Intensity
The thing Cecil loved – well, one of a very, VERY long list of things he loved – about Carlos was the intensity of the man. He was so focused, so driven, so unwilling to give up in his search for answers. Cecil could watch him in the lab, or out around town conducting tests, all day. Just the way he squinted a little and his brow furrowed and now and then he licked his lips or pushed his glasses up higher on his perfect nose.
He was like that with everything. When tasting a new Night Vale delicacy, he stared hard at it, cutting off a little bit to nibble, turning it this way and that before choosing just the right spot to bite.
When they watched a movie he would sit cross-legged on the couch and lean forward just a little, like he was ready to jump into the action.
The best part, though, was that it extended to Cecil as well. When the two lay together in bed, it wasn't long before Carlos was propping himself up on his elbows to lean over Cecil, tracing his spidery tattoos and scars, and always trying to outline or guide the dark blotch that moved around his skin and was often mistaken for a tattoo. It enjoyed Carlos's attention too, Cecil could tell, and often led the strong, calloused fingers all over the radio host's body. Cecil basked in his touch, and reached out in turn to run his hands through the scientist's beautiful, luxurious hair and all along his body, finding each crease and dimple and wrinkle and scar. His favorite was the huge web of tightly-pulled scar tissue all over his right leg, like a lightning bolt had been captured under the skin. Carlos didn't like him to start off there, but once he'd relaxed enough, he moaned with pleasure at the contact.
Then Cecil would twist around and press a hand to a rather hunched shoulder and give a gentle push so that he was leaning over the scientist. He spent a bit of time planting gentle, sucking kisses around the torso while deft fingers flew across his back. It wasn't long before he flopped down beside the other man, their faces almost touching. Then those dark coffee eyes would gaze into his, and all over his face, with such a serious intensity, like Carlos was memorizing his every feature.
He'd asked about that once, and Carlos had smiled suddenly, a rather shy expression that didn't show itself often, but was getting more and more common.
"At first, I was," Carlos admitted quietly. "Now I just like to see you. Your expressions. You have an easy face to read." He looked down, then up again diffidently. "It's nice."
Cecil sighed happily and snuggled closer. "I like YOUR face," he began.
"You've mentioned that."
"No, let me finish!" He laughed a little and kissed Carlos's chin quickly. "You're just the opposite. Delightfully mysterious. I love nothing better than deciphering your face. I had to make hopeful guesses at first, but I think I'm getting better."
The smile flickered from Carlos's face for an instant, but Cecil leaned in to kiss him gently, once on each side of his mouth, then lingering on his lips. "I can recognize things better the more time we spend together," the radio host continued quietly, "And you're getting more… expressive. Like you are when you talk about science."
Carlos was silent and thoughtful for a minute, then a slow smile spread over his face. "I love science. It's my life. It makes sense. It's fascinating. And… that's you, too. You… you're making more sense. And you're fascinating. And… the other things too."
Cecil exhaled blissfully, wrapping his arms around the other man. "Especially those," he whispered, tangling his fingers in the thick, gray-shot, perfect hair.