Fic: Ain't Filled with Gentle Things
1/8/13 08:03 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
neveralarchAn anon over on tumblr has been encouraging my hate-shipping tendencies, which honestly isn't very difficult to do. This fic fulfills the fistfights and anger management squares on my idfic bingo. (Actual anger management does not take place - it's more like just anger. But it is my id, ok.)
Ain't Filled with Gentle Things
Welcome to Night Vale
Rating: teen
(fighting/minor violence, makeouts, canon-typical weirdness. Let me know if you need details.)
Characters: Carlos/Cecil, Cecil/Steve Carlsberg
Wordcount: 5,900ish
Summary: A typical PTA meeting in Night Vale. You know, glow cloud possession, picking senior prom decorations, fistfights over grammar, the usual. (Set post ep 27; no spoilers for ep 28.)
Carlos was in the middle of an experiment when his phone rang. He ignored it for a while, absently humming along with the rings. This experiment was important, and most of the calls to the lab telephone were from telemarketers who breathed heavily into the receiver and tried to sell him otter tears for the low, low price of one human soul. Anyone's soul. It doesn't have to be yours! We're sure you can get a soul from somewhere.
Originally Carlos had thought that this was a fascinating phenomenon, and he'd made lots of notes. But eventually the novelty had worn off and now he dreaded another tedious conversation about whether otters cried, and, if so, how much their tears were actually worth.
Around the fourteenth or fifteenth ring, Carlos remembered that there actually were people in Night Vale that he might like to talk to. Plus, this person was really persistent. He turned down the Bunsen burner, threw a sheet over the vivisected pot roast, and finally took off his rubber gloves so he could put on his vinyl gloves to pick up the phone. He held it a careful two and a half inches away from his face before answering; the phone had been dripping ichor occasionally ever since Black Friday, so it wasn't really skin-safe.
"Hello?"
"Is this Carlos?" demanded Cecil. "Sorry to be rude, but this is my sixth try, and if I get another wrong number I'll-"
"Hi, Cecil." Carlos smiled almost automatically. "I thought I gave you my number."
"Carlos." Cecil's voice immediately softened. "I don't have caller ID, so I'm never completely sure who I'm calling. I wrote your number on my arm when you gave it to me last month, and I keep renewing it when the markings start to fade, but without caller ID it's still a bit of a gamble."
Carlos hummed agreement. He'd learned that there wasn't much point in saying things like 'caller ID doesn't work like that' or 'maybe you should program my number into your phone.'
"Are you calling for personal reasons?" he asked, just to be clear.
"Yes. I wanted to ask a favor." Cecil hesitated, and Carlos watched the pot roast fidget under its sheet while he waited. It seemed to be growing, and it was emitting a black light that shone through the sheet and made strange shadows on the ceiling. Carlos made a few notes in his research journal before he realized that Cecil was mumbling something into the phone.
"Sorry, I didn't catch that." Carlos put down his illicit pencil and risked moving his phone a half-inch closer to his ear. "Say again?"
"Could you come to the PTA meeting with me?" whispered Cecil.
"PTA?" Carlos automatically translated that to 'plasma thromboplastin antecedent,' which was plausible, but then his memory kicked in and pointed out that 'parent teacher association' was more likely. "I didn't know you had children, Cecil. I'd be happy to come, if you're ready to introduce me to-"
"I don't have any children," said Cecil, apologetically. "Although if you want children, I know some rituals we could perform. Jackalope horn powder is on sale right now, and I'm sure the resulting offspring would have your eyes, and your intelligence, and your perfect hair. They can have my left foot too, I'm not really using it or anything."
Carlos had a thousand questions about gestation and childbirth in Night Vale, but the pot roast was beginning to thrash and the black light was gradating into pink. Better to stick to the subject and make this quick. "Why do you want me to go to the PTA meeting?"
"I just need someone to come with me," said Cecil. "My ban is up today, but I'm still on probation. The glow cloud communicated that any further incidents will be met with severe punishment. It didn't say what the punishment would be, but it did pulse with static and drop half a moose onto the sidewalk, so... I'm thinking I need someone who can keep an eye on me."
"Keep an eye on you?" Carlos was a little surprised. He knew intellectually that Cecil had strong feelings about education in Night Vale, and that he was also prone to organizing angry mobs to drive people out of town. But Night Vale politics involved a lot of angry mobs anyway, and Carlos thought that Cecil's detailed and intuitive understanding of Night Vale's multiplicative regulations would be ideal for the PTA.
"Steve Carlsberg will be there," confided Cecil.
"Oh," said Carlos. "Oh, I see. Of course I'll come."
"Great!" said Cecil. "I'll pick you up when the bell tolls twenty-seven."
"Wait, which bell?" asked Carlos, but Cecil had already hung up. Carlos shrugged, and turned back to his experiment. The pot roast had squirmed away and was glowing under a lab table, and he had to chase it back out into the open with a broom. In fifteen minutes (approximately, the hourglass he'd set up kept running backwards), Carlos had the pot roast back under the knife and he'd completely forgotten about the phone call.
---
A bell tolled over and over, a harsh sound that bit into Carlos' bones. A car honked outside. Carlos looked up from his experiment and tried to remember why he'd been expecting this.
Cecil's opalescent Oldsmobile was in the parking lot, and Cecil was leaning out of the window, smiling as Carlos walked out to meet him. Cecil had taken off his vest and rolled up his sleeves, but he was still wearing a tie and it looked like he'd made an attempt to brush his hair. Like he was going to a casual meeting, like a- a PTA meeting. Right.
"Do I need to change?" asked Carlos. "I got caught up in work, sorry."
"Your lab coat is very professional," said Cecil. "I think the blood stains really make the look."
"It's just meat juice from the pot roast." Carlos leaned in to kiss Cecil hello.
They'd kissed 17.7 times before, and every time had been a variation on the same comfortable refrain. (Except for their fourth kiss, the .7 kiss, which Carlos had decided was only fractional because it had been interrupted almost immediately by compulsory screaming.) Cecil would open his mouth and one of his hands would stroke Carlos' hair, carefully, gently, it was all gentle and nice. Carlos always found himself smiling into the kiss as it ended, his forehead resting against Cecil's brow, the bridge of his nose bumping against Cecil's glasses, just wanting to stay close and breathe Cecil's air.
This close, Carlos could see that Cecil's tie was the exact same shade of golden-brown as Cecil's skin. It was actually pretty unsettling, especially when Carlos casually brushed it with his knuckles and realized that the tie felt just like Cecil's skin too. This, and the fact that Cecil's car radio was chiming 'late, late, late, late,' gave Carlos the impetus to pry himself away from Cecil and get in the passenger's side of the car.
"If you think about it," said Cecil, brightly, "all blood could be referred to as meat juice. When we think of 'meat' we think of food, but humans and humanoids are certainly food to lots of things, like mosquitoes, or bears, or toasters-"
Carlos closed his eyes and let Cecil monologue all the way to Night Vale High. He opened them again when Cecil was pulling into the parking lot, and Cecil's discussion of carnivorous toasters and the philosophy of meat was winding down.
"-so I guess the point is, we are all sacks of meat juice and gristle, and it's pretty cool that we've stuck around long enough to even have parents or teachers, let alone associations!" Cecil put the car into park, then stared at his hand on the gearshift. "I really appreciate you being here, Carlos."
Carlos rubbed the back of his neck and tried to assume an expression that conveyed his 'I'm happy to help and also I want to observe a Night Valeian PTA meeting' attitude. Should he smile? He smiled.
"If I do anything... inappropriate," Cecil continued, "please say something. I know that I overreact to Steve Carlsberg."
Carlos nodded. He'd seen Cecil froth at the mouth, just because Steve Carlsberg had driven by the radio station. Carlos had collected some of the froth, which turned out to be shaving cream, but Cecil wouldn't stop ranting about Steve Carlsberg long enough to explain why he frothed shaving cream. Cecil would make white-knuckled fists when Steve's name was mentioned, and even though he refused to read Steve's letters in full on the radio, he would read them in full and at increasing volume afterward at Carlos' lab.
"He's just so aggravating!" Cecil glared at his gearshift. "He always gets under my skin, like a cursed yew splinter, or a flesh-burrowing beetle, or-" Cecil flushed and adjusted his glasses. "Oh, I, I didn't mean that to sound as intimate as it did. Um."
Carlos covered Cecil's hand with his own. "I'll keep an eye on you, Cecil, just like you asked me to. Both eyes. Let's go inside."
Cecil smiled a tentative smile, and caught Carlos' mouth in a quick kiss. Kiss 19.7 was just as enjoyable as the other 18, and Carlos deeply regretted having to separate to get out of the car.
---
The PTA meeting was being held in a classroom, various parents scattered around in their children's seats and the glow cloud hovering over them all. The teacher's desk was piled with plates of food, including the usual potluck overabundance of desserts. There was hummus, cake, pie, pudding, corn chips, cupcakes, a plate full of springs and gears, and scones. Cecil shoved the scones to the back of the table and put down the plate of miniature PB&J sandwiches he'd brought with him.
Carlos waved at the people and entities he recognized - Telly, Erika, Leann Hart, Erika, and the guy who was either Big Rico or just a big guy who worked at Big Rico's.
"Where are the teachers?" he asked Cecil.
Cecil didn't look up from the potluck table. "Watching behind the one-way blackboard. Try not to think about them."
"I don't see Steve either," said Carlos.
"He's here." Cecil picked up a scone, and took a disdainful bite. "This is awful. Dry and crumbly and bitter. It's gotten worse since he switched to the gluten-free mix. Here, try some."
Carlos shied away from the proffered scone. "I thought it was awful."
"It is awful," said Cecil, with his mouth full. "You have to try it in order to understand just how terrible it is."
"I'm not going to eat something terrible," said Carlos. "Why don't we go and sit-"
"Cecil!" said Steve Carlsberg, immediately behind them, and Carlos jumped.
"Steve." Cecil turned slowly, his expression blank. "Hi."
Steve Carlsberg was short and pale, with thin brown hair that stood up in every direction. He was beaming, laugh lines crinkling across his cheeks and a grin revealing his too-sharp teeth. "Do you like my scones?" he asked. "I'd be happy to give you the recipe."
"They need more butter," said Cecil, through gritted teeth.
"They're vegan scones," chirped Steve. "That means no animal products, Cecil, not even milk products."
"Then use margarine." Cecil took a step forward, and Carlos grabbed his arm to steer him away to a chair.
"Let it go," he said. "It's not that big a deal."
"So glad to see you here again!" called Steve. "And welcome to the PTA, Carlos!"
"Your name sounds wrong in his mouth," muttered Cecil. "His voice warps even the loveliest sounds into hate-filled syllables."
"Shh," said Carlos, and pushed on Cecil's shoulders until he sat.
The glow cloud rumbled, and a soft rain of chipmunks began to fall. Steve settled into a chair across the room, sitting sideways to smirk at Cecil. Possibly-Big-Rico stood up, light radiating from his eyes and mouth.
"All hail the glow cloud."
"All hail," intoned the parents.
"First order of business," said definitely-possessed-possibly-Big-Rico. "Thank you to everyone who brought food for the potluck tonight. The scones are particularly good."
Cecil fumed, and his hands shook as he pointedly put aside the rest of his scone. Steve's smirk stretched wider.
"Second order. Who would like to take the minutes today?"
Cecil's hand shot up into the air, but Big Rico's glowing eyes were looking at Steve, who had one hand lazily propped up on his desk.
"I suppose I can do it again," said Steve. "Only if no one else wants to. My phone does have a keyboard."
Cecil was vibrating now, actually vibrating. Carlos was torn between trying to calm him down, and moving away just in case Cecil exploded.
"His grammar is as awful as his scones," hissed Cecil. "And he always forgets to post the minutes on the website."
"There, there," tried Carlos. He was pretty sure that was a comforting thing to say.
The meeting was continuing - apparently the third order of business was something about school lunches. Steve tapped away at his phone, and Cecil glared at Steve.
"Just try to ignore him," said Carlos.
"I can't." Cecil's fingers drummed on his desk. "Look at him, ugh. Look at him."
Carlos looked at Steve. He didn't seem to be doing anything more offensive than typing, and Carlos said so.
"It's the way he's typing." Cecil pushed himself out of his seat, said "I have to- I, I'll be back in a second-" and stalked away to stand behind Steve and look over his shoulder.
Carlos sighed, and leaned back in his chair. If Cecil got any worse, he'd have to suggest they leave the meeting. In the meantime, though, Carlos wanted to take some notes on glow cloud possession. Big Rico was sweating, his face red and his perspiration a dark shimmering green. Would the glow cloud use him as its mouthpiece for the whole meeting, or would it eventually wear him out and switch to another vessel? Carlos wondered if he could volunteer, experience the possession firsthand. Cecil hadn't suffered any ill-effects from his own temporary glow cloud possession, and Carlos would be able to collect some valuable experiential data-
"That's not how you use semi-colons," said Cecil, in a very loud whisper.
"I never really learned the difference between colons, semi-colons, and commas," said Steve, contentedly. "I'm sure it doesn't matter."
The PTA meeting moved on to the fourth order of business: balloons. Were they real? If so, were they suitable for prom? Or should they stick with the traditional decorations, like dead taxidermied ravens and living disembodied hands?
"That's not how you spell balloon," snapped Cecil. "Balloon has two ells and two ohs and no zees or exes or ems at all."
"It's shorthand," said Steve. "I'll correct it before I post it to the website."
"When will that be?" asked Cecil, acidly. "March? Five years from now?"
Carlos decided they would definitely leave if Cecil and Steve kept arguing. He hoped they wouldn't, because Big Rico was beginning to tremble, a subtle vibration working its way into his voice. Carlos wanted to see what would happen next. The PTA settled on pink balloons, filled with the desperate screams of tweens. It would remind the graduating seniors of their pasts; the awkwardness of puberty, the horror of math class, the tentacles. So many tentacles.
5th order of business-
"You can't just change the numbering style now," snarled Cecil. "You should spell 'fifth' out for consistency."
"Oh, sorry." Steve tapped at his phone. "Let me fix that."
"There aren't any zees in 'fifth' either!" Cecil was leaning all the way over Steve's chair, now, his chin practically on Steve's shoulder as he glared at the phone's tiny screen.
"Shorthand," sang Steve, and Carlos reluctantly got up. Cecil's hands were flexing and reaching for Steve's throat, and Steve was obviously mashing the 'z' key on his phone. Time, Carlos felt, for them to go.
Big Rico (probably) began to stammer, then to choke, and finally fell to the floor. The other parents watched with disinterest as he thrashed, and Carlos rushed over to try and hold Rico down, keep him from hurting himself during a spasm. Rico calmed quickly, his eyes slipping closed and his breathing evening out.
"I think he's okay," said Carlos, two fingers on Rico's throat, checking his pulse. "Cecil, is this-"
A woman Carlos vaguely recognized as Susan Wilman stood up, light radiating from her eyes and her mouth.
"All hail the glow cloud," she said.
"All hail," intoned the parents.
"The fifth order of business," repeated Susan. "The teachers would like to procure two more metal detectors, to cover the secret tunnel entrances. Comments?"
Steve and Cecil both shot up and began to talk simultaneously.
"More metal detectors?" Cecil glared at the one-way blackboard. "For shame. I know I don't have a stake in this school, not having children myself, but if someone had tried to take away my shadow-government-issued assault rifle when I was a kid, I would not have stood for it. And I won't stand for it now!"
"First the main entrances, and now the tunnels?" Steve shook his fist. "How will our children defend themselves, when the revolution comes? When they are called upon to fight back against our tyrannical oppressors? Will they be in school, with no bullets or grenades at all?"
"If you get rid of metal weapons, kids will get into ceramics." Cecil hopped from foot to foot in agitation. "And ceramic knives certainly have a 'cool-factor,' but they totally don't work for the kind of long-distance sniper kills that we should be training our children to make!"
"Metal detectors on the secret tunnel entrances is a violation of basic civil liberties!" Steve shook his other fist, the one holding his phone. "I'm putting it on the record that I object to this in the strongest of terms."
"Just remember that there are no zees in 'object,'" muttered Cecil.
The parents were talking amongst each other now, restive. A shrieking noise came from the other side of the blackboard. Big Rico curled up and began to snore.
"Wow," said Carlos, still crouched next to Big Rico. "I can't believe you guys agree with each other."
This, he quickly realized, was a mistake.
"We don't," said Cecil, looking appalled.
"Yes, we do," said Steve, and smirked.
"We're coming at this from completely different angles." Cecil waved a dismissive hand at Steve. "Carlsberg here thinks that our children have a personal right to bear arms, which is ridiculous. Like, minors don't have rights. They have government mandates."
"But our conclusion is the same." Steve turned to face Cecil, practically nose to nose with him. "We both think new metal detectors would be a mistake. I'll add a note to the minutes saying that you agreed with me on this issue."
"Don't you dare." Cecil jabbed a finger at Steve's chest. "I'll tell you what to put in the minutes - 'Cecil Baldwin disapproved of the proposed metal detectors, based on genuine concern for the children of Night Vale. Steve Carlsberg also disapproved of the proposal, based on his weird obsession with imaginary civil liberties.'"
The parents' murmurs were becoming rhythmic, a chant too quiet for Carlos to make out. A few of them got up and began moving the chairs into some kind of pattern. Carlos stood up and said "Cecil, maybe we should go," but no one seemed to hear him.
"I'll just type that up," said Steve, sweetly. "Let's see. 'Cecil Baldwin, semi-colon, disapproved of-'"
"That's not how you use semi-colons," growled Cecil, and knocked the phone out of Steve's hand.
The parents' chant was louder now, a high-pitched chorus of 'fight, fight, fight, fight!' The chairs formed a circle, with Cecil and Steve Carlsberg in the center. Erika bent down and picked Big Rico up like he was a large and unconscious child, moving him out of the ring.
"Cecil!" Carlos took a step toward him, and then another. "Cecil, try not to-"
"Oops." Steve looked over at his phone, and raised an eyebrow. "Slipped right out of my fingers. Could you pick that up for me, Cecil?"
"Pick it up yourself." Cecil's eyes narrowed, then widened when Steve reached out and put a hand on Cecil's shoulder. To Carlos, it almost looked like a friendly gesture. A little over-familiar, sure, but Steve's fingers were loose, not grabbing and his face was locked in a smile. Cecil obviously wasn't taking it as a friendly gesture. He shook off Steve's hand, bared his teeth, and blinked angrily as his eyes filmed over with a red haze.
Carlos hadn't seen a real, physical fight since he was twenty-three, but he still knew what the beginnings of one looked like. He had to do something. He didn't want Cecil to get banned from the PTA or break his hand, and he was dimly aware that both of these events were potential consequences of punching people.
"You've got to stop this," he said to the glow cloud.
"There will be a ten minute break for snacks," said Susan Wilman. "Please finish the fight before the break is over, so we can get back to school business."
"Pick up the phone," sang Steve, and Cecil raised one white-knuckled fist. "Pick up the phone, pick up the phone, pick up the-"
Carlos darted forward and grabbed Cecil's elbow. Cecil tried to shake him off, but Carlos had about fifty pounds on him and Cecil had no arm strength to speak of.
"Let's go out into the hall." Carlos spoke into Cecil's ear, trying to sound soothing and not like he was freaking out about having to break up a physical confrontation over grammar. "You don't want to do this, Cecil, you'll get kicked out of the PTA again, and you'll have to report the fight on the radio, and it'll be really embarrassing, come on-"
Cecil shuddered at the word 'embarrassing,' and let Carlos pull him away from Steve. Carlos started to push him out of the door and into the hall, still murmuring at him about the PTA and the radio show, shamelessly exploiting Cecil's social anxiety. The red was beginning to seep out of Cecil's eyes, leaving glistening crimson tracks down his cheeks, and Carlos thought they might make it out of there with everyone's hands intact.
"Hey, Carlos," called Steve Carlsberg. "Isn't it time for another haircut? Your hair looked amazing when it was short. I'll lend you my clippers, if you like."
Cecil froze, and try as he might, Carlos couldn't move him. Almost in slow motion, Cecil took off his glasses, folded them, and handed them to Carlos. Then he turned and launched himself at Steve.
It was actually a pretty well-executed tackle - Carlos made a mental note to ask Cecil if he'd played football in high school. Cecil caught Steve right in the stomach, and Steve folded up around him as they hit the ground. A few of the parents cheered, and Susan Wilman clapped politely.
"So, that went well." Carlos sighed, and put Cecil's glasses in his pocket. Steve and Cecil rolled on the floor, biting and kicking. Erika patted Carlos on the head, and said something sympathetic in Enochian.
Carlos should probably have tried to separate them. Cecil would have thanked him, once the blood lust receded. At least Carlos could have called the sheriff's secret police, especially since there were three of them standing outside, watching the fight through the classroom windows. Carlos definitely should not have stood and watched as Steve Carlsberg fastened his sharp teeth in Cecil's arm, and as Cecil's forehead connected with Steve's nose, and as Steve rolled them over until he was on top and his hips were pinning Cecil to the ground, and as Cecil grabbed Steve by the ears and pulled him into a harsh kiss-
Carlos blinked. This kiss didn't look like any of the 19.7 kisses he had shared with Cecil so far. Steve's nose was bleeding enough that Cecil was kissing him through a thin veil of gore, and they both had their eyes open, glaring at each other. They were still fighting as they kissed, Steve's thumbs digging into Cecil's windpipe and Cecil trying to throw Steve off of him. Carlos didn't even want to kiss Cecil like this, because it looked messy and uncomfortable and he'd bruised his nose once while falling down some stairs and never wanted it to happen again. But it was... compelling. Carlos had never imagined that Cecil could look like this, god.
"Break ends in one minute." Susan Wilman looked pointedly at her wristwatch, which just said 'SKULLS' in bright orange letters. "Can we wrap this up?"
Steve's hands tightened around Cecil's neck. Cecil used Steve's ears as leverage to pull himself up a little more from the floor.
"There will be consequences if you run over time," warned Susan, and Carlos remembered that he was here to help keep Cecil out of trouble, not to get uncomfortably aroused because Cecil was violently making out with another man. He walked over to them, and nudged Cecil gently with one foot.
"Um, sorry," Carlos said, "but I think they want to start the meeting again."
Cecil broke the kiss, looked up at Carlos, and squeaked. He looked at Steve, who pasted on a smug, bloody-brown grin. He looked back up at Carlos, who nodded urgently at Susan and her impatiently-tapping foot. Then Cecil squeaked again, threw Steve off, and ran from the room.
"That was fun." Steve wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Anybody see where my phone went?"
The phone had been kicked toward the door during the scuffle. Carlos carefully stepped on it as he walked out - he was pretty sure it was what Cecil would have wanted.
---
Cecil was in the parking lot, sitting on the trunk of his Oldsmobile, with his elbows propped on his knees and his face in his hands. He didn't say anything when Carlos walked over to the car, but he did scootch over so Carlos could sit next to him.
"So," said Carlos, and then stopped because he wasn't sure how to continue. Cecil's shirt was ripped in three places, and the bite marks on his arm were seeping blood. Also he still wouldn't look at Carlos. "Do you need medical attention?" tried Carlos. "Or-"
"You must think I'm awful," mumbled Cecil, into his hands.
"Why?"
Cecil held up one hand, ticking off reasons on his fingers while keeping his eyes covered with the other hand. "I couldn't control myself. I didn't listen to you. I caused a scene. I kissed Steve Carlsberg, I just, ugh, I can't believe it. I'm dating you and you're perfect, and I kissed Steve Carlsberg. I am awful."
"You're not awful." Carlos reached out a hand, then hesitated and asked "do you mind if I touch you?" Cecil shrugged, so Carlos started stroking his back. He wasn't sure if it helped Cecil, but it made Carlos feel better.
The sun was slipping behind the horizon, and curfew would begin soon. Carlos counted breaths, waiting for Cecil to say something, then gave up and asked "why did you get banned from the PTA?"
"Steve Carlsberg attacked me and I defended myself, and then we ran over the ten-minute time limit and had sex in the janitors' closet." Cecil sighed, and looked up at Carlos at last. His eyes were still red-rimmed, and there was a smear of Steve's blood on the side of his nose. "Superintendent Ford said that we traumatized the janitors."
Carlos handed Cecil back his glasses. "But you got banned and Steve didn't?"
"It's so unfair!" Cecil kicked his heels against his car. "No one else has a phone with a keyboard, and Old Woman Josie won't lend Erika her iPad, so Steve got his suspension revoked early so he could take his terrible minutes."
The sun was down, now, but the sky was still a golden orange that somehow illuminated the parking in shades of green. Cecil leaned back into Carlos' hand and said "I haven't done anything with Steve since we started dating, like, I wouldn't want you to think I was cheating on you or-"
"You can do things, I mean, if you want." Carlos bit his lip, trying to figure out the best way to put this into words. "I've had open relationships before, and I personally don't have the attention span to deal with more than one partner at once, but it's okay if you want to see other people. In addition to me."
"Really?" Cecil glanced side-long at him, looking uncertain. "You wouldn't mind?"
"It's actually kind of hot," confessed Carlos. Now he couldn't look at Cecil, and his cheeks felt a little hot. "You react so differently to Steve - it's like you're sugar, and Steve's sulfuric acid, and when you get together you bubble and smoke and turn into black carbon. And I'm just flour or something you bake with. Something gluten-free, I guess."
"Right," said Cecil. "Yeah." His eyes were glazed over. Carlos was pretty sure that his explanation hadn't gone over well.
"When you're with me," Carlos tried again, "you're sweet - and funny and smart and attractive - but mostly sweet. And when you're with Steve, you're mostly angry. And violent."
"He's just such a jerk." Cecil seemed relieved to be done with the similes. "Whenever I see him, I feel like my ribcage is trying to burst out of my chest from hating him. It hasn't happened yet, but it might. Him with his semi-colons, and his keyboard phone, and his scones. Who doesn't use butter in scones? Seriously?"
"I think I understand how you feel." Carlos remembered his third year of grad school, when he'd started hate-reading a certain meteorologist's entire academic output. He hadn't even know anything about meteorology, he'd just known that this person was a bad scientist and it was making him irrationally angry. "Even seeing his name is annoying, right?"
"Steve Carlsberg." Cecil spat out the name, and then literally spat on the ground. "I want to chase him out of town, really, I do. And then maybe make out with him for a while. Nothing serious! I'd have an angry mob with me, we wouldn't be able to get too intense."
"See, this part I don't understand," said Carlos. "But I'm okay with that."
Cecil smiled at him, and Carlos kissed him for the twentieth (and a bit) time. They broke away to breathe, and then Cecil leaned in for kiss 21.7, and after that Carlos lost count, because he wasn't sure if it was all one long kiss or lots of short ones running together, Cecil's fingers in Carlos' hair and Carlos smiling into Cecil's mouth.
Someone honked at them, and Cecil almost fell off his car.
"Hi," said Steve Carlsberg, leaning out of a battered black SUV. "Meeting's over - you can read about what you missed when I post the minutes. There aren't any esses or ees in the last page or so, though, because those keys kind of stopped working after the whole thing with my phone."
"Is that a new car?" asked Cecil. "What happened to your tan Corolla?"
"Oh, someone set fire to the tires." Steve smiled, but his eyes flashed red. "I thought about replacing them, but you just can't get that burnt rubber smell out. And my mileage wasn't that great in the first place."
"See you later, Steve." Carlos waved. "We all have to get home before curfew."
"Yeah." Steve sat back in his car and took his foot off the brake. "You guys have a nice night, now. Make sure to clean the blood off that arm before you go to the doctor, Cecil."
Cecil stared in horror at the SUV's tires as it rolled away. "He salvaged the hubcaps. He took the hubcaps from his Corolla and put them on his new car, Carlos-"
Carlos patted Cecil's back and tried to signal to the approaching secret police officers that they just needed a moment, really, they would be leaving soon.
"I hate him so much," wailed Cecil.
"I know," said Carlos, and mouthed 'Steve Carlsberg' at the secret police. They nodded understandingly, and paused a few feet away, nightsticks raised. "I think we need to leave, Cecil."
"Absolutely, sorry!" Cecil pushed himself off of the trunk, took out his keys, and promptly dropped them. He looked down at his bloodied right arm, then at the keys, then at his arm again. "Oh. Can you drive, Carlos? I think Steve's been dipping his teeth in neurotoxins again."
Carlos picked up the keys and got in the driver's side, adjusting the seat forward as one of the secret police opened the passenger's door for Cecil. The police waved as Carlos pulled out of the parking lot.
"Which way is the hospital?" asked Carlos.
"You can't get there from here," said Cecil, blankly. "Don't you have anti-venom in your lab?"
"Yes," said Carlos, "but-"
"And weren't you telling me about restocking your first aid kit? You must have plenty of bandages."
"Yes," said Carlos, "but I'm not-"
"And then," added Cecil, "you could keep me overnight! For observation!"
Carlos laughed, even though Cecil was bleeding, even though they had just half-negotiated their way to an open relationship, even though Steve Carlsberg had salvaged the hubcaps from his burnt-out car that Cecil maybe-probably had set fire to. Laughter seemed like the best response, really. "Would you like to stay over tonight, Cecil?"
"I would love to," said Cecil, and Carlos looked away from the road just long enough to catch Cecil's smile. And then he looked for a bit longer, because this part of the road was really straight, and Cecil looked amazing when he smiled like that, and-
There was a screeching noise, then a muffled thump. Carlos slammed on the brakes.
"I think you just hit a pot roast," said Cecil, smile fading.
"It escaped?" Carlos put the car into park and rolled down the window so he could look around. "Do you see it anywhere? I need it for-" he hesitated, then looked back at Cecil and his (still bleeding!) arm. "Never mind. Let's just go home. I mean, to the lab."
"Okay," said Cecil. "When we get there, you might have to call Steve to ask what kind of slow-burning poison he uses nowadays. I'd call, but even the thought of dialing his number makes me want to scream right now."
"Sure." Carlos put the car back into drive. "I need to talk to him anyway."
They drove away into the night, Carlos trying valiantly to pay attention to the road and Cecil trying idly to move his fingers. Behind them, the pot roast gurgled and slowly melted the asphalt underneath it. The sheriff's secret police prowled along on foot, carefully matching speed with Cecil's Oldsmobile.
"That was very romantic," sighed one officer. "Should I update Cecil's relationship status on facebook?"
"Better leave it until after the second or third date," said another officer. "No need to be hasty."
"Agh!" said a third officer. "This pot roast is eating my leg!"
And the moon rose over Night Vale to the sound of screams and urgent thwacking sounds, just like every other Tuesday evening.
---
(A/N: sugar and sulfuric acid.)
Ain't Filled with Gentle Things
Welcome to Night Vale
Rating: teen
(fighting/minor violence, makeouts, canon-typical weirdness. Let me know if you need details.)
Characters: Carlos/Cecil, Cecil/Steve Carlsberg
Wordcount: 5,900ish
Summary: A typical PTA meeting in Night Vale. You know, glow cloud possession, picking senior prom decorations, fistfights over grammar, the usual. (Set post ep 27; no spoilers for ep 28.)
Carlos was in the middle of an experiment when his phone rang. He ignored it for a while, absently humming along with the rings. This experiment was important, and most of the calls to the lab telephone were from telemarketers who breathed heavily into the receiver and tried to sell him otter tears for the low, low price of one human soul. Anyone's soul. It doesn't have to be yours! We're sure you can get a soul from somewhere.
Originally Carlos had thought that this was a fascinating phenomenon, and he'd made lots of notes. But eventually the novelty had worn off and now he dreaded another tedious conversation about whether otters cried, and, if so, how much their tears were actually worth.
Around the fourteenth or fifteenth ring, Carlos remembered that there actually were people in Night Vale that he might like to talk to. Plus, this person was really persistent. He turned down the Bunsen burner, threw a sheet over the vivisected pot roast, and finally took off his rubber gloves so he could put on his vinyl gloves to pick up the phone. He held it a careful two and a half inches away from his face before answering; the phone had been dripping ichor occasionally ever since Black Friday, so it wasn't really skin-safe.
"Hello?"
"Is this Carlos?" demanded Cecil. "Sorry to be rude, but this is my sixth try, and if I get another wrong number I'll-"
"Hi, Cecil." Carlos smiled almost automatically. "I thought I gave you my number."
"Carlos." Cecil's voice immediately softened. "I don't have caller ID, so I'm never completely sure who I'm calling. I wrote your number on my arm when you gave it to me last month, and I keep renewing it when the markings start to fade, but without caller ID it's still a bit of a gamble."
Carlos hummed agreement. He'd learned that there wasn't much point in saying things like 'caller ID doesn't work like that' or 'maybe you should program my number into your phone.'
"Are you calling for personal reasons?" he asked, just to be clear.
"Yes. I wanted to ask a favor." Cecil hesitated, and Carlos watched the pot roast fidget under its sheet while he waited. It seemed to be growing, and it was emitting a black light that shone through the sheet and made strange shadows on the ceiling. Carlos made a few notes in his research journal before he realized that Cecil was mumbling something into the phone.
"Sorry, I didn't catch that." Carlos put down his illicit pencil and risked moving his phone a half-inch closer to his ear. "Say again?"
"Could you come to the PTA meeting with me?" whispered Cecil.
"PTA?" Carlos automatically translated that to 'plasma thromboplastin antecedent,' which was plausible, but then his memory kicked in and pointed out that 'parent teacher association' was more likely. "I didn't know you had children, Cecil. I'd be happy to come, if you're ready to introduce me to-"
"I don't have any children," said Cecil, apologetically. "Although if you want children, I know some rituals we could perform. Jackalope horn powder is on sale right now, and I'm sure the resulting offspring would have your eyes, and your intelligence, and your perfect hair. They can have my left foot too, I'm not really using it or anything."
Carlos had a thousand questions about gestation and childbirth in Night Vale, but the pot roast was beginning to thrash and the black light was gradating into pink. Better to stick to the subject and make this quick. "Why do you want me to go to the PTA meeting?"
"I just need someone to come with me," said Cecil. "My ban is up today, but I'm still on probation. The glow cloud communicated that any further incidents will be met with severe punishment. It didn't say what the punishment would be, but it did pulse with static and drop half a moose onto the sidewalk, so... I'm thinking I need someone who can keep an eye on me."
"Keep an eye on you?" Carlos was a little surprised. He knew intellectually that Cecil had strong feelings about education in Night Vale, and that he was also prone to organizing angry mobs to drive people out of town. But Night Vale politics involved a lot of angry mobs anyway, and Carlos thought that Cecil's detailed and intuitive understanding of Night Vale's multiplicative regulations would be ideal for the PTA.
"Steve Carlsberg will be there," confided Cecil.
"Oh," said Carlos. "Oh, I see. Of course I'll come."
"Great!" said Cecil. "I'll pick you up when the bell tolls twenty-seven."
"Wait, which bell?" asked Carlos, but Cecil had already hung up. Carlos shrugged, and turned back to his experiment. The pot roast had squirmed away and was glowing under a lab table, and he had to chase it back out into the open with a broom. In fifteen minutes (approximately, the hourglass he'd set up kept running backwards), Carlos had the pot roast back under the knife and he'd completely forgotten about the phone call.
---
A bell tolled over and over, a harsh sound that bit into Carlos' bones. A car honked outside. Carlos looked up from his experiment and tried to remember why he'd been expecting this.
Cecil's opalescent Oldsmobile was in the parking lot, and Cecil was leaning out of the window, smiling as Carlos walked out to meet him. Cecil had taken off his vest and rolled up his sleeves, but he was still wearing a tie and it looked like he'd made an attempt to brush his hair. Like he was going to a casual meeting, like a- a PTA meeting. Right.
"Do I need to change?" asked Carlos. "I got caught up in work, sorry."
"Your lab coat is very professional," said Cecil. "I think the blood stains really make the look."
"It's just meat juice from the pot roast." Carlos leaned in to kiss Cecil hello.
They'd kissed 17.7 times before, and every time had been a variation on the same comfortable refrain. (Except for their fourth kiss, the .7 kiss, which Carlos had decided was only fractional because it had been interrupted almost immediately by compulsory screaming.) Cecil would open his mouth and one of his hands would stroke Carlos' hair, carefully, gently, it was all gentle and nice. Carlos always found himself smiling into the kiss as it ended, his forehead resting against Cecil's brow, the bridge of his nose bumping against Cecil's glasses, just wanting to stay close and breathe Cecil's air.
This close, Carlos could see that Cecil's tie was the exact same shade of golden-brown as Cecil's skin. It was actually pretty unsettling, especially when Carlos casually brushed it with his knuckles and realized that the tie felt just like Cecil's skin too. This, and the fact that Cecil's car radio was chiming 'late, late, late, late,' gave Carlos the impetus to pry himself away from Cecil and get in the passenger's side of the car.
"If you think about it," said Cecil, brightly, "all blood could be referred to as meat juice. When we think of 'meat' we think of food, but humans and humanoids are certainly food to lots of things, like mosquitoes, or bears, or toasters-"
Carlos closed his eyes and let Cecil monologue all the way to Night Vale High. He opened them again when Cecil was pulling into the parking lot, and Cecil's discussion of carnivorous toasters and the philosophy of meat was winding down.
"-so I guess the point is, we are all sacks of meat juice and gristle, and it's pretty cool that we've stuck around long enough to even have parents or teachers, let alone associations!" Cecil put the car into park, then stared at his hand on the gearshift. "I really appreciate you being here, Carlos."
Carlos rubbed the back of his neck and tried to assume an expression that conveyed his 'I'm happy to help and also I want to observe a Night Valeian PTA meeting' attitude. Should he smile? He smiled.
"If I do anything... inappropriate," Cecil continued, "please say something. I know that I overreact to Steve Carlsberg."
Carlos nodded. He'd seen Cecil froth at the mouth, just because Steve Carlsberg had driven by the radio station. Carlos had collected some of the froth, which turned out to be shaving cream, but Cecil wouldn't stop ranting about Steve Carlsberg long enough to explain why he frothed shaving cream. Cecil would make white-knuckled fists when Steve's name was mentioned, and even though he refused to read Steve's letters in full on the radio, he would read them in full and at increasing volume afterward at Carlos' lab.
"He's just so aggravating!" Cecil glared at his gearshift. "He always gets under my skin, like a cursed yew splinter, or a flesh-burrowing beetle, or-" Cecil flushed and adjusted his glasses. "Oh, I, I didn't mean that to sound as intimate as it did. Um."
Carlos covered Cecil's hand with his own. "I'll keep an eye on you, Cecil, just like you asked me to. Both eyes. Let's go inside."
Cecil smiled a tentative smile, and caught Carlos' mouth in a quick kiss. Kiss 19.7 was just as enjoyable as the other 18, and Carlos deeply regretted having to separate to get out of the car.
---
The PTA meeting was being held in a classroom, various parents scattered around in their children's seats and the glow cloud hovering over them all. The teacher's desk was piled with plates of food, including the usual potluck overabundance of desserts. There was hummus, cake, pie, pudding, corn chips, cupcakes, a plate full of springs and gears, and scones. Cecil shoved the scones to the back of the table and put down the plate of miniature PB&J sandwiches he'd brought with him.
Carlos waved at the people and entities he recognized - Telly, Erika, Leann Hart, Erika, and the guy who was either Big Rico or just a big guy who worked at Big Rico's.
"Where are the teachers?" he asked Cecil.
Cecil didn't look up from the potluck table. "Watching behind the one-way blackboard. Try not to think about them."
"I don't see Steve either," said Carlos.
"He's here." Cecil picked up a scone, and took a disdainful bite. "This is awful. Dry and crumbly and bitter. It's gotten worse since he switched to the gluten-free mix. Here, try some."
Carlos shied away from the proffered scone. "I thought it was awful."
"It is awful," said Cecil, with his mouth full. "You have to try it in order to understand just how terrible it is."
"I'm not going to eat something terrible," said Carlos. "Why don't we go and sit-"
"Cecil!" said Steve Carlsberg, immediately behind them, and Carlos jumped.
"Steve." Cecil turned slowly, his expression blank. "Hi."
Steve Carlsberg was short and pale, with thin brown hair that stood up in every direction. He was beaming, laugh lines crinkling across his cheeks and a grin revealing his too-sharp teeth. "Do you like my scones?" he asked. "I'd be happy to give you the recipe."
"They need more butter," said Cecil, through gritted teeth.
"They're vegan scones," chirped Steve. "That means no animal products, Cecil, not even milk products."
"Then use margarine." Cecil took a step forward, and Carlos grabbed his arm to steer him away to a chair.
"Let it go," he said. "It's not that big a deal."
"So glad to see you here again!" called Steve. "And welcome to the PTA, Carlos!"
"Your name sounds wrong in his mouth," muttered Cecil. "His voice warps even the loveliest sounds into hate-filled syllables."
"Shh," said Carlos, and pushed on Cecil's shoulders until he sat.
The glow cloud rumbled, and a soft rain of chipmunks began to fall. Steve settled into a chair across the room, sitting sideways to smirk at Cecil. Possibly-Big-Rico stood up, light radiating from his eyes and mouth.
"All hail the glow cloud."
"All hail," intoned the parents.
"First order of business," said definitely-possessed-possibly-Big-Rico. "Thank you to everyone who brought food for the potluck tonight. The scones are particularly good."
Cecil fumed, and his hands shook as he pointedly put aside the rest of his scone. Steve's smirk stretched wider.
"Second order. Who would like to take the minutes today?"
Cecil's hand shot up into the air, but Big Rico's glowing eyes were looking at Steve, who had one hand lazily propped up on his desk.
"I suppose I can do it again," said Steve. "Only if no one else wants to. My phone does have a keyboard."
Cecil was vibrating now, actually vibrating. Carlos was torn between trying to calm him down, and moving away just in case Cecil exploded.
"His grammar is as awful as his scones," hissed Cecil. "And he always forgets to post the minutes on the website."
"There, there," tried Carlos. He was pretty sure that was a comforting thing to say.
The meeting was continuing - apparently the third order of business was something about school lunches. Steve tapped away at his phone, and Cecil glared at Steve.
"Just try to ignore him," said Carlos.
"I can't." Cecil's fingers drummed on his desk. "Look at him, ugh. Look at him."
Carlos looked at Steve. He didn't seem to be doing anything more offensive than typing, and Carlos said so.
"It's the way he's typing." Cecil pushed himself out of his seat, said "I have to- I, I'll be back in a second-" and stalked away to stand behind Steve and look over his shoulder.
Carlos sighed, and leaned back in his chair. If Cecil got any worse, he'd have to suggest they leave the meeting. In the meantime, though, Carlos wanted to take some notes on glow cloud possession. Big Rico was sweating, his face red and his perspiration a dark shimmering green. Would the glow cloud use him as its mouthpiece for the whole meeting, or would it eventually wear him out and switch to another vessel? Carlos wondered if he could volunteer, experience the possession firsthand. Cecil hadn't suffered any ill-effects from his own temporary glow cloud possession, and Carlos would be able to collect some valuable experiential data-
"That's not how you use semi-colons," said Cecil, in a very loud whisper.
"I never really learned the difference between colons, semi-colons, and commas," said Steve, contentedly. "I'm sure it doesn't matter."
The PTA meeting moved on to the fourth order of business: balloons. Were they real? If so, were they suitable for prom? Or should they stick with the traditional decorations, like dead taxidermied ravens and living disembodied hands?
"That's not how you spell balloon," snapped Cecil. "Balloon has two ells and two ohs and no zees or exes or ems at all."
"It's shorthand," said Steve. "I'll correct it before I post it to the website."
"When will that be?" asked Cecil, acidly. "March? Five years from now?"
Carlos decided they would definitely leave if Cecil and Steve kept arguing. He hoped they wouldn't, because Big Rico was beginning to tremble, a subtle vibration working its way into his voice. Carlos wanted to see what would happen next. The PTA settled on pink balloons, filled with the desperate screams of tweens. It would remind the graduating seniors of their pasts; the awkwardness of puberty, the horror of math class, the tentacles. So many tentacles.
5th order of business-
"You can't just change the numbering style now," snarled Cecil. "You should spell 'fifth' out for consistency."
"Oh, sorry." Steve tapped at his phone. "Let me fix that."
"There aren't any zees in 'fifth' either!" Cecil was leaning all the way over Steve's chair, now, his chin practically on Steve's shoulder as he glared at the phone's tiny screen.
"Shorthand," sang Steve, and Carlos reluctantly got up. Cecil's hands were flexing and reaching for Steve's throat, and Steve was obviously mashing the 'z' key on his phone. Time, Carlos felt, for them to go.
Big Rico (probably) began to stammer, then to choke, and finally fell to the floor. The other parents watched with disinterest as he thrashed, and Carlos rushed over to try and hold Rico down, keep him from hurting himself during a spasm. Rico calmed quickly, his eyes slipping closed and his breathing evening out.
"I think he's okay," said Carlos, two fingers on Rico's throat, checking his pulse. "Cecil, is this-"
A woman Carlos vaguely recognized as Susan Wilman stood up, light radiating from her eyes and her mouth.
"All hail the glow cloud," she said.
"All hail," intoned the parents.
"The fifth order of business," repeated Susan. "The teachers would like to procure two more metal detectors, to cover the secret tunnel entrances. Comments?"
Steve and Cecil both shot up and began to talk simultaneously.
"More metal detectors?" Cecil glared at the one-way blackboard. "For shame. I know I don't have a stake in this school, not having children myself, but if someone had tried to take away my shadow-government-issued assault rifle when I was a kid, I would not have stood for it. And I won't stand for it now!"
"First the main entrances, and now the tunnels?" Steve shook his fist. "How will our children defend themselves, when the revolution comes? When they are called upon to fight back against our tyrannical oppressors? Will they be in school, with no bullets or grenades at all?"
"If you get rid of metal weapons, kids will get into ceramics." Cecil hopped from foot to foot in agitation. "And ceramic knives certainly have a 'cool-factor,' but they totally don't work for the kind of long-distance sniper kills that we should be training our children to make!"
"Metal detectors on the secret tunnel entrances is a violation of basic civil liberties!" Steve shook his other fist, the one holding his phone. "I'm putting it on the record that I object to this in the strongest of terms."
"Just remember that there are no zees in 'object,'" muttered Cecil.
The parents were talking amongst each other now, restive. A shrieking noise came from the other side of the blackboard. Big Rico curled up and began to snore.
"Wow," said Carlos, still crouched next to Big Rico. "I can't believe you guys agree with each other."
This, he quickly realized, was a mistake.
"We don't," said Cecil, looking appalled.
"Yes, we do," said Steve, and smirked.
"We're coming at this from completely different angles." Cecil waved a dismissive hand at Steve. "Carlsberg here thinks that our children have a personal right to bear arms, which is ridiculous. Like, minors don't have rights. They have government mandates."
"But our conclusion is the same." Steve turned to face Cecil, practically nose to nose with him. "We both think new metal detectors would be a mistake. I'll add a note to the minutes saying that you agreed with me on this issue."
"Don't you dare." Cecil jabbed a finger at Steve's chest. "I'll tell you what to put in the minutes - 'Cecil Baldwin disapproved of the proposed metal detectors, based on genuine concern for the children of Night Vale. Steve Carlsberg also disapproved of the proposal, based on his weird obsession with imaginary civil liberties.'"
The parents' murmurs were becoming rhythmic, a chant too quiet for Carlos to make out. A few of them got up and began moving the chairs into some kind of pattern. Carlos stood up and said "Cecil, maybe we should go," but no one seemed to hear him.
"I'll just type that up," said Steve, sweetly. "Let's see. 'Cecil Baldwin, semi-colon, disapproved of-'"
"That's not how you use semi-colons," growled Cecil, and knocked the phone out of Steve's hand.
The parents' chant was louder now, a high-pitched chorus of 'fight, fight, fight, fight!' The chairs formed a circle, with Cecil and Steve Carlsberg in the center. Erika bent down and picked Big Rico up like he was a large and unconscious child, moving him out of the ring.
"Cecil!" Carlos took a step toward him, and then another. "Cecil, try not to-"
"Oops." Steve looked over at his phone, and raised an eyebrow. "Slipped right out of my fingers. Could you pick that up for me, Cecil?"
"Pick it up yourself." Cecil's eyes narrowed, then widened when Steve reached out and put a hand on Cecil's shoulder. To Carlos, it almost looked like a friendly gesture. A little over-familiar, sure, but Steve's fingers were loose, not grabbing and his face was locked in a smile. Cecil obviously wasn't taking it as a friendly gesture. He shook off Steve's hand, bared his teeth, and blinked angrily as his eyes filmed over with a red haze.
Carlos hadn't seen a real, physical fight since he was twenty-three, but he still knew what the beginnings of one looked like. He had to do something. He didn't want Cecil to get banned from the PTA or break his hand, and he was dimly aware that both of these events were potential consequences of punching people.
"You've got to stop this," he said to the glow cloud.
"There will be a ten minute break for snacks," said Susan Wilman. "Please finish the fight before the break is over, so we can get back to school business."
"Pick up the phone," sang Steve, and Cecil raised one white-knuckled fist. "Pick up the phone, pick up the phone, pick up the-"
Carlos darted forward and grabbed Cecil's elbow. Cecil tried to shake him off, but Carlos had about fifty pounds on him and Cecil had no arm strength to speak of.
"Let's go out into the hall." Carlos spoke into Cecil's ear, trying to sound soothing and not like he was freaking out about having to break up a physical confrontation over grammar. "You don't want to do this, Cecil, you'll get kicked out of the PTA again, and you'll have to report the fight on the radio, and it'll be really embarrassing, come on-"
Cecil shuddered at the word 'embarrassing,' and let Carlos pull him away from Steve. Carlos started to push him out of the door and into the hall, still murmuring at him about the PTA and the radio show, shamelessly exploiting Cecil's social anxiety. The red was beginning to seep out of Cecil's eyes, leaving glistening crimson tracks down his cheeks, and Carlos thought they might make it out of there with everyone's hands intact.
"Hey, Carlos," called Steve Carlsberg. "Isn't it time for another haircut? Your hair looked amazing when it was short. I'll lend you my clippers, if you like."
Cecil froze, and try as he might, Carlos couldn't move him. Almost in slow motion, Cecil took off his glasses, folded them, and handed them to Carlos. Then he turned and launched himself at Steve.
It was actually a pretty well-executed tackle - Carlos made a mental note to ask Cecil if he'd played football in high school. Cecil caught Steve right in the stomach, and Steve folded up around him as they hit the ground. A few of the parents cheered, and Susan Wilman clapped politely.
"So, that went well." Carlos sighed, and put Cecil's glasses in his pocket. Steve and Cecil rolled on the floor, biting and kicking. Erika patted Carlos on the head, and said something sympathetic in Enochian.
Carlos should probably have tried to separate them. Cecil would have thanked him, once the blood lust receded. At least Carlos could have called the sheriff's secret police, especially since there were three of them standing outside, watching the fight through the classroom windows. Carlos definitely should not have stood and watched as Steve Carlsberg fastened his sharp teeth in Cecil's arm, and as Cecil's forehead connected with Steve's nose, and as Steve rolled them over until he was on top and his hips were pinning Cecil to the ground, and as Cecil grabbed Steve by the ears and pulled him into a harsh kiss-
Carlos blinked. This kiss didn't look like any of the 19.7 kisses he had shared with Cecil so far. Steve's nose was bleeding enough that Cecil was kissing him through a thin veil of gore, and they both had their eyes open, glaring at each other. They were still fighting as they kissed, Steve's thumbs digging into Cecil's windpipe and Cecil trying to throw Steve off of him. Carlos didn't even want to kiss Cecil like this, because it looked messy and uncomfortable and he'd bruised his nose once while falling down some stairs and never wanted it to happen again. But it was... compelling. Carlos had never imagined that Cecil could look like this, god.
"Break ends in one minute." Susan Wilman looked pointedly at her wristwatch, which just said 'SKULLS' in bright orange letters. "Can we wrap this up?"
Steve's hands tightened around Cecil's neck. Cecil used Steve's ears as leverage to pull himself up a little more from the floor.
"There will be consequences if you run over time," warned Susan, and Carlos remembered that he was here to help keep Cecil out of trouble, not to get uncomfortably aroused because Cecil was violently making out with another man. He walked over to them, and nudged Cecil gently with one foot.
"Um, sorry," Carlos said, "but I think they want to start the meeting again."
Cecil broke the kiss, looked up at Carlos, and squeaked. He looked at Steve, who pasted on a smug, bloody-brown grin. He looked back up at Carlos, who nodded urgently at Susan and her impatiently-tapping foot. Then Cecil squeaked again, threw Steve off, and ran from the room.
"That was fun." Steve wiped his nose with the back of his hand. "Anybody see where my phone went?"
The phone had been kicked toward the door during the scuffle. Carlos carefully stepped on it as he walked out - he was pretty sure it was what Cecil would have wanted.
---
Cecil was in the parking lot, sitting on the trunk of his Oldsmobile, with his elbows propped on his knees and his face in his hands. He didn't say anything when Carlos walked over to the car, but he did scootch over so Carlos could sit next to him.
"So," said Carlos, and then stopped because he wasn't sure how to continue. Cecil's shirt was ripped in three places, and the bite marks on his arm were seeping blood. Also he still wouldn't look at Carlos. "Do you need medical attention?" tried Carlos. "Or-"
"You must think I'm awful," mumbled Cecil, into his hands.
"Why?"
Cecil held up one hand, ticking off reasons on his fingers while keeping his eyes covered with the other hand. "I couldn't control myself. I didn't listen to you. I caused a scene. I kissed Steve Carlsberg, I just, ugh, I can't believe it. I'm dating you and you're perfect, and I kissed Steve Carlsberg. I am awful."
"You're not awful." Carlos reached out a hand, then hesitated and asked "do you mind if I touch you?" Cecil shrugged, so Carlos started stroking his back. He wasn't sure if it helped Cecil, but it made Carlos feel better.
The sun was slipping behind the horizon, and curfew would begin soon. Carlos counted breaths, waiting for Cecil to say something, then gave up and asked "why did you get banned from the PTA?"
"Steve Carlsberg attacked me and I defended myself, and then we ran over the ten-minute time limit and had sex in the janitors' closet." Cecil sighed, and looked up at Carlos at last. His eyes were still red-rimmed, and there was a smear of Steve's blood on the side of his nose. "Superintendent Ford said that we traumatized the janitors."
Carlos handed Cecil back his glasses. "But you got banned and Steve didn't?"
"It's so unfair!" Cecil kicked his heels against his car. "No one else has a phone with a keyboard, and Old Woman Josie won't lend Erika her iPad, so Steve got his suspension revoked early so he could take his terrible minutes."
The sun was down, now, but the sky was still a golden orange that somehow illuminated the parking in shades of green. Cecil leaned back into Carlos' hand and said "I haven't done anything with Steve since we started dating, like, I wouldn't want you to think I was cheating on you or-"
"You can do things, I mean, if you want." Carlos bit his lip, trying to figure out the best way to put this into words. "I've had open relationships before, and I personally don't have the attention span to deal with more than one partner at once, but it's okay if you want to see other people. In addition to me."
"Really?" Cecil glanced side-long at him, looking uncertain. "You wouldn't mind?"
"It's actually kind of hot," confessed Carlos. Now he couldn't look at Cecil, and his cheeks felt a little hot. "You react so differently to Steve - it's like you're sugar, and Steve's sulfuric acid, and when you get together you bubble and smoke and turn into black carbon. And I'm just flour or something you bake with. Something gluten-free, I guess."
"Right," said Cecil. "Yeah." His eyes were glazed over. Carlos was pretty sure that his explanation hadn't gone over well.
"When you're with me," Carlos tried again, "you're sweet - and funny and smart and attractive - but mostly sweet. And when you're with Steve, you're mostly angry. And violent."
"He's just such a jerk." Cecil seemed relieved to be done with the similes. "Whenever I see him, I feel like my ribcage is trying to burst out of my chest from hating him. It hasn't happened yet, but it might. Him with his semi-colons, and his keyboard phone, and his scones. Who doesn't use butter in scones? Seriously?"
"I think I understand how you feel." Carlos remembered his third year of grad school, when he'd started hate-reading a certain meteorologist's entire academic output. He hadn't even know anything about meteorology, he'd just known that this person was a bad scientist and it was making him irrationally angry. "Even seeing his name is annoying, right?"
"Steve Carlsberg." Cecil spat out the name, and then literally spat on the ground. "I want to chase him out of town, really, I do. And then maybe make out with him for a while. Nothing serious! I'd have an angry mob with me, we wouldn't be able to get too intense."
"See, this part I don't understand," said Carlos. "But I'm okay with that."
Cecil smiled at him, and Carlos kissed him for the twentieth (and a bit) time. They broke away to breathe, and then Cecil leaned in for kiss 21.7, and after that Carlos lost count, because he wasn't sure if it was all one long kiss or lots of short ones running together, Cecil's fingers in Carlos' hair and Carlos smiling into Cecil's mouth.
Someone honked at them, and Cecil almost fell off his car.
"Hi," said Steve Carlsberg, leaning out of a battered black SUV. "Meeting's over - you can read about what you missed when I post the minutes. There aren't any esses or ees in the last page or so, though, because those keys kind of stopped working after the whole thing with my phone."
"Is that a new car?" asked Cecil. "What happened to your tan Corolla?"
"Oh, someone set fire to the tires." Steve smiled, but his eyes flashed red. "I thought about replacing them, but you just can't get that burnt rubber smell out. And my mileage wasn't that great in the first place."
"See you later, Steve." Carlos waved. "We all have to get home before curfew."
"Yeah." Steve sat back in his car and took his foot off the brake. "You guys have a nice night, now. Make sure to clean the blood off that arm before you go to the doctor, Cecil."
Cecil stared in horror at the SUV's tires as it rolled away. "He salvaged the hubcaps. He took the hubcaps from his Corolla and put them on his new car, Carlos-"
Carlos patted Cecil's back and tried to signal to the approaching secret police officers that they just needed a moment, really, they would be leaving soon.
"I hate him so much," wailed Cecil.
"I know," said Carlos, and mouthed 'Steve Carlsberg' at the secret police. They nodded understandingly, and paused a few feet away, nightsticks raised. "I think we need to leave, Cecil."
"Absolutely, sorry!" Cecil pushed himself off of the trunk, took out his keys, and promptly dropped them. He looked down at his bloodied right arm, then at the keys, then at his arm again. "Oh. Can you drive, Carlos? I think Steve's been dipping his teeth in neurotoxins again."
Carlos picked up the keys and got in the driver's side, adjusting the seat forward as one of the secret police opened the passenger's door for Cecil. The police waved as Carlos pulled out of the parking lot.
"Which way is the hospital?" asked Carlos.
"You can't get there from here," said Cecil, blankly. "Don't you have anti-venom in your lab?"
"Yes," said Carlos, "but-"
"And weren't you telling me about restocking your first aid kit? You must have plenty of bandages."
"Yes," said Carlos, "but I'm not-"
"And then," added Cecil, "you could keep me overnight! For observation!"
Carlos laughed, even though Cecil was bleeding, even though they had just half-negotiated their way to an open relationship, even though Steve Carlsberg had salvaged the hubcaps from his burnt-out car that Cecil maybe-probably had set fire to. Laughter seemed like the best response, really. "Would you like to stay over tonight, Cecil?"
"I would love to," said Cecil, and Carlos looked away from the road just long enough to catch Cecil's smile. And then he looked for a bit longer, because this part of the road was really straight, and Cecil looked amazing when he smiled like that, and-
There was a screeching noise, then a muffled thump. Carlos slammed on the brakes.
"I think you just hit a pot roast," said Cecil, smile fading.
"It escaped?" Carlos put the car into park and rolled down the window so he could look around. "Do you see it anywhere? I need it for-" he hesitated, then looked back at Cecil and his (still bleeding!) arm. "Never mind. Let's just go home. I mean, to the lab."
"Okay," said Cecil. "When we get there, you might have to call Steve to ask what kind of slow-burning poison he uses nowadays. I'd call, but even the thought of dialing his number makes me want to scream right now."
"Sure." Carlos put the car back into drive. "I need to talk to him anyway."
They drove away into the night, Carlos trying valiantly to pay attention to the road and Cecil trying idly to move his fingers. Behind them, the pot roast gurgled and slowly melted the asphalt underneath it. The sheriff's secret police prowled along on foot, carefully matching speed with Cecil's Oldsmobile.
"That was very romantic," sighed one officer. "Should I update Cecil's relationship status on facebook?"
"Better leave it until after the second or third date," said another officer. "No need to be hasty."
"Agh!" said a third officer. "This pot roast is eating my leg!"
And the moon rose over Night Vale to the sound of screams and urgent thwacking sounds, just like every other Tuesday evening.
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(A/N: sugar and sulfuric acid.)
