'John'. Just 'John.'

Bobby didn't respond. He was too busy crossing the kitchen, his footsteps nearly silent in his socks, and then sinking carefully to his knees to close the last foot of distance. His hands cupped John's ass cheeks and spread them gently as he leaned in to run his tongue experimentally around the revealed opening (and hoping John didn't, like, start a grease fire or something. Maybe he should have paid more attention to what was happening on the stove at the moment.)