"Well, Night Vale, it's about that time of night,-" Cecil turns around in
his chair, smiles, then turns back to the microphone. "Hold on for a moment,
listeners, I have something to attend to." He switches off his microphone and stands
from his chair, crossing the room to the opposite wall of his sound board.

He crouches down and scratches Carlos' head. "You've been very good today,
Carlos. Why, you've barely made a noise!" The scientist beams at him, but struggles
slightly against the restraints around his wrists. "Since you've been so quiet, I
think I'll give you a little treat. How does sitting with me at the desk sound?"
Carlos nods, and budges against his restraints once more. "Patience, dear," Cecil
coos, reaching back to untie his wrists. He loosens his tie and brings it up over
his head, lowering it around Carlos' head and tightening it around his neck, his
fingers barely grazing his exposed coffee-colored skin, which seemed to shiver at
his touch. He stands up, holding the end of the tie, and uses it as a sort of leash
to guide him over to the desk. Cecil plops down in his chair, and Carlos sits
obediently on the floor beside him.

"Good boy." He kisses the top of his head, then his forehead, then his lips,
ever so gently. He pulls away, much to Carlos' displeasure, and switches his
microphone back on. "My apologies for the break in the broadcast, dear listeners. As
I was saying, it's about time we get to our nightly broadcast of smooth jazz,
because as we all know, the only people awake at night are the lonely, and the
loved. Good night, Night Vale." He looks down and smiles at Carlos. "Good night." He
switches off his microphone, then reaches over to the sound board to turn on the
playlist for the night. Slow piano chords and saxophone riffs fill the room from the
bottom all the way up to the top until it's pouring out the windows and into the
night outside.

"Now, Carlos," he says, rolling his chair back from the desk to face him,
patting his leg, "would you like to come up?"

"Y-Yes, sir," he says, relieved to be speaking after a long day of silence,
and he rises from the floor to sit on his lap, and he soon understands why Cecil
ended the broadcast an hour early. Lust rushes through his system and he kisses him
deeply, but Cecil quickly responds with a harsh bite to his bottom lip.

"Did I say you could do that?" His voice is cold and sharp like a knife
cutting through the tension in the room.

"N-No sir."

"I'm afraid you'll have to move back to the floor until you learn your
lesson." He gently pushes the smaller male off of his lap, and he settles on the
floor. "BUt, you could always make it up to me if you'd like. You know what to do."
He undos his belt and reclines slightly in his chair, resting his hands behind his
head. His two normal eyes close, but his third eye stays open and watches
attentively as Carlos makes quick work of Cecil's button and zipper, releasing his
neglected member, his tattoos moving up it's shaft, giving it a slight violet glow.
While he's used to his intricate body art moving and glowing, it amazes him every
time, and the scientist's mind is instantly filled with thoughts and theories as to
why this could be as his tongue gently traces the swirling lines, sending shivers up
the recipient's spine. He emits a low purr as Carlos takes him in his mouth, his
tongue swirling around and applying various amounts of pressure as he moved his head
up and down.

"Say, Carlos," he says, getting the brunette's attention.

He pops up quickly, very attentive to possible further instruction. "Yes,
sir?"

Cecil takes a small bottle of lube from his shirt pocket and tosses it down
to him, a sly grin crossing his face; his actions spoke for him, and Carlos knew
exactly what he had in mind.

"Whenever you're ready, dear." He rolls away from the desk just enough to
prop up his feet, while his third eye watches the scientist closely. He stands, and
his pants fall to the ground, and Cecil reaches over to the microphone to switch it
on. Carlos' eyes widen as he begins to speak, turning off the music.
"Citizens, I hate to interrupt our broadcast of jazz, but I just couldn't
help myself in letting you know how absolutely dapper my dear Carlos looks wearing
my tie. I could almost go as far as to say it suits him better than myself!

"Cecil what are you-"

He mutes the microphone for a moment. "You're not allowed to speak while I'm
broadcasting unless otherwise specified, Carlos. Have you forgotten my rules?"

"N-No sir."

"Good." He switches the microphone back on. "Oh, Night Vale, I wish you
could see my dearest pet. He looks so perfect with his jeans on the floor, his shirt
unbuttoned..." He trails off for a moment as a dark blush crosses Carlos' face.
Cecil switches off the mic once more.

"Is there something you'd like to say, darling?"

"I-I'm ready, sir," the scientist manages to murmur, watching the anchor's
tattoos glow much brighter in anticipation. He gestures towards his lap and smiles
deviously, switching the mic on.

"Listeners, I must say, I don't think I've ever seen a more beautiful sight
than my Carlos. You could argue, saying, 'But Cecil, my wife-'" He's cut off
abruptly as Carlos eases himself down onto his manhood, and Cecil slips into a low
purr before quickly regaining his composure. "'B-But my wife, she's the most
beautiful woman in Night Vale! No one can compare!' But to that, I say, you're
completely w-wrong." He reaches around and takes Carlos' own member in his hand and
begins to move, causing him to moan loudly.

"He sings so sweetly, Night Vale," Cecil purrs into the mic, "He's so
beautifully helpless, c-completely at my disposal..." Carlos slowly slides up and
down with the movement of the anchor's hand, biting his lip to stifle any further
noises. "Carlos, how would you like to talk to the citizens?" he whispers softly,
holding them still for a moment to turn the chair, with Carlos' mouth directly by
the microphone. "I'm sure they'd love to hear you, dearest." With a sharp upward
thrust of his hips, the scientist cries out in ecstasy, his voice echoing through
the radio waves and falling upon the sleeping ears of those who leave their radios
on overnight, against the general advisory of the City Council.

"F-Fuck... Cecil... Shit..."

Cecil drags his nails down the scientist's back, eliciting a sharp gasp.
"Watch your language, pet, we're on air. I would hate to have to punish you for that
when you've had such a good day."

Carlos nods and holds onto the desk for dear life, his eyes starting to roll
back with every movement the larger male makes, his thoughts being replaced with a
gentle thrum of euphoria, assaulting his nerves and filling his ears with a static
hum. The tattoos gracing Cecil's arms are glowing brighter, and snake up to his
fingertips, as if they also wanted to touch the significantly less-luminous man and
share their light with him.

"C-Cecil, I don't think I can- oh god..."

"Carlos..."

And with a final burst of violet light illuminating the dimly lit studio,
the pair reaches their climax in perfect sync, making quite a mess on the table in
front of them, but much to Cecil's relief, no equipment was impaired. The couple sat
in their own mess for a moment, catching their breath and whispering sweet nothings
in each others' ears, bathing in a quite literal after-glow.

A few minutes later, Cecil speaks up. "Carlos?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's go home."

"Alright. Cecil?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

"I love you too, Carlos."

Stepping out into the dry desert air, hand in hand, the pair headed on home,
helicopters flying overhead, reminding Cecil of the very real possibility of another
angry encounter with station management...

All worth it for a little night broadcasting.