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Cecil can't remember the first time he opened his Third Eye.
But that's fine, it's really fine.
He also can't remember riding a bike for the first time, even though the 14-speed bike in his apartment suggests that it must have happened at some point, or the first slice of Government-mandated Big Rico's he ever ate, or the lingering sweetness of his first kiss. Memory is like time. Best not to pay it too much mind.
*****
Breaking news, listeners, he intones into the dark closeness of his recording booth. The only light comes from the flickering buttons on his soundboard and the glow from the computer that Intern Chad forgot to log off in the adjoining room. The lack of light does not perturb the radio host who is resting back in his leather chair, blonde hair cast out in a halo around his head. To the casual observer, he might appear to be sleeping on the job if not for the slow movement of his pale lips. And the open, unblinking eye in the centre of his forehead.
A small group of Hooded Figures have exited the Dog Park and have made a slow, blood-chilling journey to Mission Grove Park where they are now loitering by the adventure playground.
With his third eye open he can picture the scene as if he is there. The fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he looks upon the Hooded Figures, even from the relative safety of his booth over a mile away. Through his third eye the world takes on a slightly different hue, colours are dimmer but the picture is sharper. He can see the crisp lines formed by one of the Figure's cloaks as it kicks an empty can of Coke in the direction of a brave (and terribly stupid) pigeon.
The City Council has declared Mission Grove Park to be off-limits until the menaces have departed and remind citizens that they must not look at the Hooded Figures. Do not look at the Hooded Figures. Cecil warns, as he looks, unseen, at the Hooded Figures. A small movement in the corner of his field of view attracts his attention and there is a dizzying swirl of grey and purple and void as Cecil shifts his focus to the dark mouth of the slide, supposedly shaped like the head and body of a feeding sandworm. A shape that Cecil always found . . . phallic. There is another scurrying movement in the dark and Cecil can just make out-
Listeners, a moment's silence please for the chocolate Labrador which is currently doing a poor job of hiding in the mouth of the sandworm slide in Mission Grove Park - you know the one - the Hooded Figures haven't found him or her yet, but when they do . . .
*****
Cecil overshares on the radio. Partly because he just cannot help himself. Partly because he sees people at their most vulnerable, at their best - and worst - and he feels that if he is going to just watch the people of Night Vale, he owes them some vulnerability in return.
*****
He's not prying. He is doing what good journalists do and is investigating interesting goings on in the town in case there is anything to report tomorrow. If he happens to be doing so from the comfort of his bed, then go ahead and call him a workaholic, it's none of your business.
Right now, the most interesting thing in town is the arrival of the scientists, led by the perfect and mysterious Carlos. The rest of the town is settling down to pretend to sleep but Cecil watches as the scientists continue to fiddle with their equipment in between greasy bites of Big Rico's pizza. Carlos flitters about between them, hair almost indigo in the fluorescent lighting of the lab. Cecil almost can't stand to look at him, almost can't stand to look at anything but him, as he corrects the settings on a machine with a shy smile, patiently explaining the steps to another labcoat-clad scientist.
Carlos. He murmurs into the quiet of his room. That is all.
*****
If the interns notice a change in Cecil's weather-break habits, they say nothing. He has been careful, sure to mention just how big Khoshekh is getting, or how soft his fur is now he's learnt to avoid the dorsal spines (and the claws). He is not using his weather breaks to sit on the closed lid of the toilet and open his third eye to check in on the residents of Night Vale. Or, at least, one particular resident.
This has become such a regular habit that Cecil is stunned into silence when he bumps into Carlos in the Ralph's and realises that the desaturated focus of his third eye is an unacceptable substitute for the golden undertones in the scientist's skin, or the soft pink of his lips, highlighted by the bright stain on his white coat.
'Did you know that, in Europe, they call those hard Cheetos?' He says, nodding at the carrots Carlos is considering.
'Um . . .'
'What happened to your coat?' Cecil breaks the awkward silence settling in around them. Carlos smiles at this and, compared to what he has seen with his third eye, the effect is like being hit around the temples with the carcass of a baby alligator. Cecil would know.
'Oh, just a splash of phenolphthalein.'
They both stare like the other is the strangest person they have ever met.
Cecil sits in his car and tries to talk himself out of a major sulk. The talents bestowed on him through his Third Eye have never been much more than a means to an end, a way to report live events from the town and to check in on Old Woman Josie when she's been quiet for a while. He's never thought them inadequate before.
You could just stop, a sneaky, unwelcome voice from his own consciousness suggests.
Cecil is not one to listen to sneaky, unwelcome voices.
*****
Cecil likes to open his third eye when Carlos calls. Even with the disappointing knowledge that the view doesn't compare with real life, the conversation feels much more alive when he can see Carlos' face as he murmurs sweet things like 'I'm not calling for personal reasons...' and 'Cecil, I need you to warn the residents of Night Vale about...'.
Today, Carlos is calling from the small office that joins onto the main lab. He's spinning around in his office chair as he speaks, running a hand idly, and unfairly, through his hair as he warns Cecil about the recent findings from their studies into the chemical content of the algae growing suddenly in the sinks and bathtubs of many Old Town residents' bathrooms.
'That sounds fascinating!' Cecil says, delighting in the small smile that touches Carlos' perfect lips.
The smile turns earnest, if slightly bashful 'It is, it's really interesting. But it's also really, really dangerous so if you could let your listeners know as soon as possible that would be great. People really shouldn't be touching that stuff.' Cecil thinks about the five minutes of fun he'd had that morning, making patterns in the floating green algae in his sink with one long finger. He watches a small frown crease between Carlos' eyebrows. 'Cecil, you haven't touched it, have you?'
'Hm? Me?' Cecil laughs, perhaps for a little too long, 'Why don't you just keep me informed about your findings and I'll be sure to pass the news on to my listeners immediately?' He watches Carlos shake his head minutely, that small smile is back. A strange feeling rocks through Cecil's chest, like the aftershocks of some unseen seismological event. Carlos is amused at him.
'Of course.' The scientist's voice is a solemn contrast to the amusement on his face and this alone, Cecil thinks, is perfect validation for spying on him during their phone calls. And all the times in between. 'Goodbye, Cecil.'
'Call anytime.' Cecil says, and means it. Carlos ends the call but Cecil stays watching long enough to see the way his thumb traces over the screen of his phone in a slow, reluctant circle before he pockets it and heads back into the lab.
*****
Cecil is well aware that he has some iss-
Well, Cecil is not blind to the fact that he often finds himself in patterns of behaviour which have, in the past been described as obsessive.
As he sits cross-legged on the couch in his apartment, he has a sudden startling memory of Earl Harlan telling him that no, he did not need to go to the station, Leonard Burton wasn't even there and why didn't he just want to spend some time with his friends and relax for once. You are addicted, Cecil can still hear the way he screamed it at him, Cecil, you are addicted. And then, the memory of wandering around his flat alone with near-empty bottles of brandy.
He's not spoken to Earl in a while.
*****
It's honestly an accident.
Cecil is locked into his nightly routine. He gets home from the station, he showers, he eats, he sits in front of the television. Instead of watching the hour of Government-mandated television, he opens his third eye, scopes the town for anything interesting (and so he can continue to tell himself that he's not just spying on Carlos) and watches the scientist as he goes about his own evening.
It's honestly an accident.
If anything is normal in Night Vale, it's normal for Carlos to still be in the lab at this time, staring intently at swirling flasks as if the force of his eyes alone could make them give up their secrets, or making adorably frustrated noises and clacking the keys of a large computer. On Wednesdays, Carlos will be at Big Rico's with the other scientists, eating with his mouth open, one leg restlessly jigging up and down underneath the table until he can get back to his experiments.
He's certainly never been in the shower before.
Cecil lets out a gasp and distantly hopes that something interesting just happened on the television screen to avoid suspicion from the listening Secret Police Officer.
He follows the path of the water as it splashes first onto the dripping perfection of Carlos' hair. A bubbling foam sits between smoothed out locks and Cecil is hit with the obvious fact that Carlos is a man who conditions his hair properly. He watches the water bead and run down his neck and the tanned expanse of his chest. Down the gentle curve of his stomach. There's a line of dark hair that connects is navel with his-
Oh. Cecil thinks.
'Oh.' He breathes.
And there's that sneaky voice again, reminding him that he could just stop.
He doesn't.
Carlos is - oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, oh - fucking a soapy fist like he's duty-bound to do it. Like he only has a minute to get it done and be out of there. Because of course he is. Because if anything could be more devastating that secretly watching Carlos the Scientist in the shower, it's watching the way the small crease between his eyebrows disappears as his mouth forms a small 'oh' and his hips stutter as he comes.
Cecil wrenches his third eye closed and wraps his arms around himself as though he has ever been able to hold himself together.
*****
Listeners, we're receiving some reports of a skirmish on Leopold Street just outside the Reel Cheap Fishing Tackle and Outdoor Supplies Shop. I currently have no way of knowing the exact nature of the incident so - witnesses and those with particularly active imaginations - phone in A S A P.
Intern Daniel taps on the glass to the recording booth. 'Open your eye!' He's mouthing, making an opening and closing gesture with his hand.
Cecil shakes his head.
And now, a word from our sponsors.
*****
Cecil perches on a stool that's far too small for him and takes a small sip of lemonade from a sweating glass. He's sweating too. Josie fixes him with a hard look. Not unkind, but not a look that suggests she will accept any shit from Cecil Palmer. She hadn't started their conversation with the words 'For Gods' sake Cecil, what is it now?' but Cecil thinks she might as well have.
An Erika glides overhead and the stunning light from the halo that shrouds the house glows briefly brighter. He feels safe here in a way that he hasn't for some time.
'And how long was that going on for?' She asks.
'Months.' The word even tastes guilty. Old Woman Josie carefully doesn't react. Cecil starts to babble, 'It was getting too much. Some nights I would forget to eat because I'd be too focused on keeping track of what he was doing in case - you know. And then, even at the station, I was starting to resent the time that I was on air because I couldn't be Looking. And you know, he's quite a stressful guy to track. Even when it's not - you know - he's leaning out on a ledge in Radon Canyon to collect samples or -' He drops his voice to a whisper, 'They all write with pens. All the scientists.'
'Where do they hide them?' Josie asks.
'Oh, you don't want to know.' They almost laugh until Cecil pictures the casual way Carlos holds a pen and another wave of despair hits. 'It's just so tiring. Like, literally exhausting. And so I . . . Well, I decided to stop altogether.'
'You're not using your Third Eye?' The lines around Josie's mouth shift unhappily.
'No.'
'Not even for the news?'
'Not even for the news.'
'And you've seen the scientist physically around town and he still calls you.'
'Yeah. That's fine.' Cecil smiles despite himself, 'It's usually great actually. Until I start remembering what I've Seen and then I can't speak around him and it's just awful.'
'Cecil,' She starts, tone firm. And, here it is, the lecture he was brought to her house to listen to. He takes a long drink of the lemonade, knowing he won't be allowed to leave until it's finished and knowing that he'll want to leave as soon as Josie has said what she's going to say. 'Firstly, what you are doing is not a solution, it's an unnecessary and a, frankly, quite selfish attempt at self-flagellation. This gift,' She gestures to his forehead with her cane, 'Was given to you when you became The Voice of Night Vale. It doesn't belong to you, it belongs to Night Vale. It doesn't serve you, you serve it and, by extension, the rest of your community. We both know that you very easily get addicted to the things that you like and when something new comes a long, sometimes you forget about the other things you enjoy too.' Cecil tries to pick out what she's referring to and then realises that there's too much. He chews at the inside of his bottom lip. 'You're in love. And, thankfully for us all, you're in love with a good person. Cecil, I was young once,' He swears he sees one of the Erikas wince and levitate into the house. 'Do you really think that if you hadn't seen him doing all the things you've seen, that you wouldn't just imagine them. You were unable to form a cohesive sentence around that man long before you started spying on him.'
'I was no-'
'You were.'
Cecil sips and thinks about this. Fresh lemonade is perhaps the best drink to think with.
'Ugh.' He forces himself to meet the wise, old eyes of Josie Ortiz, 'Have I ruined everything?'
She smiles and lays a frail had on his arm. 'Almost nothing. Station Management haven't removed you yet, have they? And how long has it been since Carlos moved to town?'
'11 months and 13 days.' He says and then blushes. She squeezes his arm and folds her hands back on her lap.
'Well, I have a feeling he'll come round soon.' She says and then 'ERIKA! Get this young man some more lemonade!'
*****
Carlos' hands are on his shoulders, curling around his neck, tracing his jawline, running upwards through the short strands of his hair. Cecil breathes against his lips and then they are gone, pressing into his cheeks and the tip of his nose and the centre of his forehead.
The scientist pulls away, panting. He's straddling Cecil's lap on the sofa the radio host once used to pretend to watch the TV on. He straightens his glasses and allows Cecil to brush a strand of hair from his flushed face.
'Can I see?' He asks. Cecil pulls his best lascivious smile. It's pretty lascivious.
'Carlooos, you've already seen it.'
The scientist shoves him playfully then presses another soft kiss to Cecil's smooth forehead to underline his point.
'Please?' They've been dating for a few months now. Cecil is yet to say no when Carlos asks so nicely.
'Where should I Look?' The way Carlos is stroking the back of his neck is a bit distracting.
'Hmm, where's your favourite place to look?' Cecil laughs at this. The low, rumbling laugh he normally saves for particularly unlucky horoscopes. Carlos smirks. 'Well. Why don't you check in on Khoshekh?' Cecil takes his hand.
'Squeeze twice when you want me to come back, I won't be able to hear you.'
He opens his Third Eye and
Void
Khoshekh, floating by the sinks in the men's room at the Radio Station. He's using that long, long, blue tongue of his to groom one of his kittens, the spines protruding from the length of the muscle drip with saliva as he rakes it through the thick, soft kitten fur.
His hand is squeezed and he open his other eyes to the rich reality of his boyfriend's face.
'Wow.'
'Not too weird?' Carlos' hand finds Cecil's face again.
'No, no! Amazing.' Something funny happens in Cecil's chest. Carlos kisses the spot on his forehead again but more gently, reverently. 'I have to ask - did you ever, you know, watch me?' His voice is a strong octave lower than usual. At least. Cecil replies, heart thudding, by pressing an open-mouthed kiss to Carlos' throat. 'Really? Like did you watch me?'
'You shouldn't find that hot, it was really bad.' He admits to the safe space between Carlos' neck and shoulder. Carlos breathes heavily.
'I bet you saw me do so much good science.'
'It was good,' Cecil smirks, pressing kisses to warm, caramel skin, 'Not sure it was all science.' There's a keening sound that neither of them would admit to making and a pressure on Cecil's body as Carlos presses his hips close. Cecil can just tell that Carlos is fighting the urge not to remind Cecil that, to a certain extent, all things are science. It's adorable.
'Can I see the other thing now, please?'
'Thought you'd never ask.'
*****
Cecil strokes his sock-clad foot up underneath the hem of Carlos' pyjama bottoms. Carlos pauses mid-scoop of ice cream and looks across the small table in Cecil's kitchenette at his boyfriend.
'I want to watch.' He says, apropos of nothing more than the pressure of Cecil's foot sliding up his ankle. Cecil stills.
'What?'
'Well, I've been thinking.' He continues quickly before Cecil can smirk and say 'It's what scientists do' and then he has to slip the word 'Neat' into every conversation they have for the next day or so. 'You got to watch me without me even knowing about it. I think it's only fair that you return the favour.'
'Hm.' Cecil manages, articulately.
'Tell me,' Carlos eats a spoonful of ice cream in a way that must be illegal somewhere. 'Did you ever touch yourself while you Watched me?'
'Carlos-'
'Because that's what I want to do. I want to watch you. And I want to touch myself. And, do not get me wrong, it is incredibly frustrating that I can't accurately replicate the exact conditions of your experience - but you'll have to cope with knowing that I'm watching.'
'Oh.'
They leave the room to the sound of clattering cutlery.
Carlos, dependably more perfect than imperfect, had already moved one of the chairs from the living room into the bedroom. Cecil watches him take it like a director or a king and blushes a little.
'I saw you strip once.' He blurts , more to the potted cactus on the windowsill than his boyfriend in the chair facing the bed.
'Oh, really?'
'Yes.'
He removes his shorts and boxers first, well aware of his boyfriend's feelings towards his body in an oversized T-shirt and long socks. Then he pulls off the T-shirt. Carlos' eyes are dark as he walks over.
'Can I kiss you?' He puts their faces close, words more breath on Carlos' cheeks than actual speech. Carlos' affirmative is hot with more than a hint of tongue.
'Go on,' He breaks the kiss to whisper, 'Show me what you would do if there was no-one there to see you.'
Cecil lies back on the bed, shuffling to get his head on a pillow. He can feel Carlos' gaze hot on his skin. It burns. He considers trying to show off, running a hand down his chest, playing with a hard nipple. But would he do that if Carlos weren't here watching? Scientists can get a bit pissy if you don't stick to the protocol.
Instead, he reaches into the bedside cabinet for the bottle of lube stashed there and pumps a few drops onto his palm. He wonders how long Carlos is going to leave it before he gives in and touches himself too.
He's not fully hard yet as he strokes himself slowly, rubs his hand over the sensitive head of his cock and squeezes his eyes shut. He can still feel Carlos watching, pupils blown. Memories surface, Carlos fisting his cock in the shower like a man on a mission. Carlos biting down on his pillow as he curls two fingers into himself. More recently, Carlos' undulating hips as he took Cecil inside him.
He aborts a moan, suddenly aware again of the sensation of being watched. He can't hear Carlos' soft exhales over the rapid thudding of his own heart and, for a second, he panics that it's not even Carlos in the room with him anymore. His eyes, two of them, snap open and Carlos is there, leaning forward with his hands pressed together as though in prayer. A particularly good stroke makes Cecil hiss, hips lifting off the bed, eyes locked on his boyfriend. This was a great idea, he thinks and rocks his hips slowly into his hand. He reaches for the lube again, abandoning his stroking to push a single finger through the tight ring of his entrance.
He hears Carlos give a little gasp. Encouraging and wrecked. Then, above the constant thumping in his chest, the shifting sound of cotton against skin as pyjama bottoms are pulled down. Carlos doesn't touch himself straight away. He's looking at Cecil with blown pupils, lips wet and mouth open. As though in the centre of a blood stone circle, as though this is the closest to a religious experience he will ever get.
Cecil's breathing stutters as he pushes in another finger, the other hand making quick little jerks on his cock to balance the initial discomfort of being filled. He wants to stare at Carlos, wants to watch himself be watched but the sensation of his fingers bumping against his prostate and the feeling of his hand on his cock has his back arching, head twisting sideways into the softness of the pillow.
'Gods.' He murmurs.
He's close. It's barely been five minutes but the combination of the sweet pressure inside him and the hot gaze of his boyfriend has him racing towards the edge.
'Carlos.' He warns, fingers twisting. He gets a moan in response. 'Baby, I'm gonna-' He thinks about what a picture he must make, hips bucking and breathing erratic. And, even though he doesn't actually know what he looks like, that thought is enough to tip him over the edge, a synchronised mess of clenching muscles and a mad rush of endorphins.
He goes to take a deep, fortifying breath but Carlos is on him in an instant, the heat of his erection dragging through the come on Cecil's stomach as he crawls upwards for a kiss.
'That was so hot.' Cecil doesn't want to feel too smug. He does, after all, know exactly how Carlos is feeling. His boyfriend mouths at his neck, more teeth than lips and ruts down onto him. Cecil does what he does best and slides one hand into Carlos' hair, the other finding the curve of his ass. 'I'm so close just from watching you, Cecil.'
'Come inside me.' He says, not actually sure whether he's too sensitive to take Carlos right now but knowing the idea is hot enough to try. The scientist makes a noise that would honestly make more sense coming from Khoshekh and scrabbles for a condom from the bedside drawer.
If Cecil had never met anyone called Erika and was allowed to acknowledge the existence of Heavenly Creatures, he would describe the way Carlos gently closes his eyes and gasps as he first penetrates him as angelic. It's definitely pure in a way that defies the action itself. Carlos rolls his hips slowly. Cecil, overstimulated and barely prepared, feels like every nerve in his body is on fire.
'Fuck.' One, or maybe both, of them curses, 'Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.' Carlos runs a finger through the mess on Cecil's stomach and it's gross but also so hot and Cecil can't resist pulling his boyfriend down to kiss the sounds from his mouth. Carlos picks up the pace, punctuating his thrusts with tiny moans and scientifically accurate observations like: you're so tight, oh my god, and then he stills, muscles rigid under Cecil's hands, shaking through his orgasm and moaning in a way that will definitely be picked up by the Secret Police's hidden recording equipment.
He pulls out slowly and removes the condom. Cecil is too blissed out to care when he drops it on the floor. Carlos collapses by his side, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and sighing contentedly. He tilts Cecil's head to kiss the centre of his forehead and, even after everything that evening, it makes Cecil blush.
*****
Carlos picks him up from the radio station after his show has finished. He usually feels restless after a show, a flurry of words and animated gestures until he winds down enough to rest, but today he falls quiet as his boyfriend knocks the car into reverse, pressing a little kiss to Cecil's temple before heading out onto the road.
'I missed most of your show.' Carlos sounds rueful. Cecil smiles slowly.
'Did she get you with the lemonade?'
'Oh God, babe.' His laugh really is lovely, 'She got me to drink about a litre of it. I'm going to sweat lemons.' There's a pause as Carlos turns a corner. Carlos drives with an easy grace and Cecil really appreciates the way the evening light catches on his hands as they grip the steering wheel loosely. They both wait for the other one to speak. 'I'm glad you asked her to speak to me. I - I understand why you wanted me to hear it from her.'
A feeling, writhing and dangerous, swells up in Cecil's chest and manifests in his larynx as: 'I don't want you to leave me.' He flushes pink like the setting sun through the windshield. He finds he can't look at Carlos but he feels the warm pressure of his hand on his thigh regardless.
'I'm not going to.' He promises quietly. 'It's just like the great scientist Niels Bohr said: I have wrapped my fingers around your brainstem. If your heart races, it's is because of me, if you're breathless, it's because of me. My removal would be fatal.'
'Wow, that's intense.' He catches Carlos' grin out of the corner of his eye. They fall into the quiet again, the sound of the tyres on the dusty road, the distant whirring of a blue helicopter, steady breathing.
'I just want to say - not as a scientist - uh,'
'Off the scientific record?'
'No, never!' Carlos sounds stunned, 'Well, yes. Actually. I mean, as someone who loves you very much who also happens to be a scientist, I just want to say that I know that these kind of - uh -' If Cecil weren't panicking about what his boyfriend was about to say, he'd be smiling at how difficult it is for him to say it. Fact finding and word finding are very different skills - they've talked about this. 'You know what, I'm just gonna say it and I'm sorry if it comes out wrong. Okay?' Carlos removes his hand from Cecil's thigh and grips the steering wheel like he's bracing himself.
'Uhuh.' Cecil manages.
'Okay. Okay. Josie told me that you're an addict.' He says it fast and it rings through the air like a kindergarten tattle tale. Carlos runs a hand through his hair and swears emphatically. 'That did come out wrong. Um, what I mean is that she told me that you've been through periods where your behaviour towards a certain person or activity has been unhealthily obsessive and -'
'Carlos, it's okay. I'm an addict pretty much sums it up.' Cecil fights the urge to draw his knees up to his chin and curl in on himself. A nagging voice in his head is reminding him that it's wonderful that Carlos is promising not to leave him now but Cecil can't promise that it's not going to happen again. The thought of Carlos becoming one of the faces around town that Cecil can't look at is almost too much.
'I know that you can't promise that it's not going to happen again,' Carlos says and Cecil stares in shock. The scientist seems unaware that the quantity of angelic lemonade he has consumed has given him a little telepathy. 'I wouldn't ask you to promise that. I just want to say that when you're ready to talk about it - if you're ever ready to talk about it - then I am more than ready to listen and I-' Carlos takes his eyes off the road for a split second to take in the look on Cecil's face. 'I hope that you feel like you can talk to me if you notice that you're - you know?' They pull up outside Cecil's apartment building with its impressively shingled roof. Carlos kills the engine and removes his seatbelt with a click. Cecil stares at him and swallows, dry-mouthed.
Carlos' expression turns guilty. 'Um, I know this is terrible timing but could we go in? I drank a lot of lemonade and I really need to pee.' Cecil laughs, leans forwards to kiss the regretful pucker in between Carlos' eyebrows and laughs again.
'I love you too.' Carlos smiles but he's out of the car and jogging towards the building before he realises that Cecil didn't say anything out loud.
*****
Cecil can't remember the first time he opened his Third Eye.
But that's fine, it's really fine.