It isn't that Carlton doesn't know who's sneaking up to his desk and sharpening all his pencils until the points are so fine they shatter on contact with the paper, graphite shards spraying.
He just doesn't know why.
It's annoying, but too helpful to be typical of Spencer. Because, after all, a sharp pencil is efficient. Precise. He likes them that way, once the end's been reduced to something less needle-like.
He picks one out of the mug he uses as a holder and twirls it, then starts to write some notes to himself. Only time-wasting losers grocery shop without a plan of campaign. Five minutes later, with the end stuck in his mouth as he ponders ramen flavors, he looks up to see Spencer perched on the edge of his desk. Smiling. A pencil between his lips. One of his pencils, the blue ones with the faint black stripe.
A terrible thought blooms like a Venus flytrap in Carlton's mind as Spencer takes the pencil out, dries it on his shirt, and shoves it carelessly, upside down, into the mug.
Oh God. No. He couldn't have --
Carlton spits the pencil he's chewing out onto the desk, leaving drool all over his list, damn it, and claws at his mouth, swiping at his tongue with his fingers, making noises he'll blush over later.
The scary thought is that Spencer's mouth is the most obvious place it's been, but it's not the only possibility.
Spencer's laughing at him silently. There's a sucker in his mouth now, pale yellow, smelling sweet and fruity. Spencer's tongue laps and licks at it, holding Carlton's fascinated gaze.
He's angry. He's furious. He can't look away from that raspberry pink tongue doing tricks for him.
Can't help wondering what else of his Spencer would lick to a point if he was allowed to.
Spencer disappears, leaving the sticky, chewed stick of his sucker on Carlton's desk. Disappears without saying a word.
There's a shard of sucker clinging to the white stick. Carlton picks it up, and slowly, tentatively, brings it to his mouth.
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