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Where are your hands now? Where have they been? Where are they going? Where are you going? Have you ever broken the surface of something with a hammer? Ever channeled sublime thought into sandpaper? Ever wanted to touch something because you feel things? Because touch is the only sense you trust? Incomplete?
--The Sandstorm, episode 19A
Carlos shows up at Cecil’s apartment with his jaw clenched and hands balled into fists at his sides. He just came from the bank—except it wasn’t the bank, not really, it was an amusement park, and there was an octopus working the cash register, and everyone in line told him there was no amusement park in Night Vale, and he just wanted to get some money out so he could buy a sandwich, but that was when someone pointed out that the sandwiches being displayed in the case at the deli next door were all plastic, and when Carlos took a closer look, they were. The sandwiches were plastic, and the bank was an amusement park, and an octopus was the cashier, and everyone around him told him that none of it really existed anyway.
The door flies open and Cecil appears, framed by the doorway. He looks disheveled but his face lights up when he sees Carlos there, a real smile that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle and his dimples appear. His glasses are slightly askew and Carlos can’t help but smile as he reaches out to straighten them.
“Hey,” he says, and Cecil’s smile gets even wider.
“Carlos!” Cecil says, his voice getting that octave higher, like it does when he talks about Carlos on the radio. “I wasn’t expecting you tonight! Not that it’s not the best thing that’s happened to me all day. Come in!” He grabs Carlos’ wrist and drags him inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind them. Then he turns back to Carlos, still smiling.
“I’m having a—a bad day,” Carlos whispers. He feels hesitant, suddenly, even though that’s the reason he came over, and he knows Cecil would want him to come there if he was having a bad day. It’s the reason for the bad day that makes him hesitant.
Cecil’s face falls. Carlos pictures it like they’re in a cartoon, his features shattering on the floor.
“What’s wrong?”
Carlos fidgets a little, pulling at the hem of his lab coat and looking up at the ceiling, biting his lip and scuffing his shoe on the floor. Cecil takes his hand and pulls him over to the small twin bed, the only real place to sit in his tiny studio apartment. They both collapse onto it, and Cecil doesn’t let go of his hand.
“What’s wrong, Carlitos?”
Carlos laughs a little. Ever since he told Cecil that his grandmother used to call him Carlitos, Cecil has enjoyed saying it to embarrass him, although at this point Carlos just finds it cute.
After a moment of trying to decide how to phrase it, Carlos says, “Do you ever feel like you’re going crazy?”
Cecil stares at him, expressionless. “What do you mean?”
“Like…like everything you think is real is a lie. I wanted to buy a sandwich today, and then everyone told me I was stupid because the sandwiches at the deli were all plastic. I tried to go to the bank to get some money, and it was a building that said bank on it and there was an ATM, but it turned out to be an amusement park instead, and everyone said there was no bank there and never was. Like the harbor and waterfront recreation area. You took me there, and now everyone says it was never a real place. I feel like I’m going crazy.”
“The harbor and waterfront recreation area never existed,” Cecil says blankly, and Carlos’ heart squeezes in his chest. This is why he was hesitant, even though Cecil’s really the only person he wants to talk to about this.
Cecil squeezes Carlos’ hand before getting up and fiddling with the radio on his nightstand—jazz, and it’s loud. Cecil turns the dial up even further, and then returns to the bed, pulling Carlos’ hand into his lap again, holding it between both of his. Cecil leans toward his ear and Carlos waits for him to say something, anything, more.
Before he gets a chance, there’s a loud knocking at the window. They’re on the third floor. Carlos’s heart starts to pound, but Cecil just rolls his eyes and lets out a sigh. Carlos can’t hear it over the music, but he can see Cecil’s chest deflate as he exhales. Then Cecil jumps up and opens the window. There’s a man floating there, his head poking into the room as he rests his elbows on the window sill. Carlos doesn’t know why he’s surprised. Cecil turns off the music and bends down to talk to him.
“Cecil, we’ve been over this. It’s too loud. We won’t be able to monitor your conversation.”
“Sir, I know, but I’m not exactly trying to have any conversations tonight,” Cecil says through gritted teeth. “Did you see who’s here with me?”
“Carlos?” the Sheriff’s Secret Policeman says, and Carlos can see his knowing grin as his eyes flit over to him. He waves at Carlos.
“Yes, Carlos,” Cecil confirms. “As you can see. And you’re sort of killing the mood by making me turn off my music and sticking your head through my window. The really good mood we were just about to get in.”
“I know, but we really need to be able to hear you guys.” The policeman wiggles his eyebrows and Carlos looks away. He marvels at how Cecil manages to navigate this town—sometimes he seems like the perfect upstanding citizen, and sometimes he seems like the authority’s biggest critic. He just wishes Cecil would admit it to him—just once—that he’s criticizing.
“Of course, sir,” Cecil says. “It’s just that I’ve helped you out with your little situation so many times, I thought maybe tonight you’d want to leave us in peace.”
“All right, all right,” the policeman concedes. “Go ahead and turn the music back on. But you better not be trying to have any conversations, you hear? And turn it down a little, at least.”
“I understand perfectly,” Cecil says, and Carlos gets chills at the hollowness of his voice. It’s not the first time he’s heard Cecil interact with a town authority, and it never stops freaking him out. The policeman waves at Carlos again before dropping down out of sight. Carlos doesn’t even ask how he was up there on the third floor when there are no stairs or ledges to stand on. Cecil puts the music back on, but turns it down a little before sitting back on the bed.
“Let’s lie down,” Cecil murmurs into his ear before pressing a soft kiss to his neck, pulling him down onto the mattress. They climb under the covers and Cecil quickly erases all the space between them, wrapping his arms tight around Carlos and hitching a leg over his hip. The leg holds him snug against Cecil. “You were saying?”
The music is loud, but Carlos can hear Cecil well.
“The harbor,” Carlos says. “The waterfront recreation area.”
“The harbor and waterfront recreation area never existed,” Cecil repeats. His voice holds all of his Cecil personality, but it’s lacking something. Carlos has spent enough time around Cecil now to be able to tell when there’s a difference.
“We walked by it the other night,” Carlos says. “After dinner. You pointed it out to me. You talked to me about it. You showed me the blueprints for it.”
“The blueprints,” Cecil says slowly, and Carlos can almost feel him coming back to himself. Talking to the Sheriff’s Secret Police, or the City Council, or whoever’s in charge that day always changes him in a way Carlos can feel more than he can see. Carlos pulls Cecil even closer to him, until he can feel his heartbeat.
“You’ve talked about it all on your radio show,” Carlos says, and Cecil nods.
“The fireworks over the harbor were lovely,” Cecil says.
“This is what I’m talking about, Cecil,” Carlos says. “This is exactly it. The harbor doesn’t exist and never did, but the fireworks over it were lovely. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I know what I see, and what I hear. I saw the harbor. I heard you talking about the fireworks over it. And then everyone tells me it’s not real, including you. Over and over again, you’ll say it until you die. But I saw the harbor. And sometimes it’s too much and I think I’m going crazy here and I’m going to die without ever knowing what’s real and what’s not.”
Their noses are almost touching. Cecil blinks at him. Carlos almost wants to leave, but he waits to see if Cecil gets it or not.
“You’re real,” Cecil murmurs, and then kisses him. “I’m real.”
“Are you sure?” Carlos says. Cecil kisses him again, longer this time, wending his hand up Carlos’ back and through his hair.
“You said you see things and hear things and you don’t know if they’re real,” Cecil says. “What about touch? Do you ever touch something and not know if it’s real later?”
“I’m a scientist,” Carlos says, finally. “All I have are my senses. I observe everything with all five senses. It’s what scientists do. If I can’t trust my senses, what am I even doing here?”
“Do you feel that?” Cecil murmurs against his lips, and Carlos nods. “Do you feel this?” He trails his hand back down Carlos’ shoulders until he reaches the base of his spine. He presses in there with his fist and Carlos thinks he might just turn into liquid and puddle on Cecil’s floor. He nods again. “Do you think I’m real?”
Cecil kneads his back and Carlos thinks about the countless nights he spends listening to Cecil’s voice on the radio. He might not be sure about anything else, but he is sure about Cecil.
“Yes,” Carlos whispers, and this time he kisses Cecil, one hand on the back of Cecil’s neck. They’re all wrapped up in each other and Carlos doesn’t doubt for a second that it’s real.
“I know I scare you sometimes,” Cecil says. “I can see it when it’s happening. I just don’t know how to make it stop.”
“I don’t know either,” Carlos says, and he’s mortified to feel his eyes prickling.
“Maybe you can work on it,” Cecil says. “In the lab.”
“Maybe,” Carlos says, laughing a little to keep himself from crying, because Cecil is real and Cecil is the only one he wants to trust, but he can’t. It’s not something you can solve in a lab with observations and experiments. “It’s just, when you talk to…those people…you change.”
“Is this ever different?” Cecil says, and then runs his thumb up Carlos’ spine. “Does it ever feel different?”
“No,” Carlos says, because it doesn’t.
“Because touch is the only sense you trust,” Cecil says.
“Isn’t that from a Home Depot ad?” Carlos says, and Cecil kisses him.
This kiss doesn’t end. Cecil’s leg tightens around him and he can feel Cecil’s growing hard-on against his hip and Cecil keeps kissing him and kissing him and Carlos doesn’t want it to ever end because this is real, this is real, Cecil might get re-educated sometimes and he might lie unknowingly sometimes and maybe Carlos can’t always trust Cecil to help him figure it out but he can let Cecil anchor him here with touch, and maybe that’s enough for Night Vale. Maybe that’s enough for Carlos.
Cecil pushes him onto his back and climbs on top of him, yanking his shirt over his head and throwing it to the ground. The jazz music oozes out of the speakers, pulsing into Carlos’ brain, and he shuts his eyes and lets his hands wander up Cecil’s chest, thumbs tracing his collar bone, down his sides, over his ribs. Cecil leans down into him, trailing his mouth over Carlos’ neck. His tongue finds Carlos’ pulse point and sucks there and Carlos feels it from the tips of his fingers down to his toes. Carlos likes the way Cecil’s skin feels bumpy under his fingertips, the hard little bones of his hips jutting out, the way Cecil shivers over and over again because it tickles a little but mostly it just feels good, he explained to Carlos once. Cecil is sensitive to touch, more sensitive than anyone Carlos has ever been with, and that’s why Carlos likes touching him so much, because Cecil never stops reacting. Even if it’s just a small, sharp intake of breath, or the muscle tensing under his skin, or the way his eyes close and his mouth drops open, all from the simple act of Carlos placing his hand on Cecil’s knee—Cecil feels everything so deeply.
He lunges for Carlos’ mouth, now, pushing his lab coat back off his shoulders and Carlos tries to shrug out of it while he focuses on Cecil’s tongue slipping against his own. Cecil’s hands go into his hair, then to his neck, then his chest, breaking the kiss to unbutton Carlos’ shirt as quick as he can. Cecil’s hands are huge but he has no trouble with the small buttons; he sometimes he likes to brag to Carlos about the excellent fine motor skills that all Night Vale citizens have because they go through special training in their developing years. Carlos wonders what the City Council is training them for, but he doesn’t share that with Cecil, because he doesn’t want to get Cecil in trouble, and because he doesn’t always trust Cecil not to get him in trouble.
Cecil pushes Carlos’ shirt off and Carlos sits up so he can slip out of his undershirt, too. Cecil helps it up over his head and then his hands are back in Carlos’ hair as Carlos kisses his chest. Cecil moans and Carlos looks up, startled, hoping that Cecil isn’t faking it for the Sheriff’s Secret Police, but his head is thrown back slightly, and he’s biting his lip, and his thumbs press into Carlos’ neck, so Carlos goes back to sucking until he leaves a mark, just because Cecil will pretend to hate it so cutely in the morning but he’ll still smile when he sees it as he’s getting dressed. Cecil moans again and Carlos exhales against his chest.
The harbor might be real, or it might not be. Right now, it doesn’t matter, and Carlos realizes that’s why he came to Cecil’s tonight, so that he could forget.
Carlos tugs at the waistband of Cecil’s sweatpants, sliding his hands underneath to cup Cecil’s ass. He hooks his thumbs around the elastic and pulls down, unable to hold back a smile when he realizes Cecil’s not wearing underwear again. Cecil sits up on his knees and lets Carlos push the fabric down, falling to the side as he tugs the sweatpants off his legs. Carlos takes advantage of being untangled to undo his own belt and yanks his pants down until he can shove them onto the floor.
Cecil is back on him in an instant, all over him, his body slithering against Carlos’ and Carlos sneaks his hand between them to take hold of Cecil’s cock. Cecil groans into his ear and then Carlos feels the rough edges of Cecil’s teeth on his earlobe.
“Get the lube,” Carlos says and squeezes Cecil’s ass with his free hand. Cecil’s tongue slides down his neck before he reaches to the side table and grabs it out of the drawer. He sits back and drops it on Carlos’ chest, thrusting into Carlos’ slow strokes, his hands finding Carlos’ thighs behind him to grip. Carlos watches him for a moment. Cecil’s eyes flutter shut and his mouth is open, breaths deep and shaky. His hips move with the movements of Carlos’ hand and his head falls forward. Carlos swipes his thumb over the head of Cecil’s cock and he thinks, perfect.
Carlos lets go of Cecil to grab the bottle off his chest and Cecil’s eyes fly open. He bites his lip and then leans down for a kiss, tangling their tongues together, hot and open-mouthed and Carlos takes advantage of having Cecil all gathered up on top of him and pushes him over to the side, turning with him. The bed is small and forces them to stay close together, always touching, Carlos’ foot on Cecil’s calf and Cecil’s hand on Carlos’ waist. Carlos is glad for it.
Carlos lays Cecil back and spreads his legs open. Cecil bends his knees like it’s automatic, pulling them up toward his chest, and Carlos smiles at him, presses kisses to his knees as he uncaps the lube and squirts some on his fingers. He finds Cecil’s hole and rubs at it, carefully watching Cecil’s face, his other hand cupping Cecil’s cheek. Cecil squirms a little and he lets out a breathy moan, and Carlos slowly but easily slides one finger inside of him.
He feels Cecil tense around him momentarily but he soon relaxes, and Carlos finger fucks him for a while, listening to Cecil whimper, watching his face and stroking his hair. Once Cecil’s knees start falling to the side, spreading open for him, Carlos squirts some more lube onto his hand and slathers it on his cock before climbing between Cecil’s legs. He feels for Cecil’s hole once more and lets his fingers slip in again before Cecil says, “Carlos,” and nothing more, and Carlos knows what he means.
Carlos grabs the base of cock and guides himself into Cecil. Cecil’s knees are tucked at Carlos’ sides and Carlos loves fucking him like this because he feels surrounded by Cecil, with Cecil’s arms around his neck and fingers playing with his hair, legs wrapping around his waist as Carlos thrusts, attempting to find a rhythm. Cecil touches him everywhere and it’s his touch that anchors Carlos when he thinks he’s going to float away.
Carlos groans and surges forward, not close enough. He leans down and presses their mouths together and they stay like that as he thrusts—not really kissing, just breathing into each other. Carlos brings his hands up and holds Cecil’s face between them and Cecil is looking at him, looking through him, the real Cecil, not the one created and changed by this town. Carlos holds onto that look and lets his hand come between them to take hold of Cecil’s cock again, jerking him at the same time he snaps his hips forward. Cecil’s heels are scrabbling against Carlos’ ass and he speeds up, both of them grunting and gasping and Carlos is close but he tries to hang on, his hand flying over Cecil’s cock as the heat pools in his belly.
Cecil tenses, fingers digging into Carlos’ shoulders, and he comes silently, his mouth open and his eyes squeezed shut. Carlos slows down, kissing Cecil through the aftermath of his orgasm but not stopping entirely. After a few breaths, Cecil opens his eyes and tangles his fingers in Carlos’ hair.
“Yes,” he whispers hoarsely, giving Carlos’ hair a firm tug, and Carlos loses himself in Cecil, in the slick, sweaty feel of their skin sliding together, in Cecil’s mouth against his own, breathing in the same air. Carlos groans as he comes with Cecil’s hand on his neck and legs still holding Carlos deep inside of him, and he groans again when Cecil presses a soft, sweet kiss to his cheek, cradling his head.
Carlos collapses on top of Cecil and they stay like that for a moment. Cecil holds Carlos close to him, playing with his hair, letting out soft little sighs and kissing Carlos whenever he feels like it. Carlos feels it all, and it’s real.
Carlos finally untangles them and pulls himself out of Cecil. Cecil moans as he allows his legs to come back together and Carlos lies down next to him, head on his shoulder. Cecil maneuvers his arm around Carlos’ shoulders and hugs him tightly.
“Sore?” Carlos says, his voice rough.
“Only in a good way,” Cecil responds, pressing their foreheads together. “Do you feel any better?”
“Yeah,” Carlos says, and he does, even though he knows everything is exactly the same as it was before he came over.
“I know it’s hard,” Cecil says. “I know I’m not all there in the way you want me to be, sometimes. But I’m always here, Carlos. I’ll always try to be here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Carlos knows Cecil isn’t talking about just being physically present. He also knows Cecil is trying to make him feel better, but his heart feels like it’s breaking.
“I’m going to keep doing experiments, Cecil,” Carlos says, because it’s the only way he knows how to do things. “But until I can figure out what’s going on, I need you to be my…my anchor. If I start losing it.”
“I can do that,” Cecil says with a sweet smile. “Especially because you’re already mine, and I didn’t even ask.”
“What do you mean?”
“You always bring me back, Carlitos. You might not think I realize it, but I can feel you pulling me back out of myself.”
“Because touch is the only sense you trust,” Carlos whispers, and he can feel Cecil nodding against him, and his arms tightening around him, and he knows it’s true.