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They spend their third date, as is mandatory, at Big Rico’s Pizzeria: lingering over giant slices of Tuesday’s special (oatmeal-raisin), drinking goblets of water with orange wedges. And Carlos is nervous, at first: tripping and stuttering over his words and wishing he had something more interesting to talk about than his research. But then there’s Cecil, his heavy-lashed eyes wide and dark in the dim light. Cecil, who looks at him adoringly from across the table. That look, those eyes, it’s almost enough to make Carlos even more nervous – he’s never thought of himself as the kind of man worthy of adoration – and it’s almost a relief when Big Rico himself clears his throat and snaps his fingers in the distance to indicate that their mandatory hour-and-a-half is over.
It’s Cecil who gets to his feet to rush over and pay their bill. And yes, to be honest, Carlos turns his head to watch him go: because the acid-washed bell bottomed jeans his date is wearing tonight are admittedly as flattering to the other man’s anatomy as those furry pants had been a crime against it. When he returns to the tablet, he gives Carlos a hopeful look, holding out one (slightly trembling) hand. Carlos smiles and lets Cecil pull him up from the sticky vinyl seat. He keeps Cecil’s hand firmly clasped in his own; he runs his finger soothingly across Cecil’s smooth palm and is gratified to hear the soft contented sigh that follows.
Once they’re in Carlos’ car, after he turns the key in the ignition and before he maneuvers out into traffic, he reaches across the front seat to take Cecil’s hand again. It’s not that difficult to drive one-handed; they’re still holding hands when Carlos pulls the car into the parking lot in front of Cecil’s apartment.
“Thank you,” Cecil says, almost primly. “Would…would…um…” and the nearby streetlight illuminates the violent blush that’s engulfed his normally pale complexion. “Wouldyouliketocomeupstairs?” he breathes, all in a rush, and then clears his throat and repeats the question, and Carlos interrupts halfway through to say: I’d love to.
As soon as they’re out of the car, they’re holding hands again, and Cecil leads Carlos into his apartment building and up the seven flights of stairs to where he lives. And yes, Carlos noticed the elevator in the lobby, but he also noticed the way it was glowing (almost ethereally) and didn’t question the decision to take the stairs. They’re both out of breath by the time they reach the apartment; Cecil opens the door and closes the door and drags Carlos over to collapse on his goldenrod velvet sofa.
“Would you like something to drink?” Cecil asks, a bit breathlessly. “I have water with orange wedges?”
Carlos – who has had quite enough water with orange wedges for one night – simply shakes his head. He shifts closer to Cecil, and then a little bit closer, and then in one swift motion pillows his head on the taller man’s shoulder. He feels Cecil tense, then relax. “Is this all right?” he asks, because he’s suddenly feeling nervous again.
“Yes, only…” Cecil trails off, and Carlos can feel him taking a deep breath.
“What?” he asks.
“I think I’d like to kiss you.”
“Oh.” Carlos leans up, hooks his thumb under the wire stem of his glasses and pulls them off. Everything is blurry, and then Cecil snaps into focus, and then his eyes go closed because Cecil is kissing him: a soft gentle press of lips against his own, and it is glorious.
Carlos reaches out to pull Cecil closer. His fingers stroke the back of Cecil’s neck, twine into Cecil’s hair and when Cecil sighs against his lips Carlos takes that opportunity to kiss him back.
But Cecil’s reaction is unexpected: he stiffens, draws back, and when Carlos opens his eyes he sees that Cecil is blushing so much he’s practically glowing.
“That was weird.” Cecil says.
Carlos just blinks at him. “Weird?” he echoes, trying not to sound hurt. Because he is, a little bit, hurt.
“Carlos.” Cecil’s eyes are very, very wide. “You…your tongue. It was in my mouth, Carlos.”
Carlos blinks at him. “Um, yes? I was kissing you.”
“It was weird.”
The other man sighs, closes his eyes, and tries not to think about the myriad of strange things that have happened in the year or so since he’s come to town – none of which, incidentally, Cecil called weird. “Yes? Is…is that not how people do it in Night Vale?”
A moment of silence, and then Cecil murmurs “I really wouldn’t know.”
Carlos opens his eyes. “What do you mean?”
Cecil’s drawn up his knees to his chest, slid his own plastic glasses up to rest in his hair, and he’s covering his face with his hands. His voice is muffled, and he says “I wouldn’t know, Carlos, no one’s ever kissed me before except you, you know, on our first date. Oh, and just now.”
Carlos is glad that Cecil can’t see his look of disbelief. “Seriously?” Because it is hard to believe, because Cecil is beautiful and charming and Carlos can’t quite wrap his brain around the concept of not wanting to kiss Cecil.
“Really.” Cecil spreads his fingers, peeks at Carlos through the gap. “I mean, it’s…I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone, until I met you.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Oh.” Carlos isn’t sure whether to be frightened or flattered or some combination of the two.
“I mean, it’s not like I haven’t liked other people.” Cecil moves his hands from his face, but he’s still blushing. “I mean, there was Earl and I really liked Earl, but I wouldn’t let him kiss me, I mean I didn’t want him to kiss me and that’s probably why it didn’t work out, in retrospect, but it’s different because ever since I met you I’ve wanted to do, you know, kissing things with you. And non kissing things with you. And just about everything with you, and…” he makes a small undignified noise, and covers his face in his hands again. “And I’m so pathetic, and I’m sorry, but it really is weird when you think about it, Carlos. Every mouth should only contain one tongue. One tongue per mouth is optimal.”
Unbeknownst to Cecil, Carlos is grinning like an idiot. “You’re absolutely right. One tongue per mouth is definitely optimal. Come here,” and he tugs at Cecil until he’s managed to maneuver the other man into his lap. “Shh. It’s okay,” he breathes into Cecil’s ear: and he’s frankly surprised at the response to that – a tiny little gasp from Cecil, what appears to be a frisson of delight as the other man shivers in his arms.
“That was neat,” says Cecil, in a small little voice.
“Yeah,” Carlos agrees. “It certainly was.”