." He spat into his palm, slicked himself thick and urgent, then pressed against Theo’s entrance. No lagoon gentleness now — just possession. Theo cried out as Silas sheathed himself fully, the stretch burning glorious and familiar. Silas groaned, forehead pressed to Theo’s shoulder. "Christ. Better than Iceland."
Theo hooked his ankles behind Silas’s thighs. "Prove it."
Silas drove into him — deep, punishing thrusts that slammed Theo’s spine against steel. Glass shards bit Theo’s back; irrelevant. Their rhythm built — frantic, hungry. Theo watched Silas’s face: eyes wild, lips peeled back from teeth, sweat dripping off his beard onto Theo’s chest. The creature’s frozen mass glistened nearby, ignored.
"Seventeen years ..." Silas panted, thumb circling Theo’s nipple. "... wasted."
Theo’s orgasm ripped through him — violently silent, back bowing off the counter. Sperm striped his abdomen in hot streaks. Silas followed, hips stuttering, a guttural roar tearing loose as he emptied himself deep inside Theo. They slumped together, breathing ragged. Semen pooled on steel beside iridescent slime.
Silas traced Theo’s collarbone. "Monday’s agenda?"
Theo grinned weakly. "Antarctic bunk requisitions."
Alarms died abruptly. Silence. The creature remained frozen.
Silas slid off Theo, wincing. "Quarantine’s lifted." He tossed Theo his shirt. "Dinner. Somewhere with ... cushions."
Theo laughed. "And no symbionts."
Outside, the Arctic night deepened. Inside, new protocols began.
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