It all starts when Gilbert is baking a cake.
Oz steals the batter as usual, licking it out of the bowl and off of his fingers – not even bothering with a spoon. Gilbert chides him about salmonella, about getting sick, about how he complained to be dying the last time he had gotten sick off of this much chocolate, but Oz ignores him – slurps another bit of chocolate off of his fingers – and Gilbert swallows, watching him and imagining his mouth elsewhere.
How did things become so lewd so damnably fast with this boy?
And as quickly as that thought comes, Oz's back is over the kitchen table, chocolate cake batter is smeared down his neck and sucked and lapped up by Gilbert's own tongue. Oz breathlessly laughs at him as his fingers wrap up in dark curls, tells Gilbert in joking retort that he's going to be the one sick, but the words fall on deaf ears.
Gilbert wonders, briefly, if his cooking is an addiction that overcomes all things for Oz, just like Oz is his addiction and far more.
It's actually something of a nice thought, no matter how silly, no matter how childish it is at the base of things. He doesn't care, though – Oz's trousers are tangling off of one leg, Gilbert's fingers are inside of him, slick with his own spit, working him and savoring the way Oz groans and rides back into his hand, gaze downcast and watching Gilbert's hand move, watching those long, elegant fingers twist and wriggle within him.
Gilbert takes him right then and there, licking chocolate off of his lips, sucking it off of his collarbone where it drips there as well. Oz catches on of his hands, smeared with batter as well, and licks it clean in between moans and squeaks and cries of his name as Gilbert holds him tightly to him and rides that small body until the table damn near threatens to break out from beneath him.
He comes first, twisting his fingers against Oz's tongue, muffling the boy's cries as his other hand closes around Oz's neglected erection – stroking, teasing, rubbing his thumb over the over-sensitive head of it until Oz spills himself with a shuddering whimper and they are both left spent and sticky and smelling like cakes and sex all at the same time.
Gilbert considers letting Oz eat the remnants of his baking more often if it leads to things like this.