A/N: Cecil, in this story, is a transgender boy, and is insecure about such, so he makes comments about not being a "real boy" and the like. If that will trigger your dysphoria, please read with caution or don't read. Also, tentacles. This is the first fanfic I've written since I was about 14, so enjoy!
Cecil squirmed on the couch, heart thudding while he waited for Carlos to return to the room with popcorn for their movie. This was the first time they'd been alone in awhile, since they'd both been quite busy with their respective jobs, and Cecil was debating on trying to move things forward with Carlos. On the one hand, god, of course he wanted to be with Carlos in every way possible, and discover the way his hair curled when he rolled around for a few hours, but on the other hand...what if Carlos rejected him? He knew his body was not really factory standard, and he wasn't sure he could handle acknowledging that just yet.
Cecil's train of thought was heightened in importance when Carlos strolled back into the room, but he wrenched his eyes away from the door frame to the television so he could pretend he'd been engrossed in the trailers the DVD was running through before popping up the main menu, rather than admit he was staring at the place where he'd last seen Carlos and waiting for his return.
But Perfect Carlos didn't even seem to notice his distracted inner monologue. He settled in to Cecil's left, resting his body against the arm rest, but close enough that when he was finally settled and holding the popcorn bowl out to Cecil, their feet touched.
Their hands rested awkwardly in the space between their bodies, a barrier that neither of them wanted to cross despite the odd angle which their wrists were sitting. Not only was the angle weird, but it was probably weird to be so focused on your palm's sweat levels when you're supposed to be focused on watching people on a tv screen go up in space, but Cecil was too nervous to move, lest he break Carlos from the science fiction daze he was in.
But eventually, Carlos seemed to realize also that they were creating a makeshift lake with their palms, and his attention broke long enough for him to smile apologetically at Cecil, an then motion for him to move backwards, so he was sitting in his lap with Carlos' arms draped around his chest. It didn't feel natural, necessarily - the shifting had taken a lot of care to make sure he wasn't elbowing anywhere to sensitive, and bodies are unfortunately not created like puzzle pieces, so there was a little bit of making sure no one's bones were grinding against the others, but Carlos was soft and squishy enough to fill Cecil's brain with content, despite the flush of embarrassment about Carlos' hand's proximity to the waist band of his jeans.
Oh. Wow. Carlos brushed deeper when he realized just how little Carlos would have to reach down to be palming him through his jeans, and his mind started to race again - do I want that? Yes. But do I want to have to explain?
Cecil inhaled a shaky breath, hoping that Carlos didn't notice just how jagged it sounded, and reached up for his hand, gently guiding them closer to the fly of his jeans. Carlos said nothing, just kissed the top of Cecil's head and squeezed his fingers in reassurance (Carlos wondered if that squeeze meant he could hear his unsteady breathing, or maybe hear the velocity his heart was pounding at, because it was sure making it hard for him to breathe).
Carlos' fingers struggled a little on the button of Cecil's jeans, and just in that moment, Cecil decided this was a bad idea. What the fuck was he doing? This wasn't a movie. Carlos could not flip open his jean button with two fingers, and he couldn't accept the big glaring flaws that Cecil had. This wasn't just acne or something.
Cecil yelped at his realization an sat up suddenly, disentangling himself from Carlos' arms and warmth. Carlos looked confused and guilty, and Cecil wanted to comfort him almost as bad as he wanted to run away. He could still see the way this would play out like a movie, where he lowered his defenses, climbed back onto Carlos, and covered his body in kisses, you know, for science...but that wasn't how this was going to work out.
"Cecil, I'm sorry, I thought you wanted? I'm sor-" Carlos started, but Cecil didn't want to hear anymore, he just wanted to run away with his tail tucked between his legs. He decided, upon grabbing his hoodie and bolting out the door, that the radio station was a better place to go then his own apartment. It actually had a lock, unlike his apartment, and this way, Hiram McDaniels, who frequented the station, could also deliver any science-y news that Carlos needed broadcasted without Cecil actually having to make any more contact with Carlos.
Cecil was at his desk, furiously writing down a list of things he needed to remember to cover in his next broadcast. The Sheriff's secret police had given him a few announcements, and Hiram had written up a persuasive speech in Unmodified Sumerian, which he needed to switch to English before the broadcast. It wasn't like he didn't understand the language, of course, but to translate as he read would be slow. He also just needed something to do, and had considered translating the speech into Modified Sumerian and French.
Cecil was just beginning to translate the fine print (which was more like 30 pt. font, since dragons write unusually large) when he heard a knock at the door. It was not a particularly loud knock, but it made Cecil jump nonetheless, banging his knee against the bottom of his desk. After an extended, embarrassingly long silence in which he at perfectly still as the pain subsided, he called out, "Who's there?" Even though he knew damn well who was there.
"It's me, Cecil. I'm really sorry I upset you earlier, I should have asked again, been more careful, okay? I'm sorry I was pushy. Can we talk?"
Cecil's chest ached with how upset his perfect Carlos sounded. Oh Carlos, you didn't do anything wrong. This is all on me.
But if anyone would be accepting of Cecil, wouldn't it be Carlos? He was a scientist, after all. He liked to explore the unknown Maybe he could even fix him.
And so Cecil wordlessly stood up, legs like jelly as he resolved to himself to somehow find a way to make Carlos understand.
He pulled the heavy door open, and despite the distress he had heard in Carlos' voice, he was somehow surprised to see him looking so disheveled . His hair looked like he'd been running his hands through it over and over again, and his eyes bore light pink rings around them.
"I'm sorry." He mumbled again, the most forlorn look Cecil had ever seen on his face plastered there right now.
Cecil continued to drag on the silence, but reached for his boyfriend's hand, suddenly so desperate for the warmth, and to be away from all things that were not Carlos' skin and popcorn breath. Carlos' reaction was some sort of perplexed joy, but Cecil could feel that he was holding back - not that he could blame the scientist, since last time he' tried to initiate things, he'd subsequently freaked out, and Carlos had no reason to believe the variables had changed this time around.
When their lips broke apart, Cecil leaned his forehead against Carlos', eyes closed, and mumbled, "I freaked out a little bit." After the words let his mouth, he pulled his whole body away again - better to move now than when Carlos inevitably decides to do it for him.
"Oh, Cecil, it's not your fault. I shouldn't - I'm sorry if I made you think I need that or something. I don't. We can do whatever you like, please know that." His brown eyes threatened to spill over, and Cecil's stomach flipped. He was being to kind, so understanding. But how do you tell the man you love that you're a little less than ordinary, and that you're afraid he won't love you anymore?
"No, its me...I'm probably not what you're used to. ER, definitely not..." Cecil flopped down on the couch in the corner of the broadcast room and Carlos sat down with him, looking confused as he trailed off into mumbles.
"You know, Cecil, if you're worried about...size or shape or something, you don't have to be. I know men look different."
Cecil half-laughed, half-snorted, amazed at just how off base Carlos was about his anxiety regarding his junk. His ignorance seemed so sweetly naive, and Cecil wished that his faith was not misled.
Cecil took a deep breath, drawing his knees up to his chest and attempting to make eye contact with Carlos as he gathered the courage to speak.
"Carlos, I didn't always look like a boy."
Carlos' face scrunched up, confused, but he remained silent, encouraging Cecil to keep talking.
Cecil broke eye contact to do an in-depth study of his finger nails as he mumbled, "Like, I was born in a girl's body, I guess. I mean, it's my body, so I think it's always been a boy's body, but like, when I was born, the doctors told my mom I was a girl and dressed me up in pink. You know what I mean?"
Cecil had not verbally spoken to anyone about his gender since he started to pass. Night Vale had an odd effect on people's memories, and as soon as his voice dropped, everyone seemed to not even question his request for a name change, as though it was just natural to roll out of bed one day as a different gender. He liked it that way.
"Cecil," Carlos started, reaching out to at least brush fingertips with the curled up man in front of him, "that would never stop me from loving you and wanting you. Do you listen to me? I told you that I know men come in all sizes and things. I'm not going to tell you it doesn't matter, because who you are matters a lot, and scientifically you're like, a miracle or something. But it doesn't change how I feel about you, okay?"
Carlos' fingers twining into Cecil's was mildly startling, but for once he didn't jump. All he wanted was to lean into Carlos, to be held. It finally did feel so natural to want him, but he wasn't done with his confessions yet.
His chest felt so happy and regretful at the same time. If only past him had known that someone would love his transgender body, then maybe he wouldn't have messed himself up so badly...
"Thank you but...that's not all there is to it..." Cecil mumbled, squirming again under Carlos' gaze.
"Oh? Are you post-op?" Carlos asked as easily as if he was asking Cecil what kind of boxers he wore. His heart flipped violently as he was suddenly overwhelmed by the knowledge that he did in fact want to be with Carlos for as long as time would allow.
"Not quite. Um. When I was sixteen, I just really wanted to be a boy, the right way you know? My parents still called me my birth name and refused to stop and so I thought maybe if I have the correct junk they'll be forced to see me right, right?" Cecil's gaze darter up to Carlos', looking for disdain or disapproval or horror or some other indication that he should stop, back track, and run away again with the little shred of dignity and secrecy he still had left, but all he found in Carlos's face was sincerity and curiosity, and a strange look almost like he wanted to whip out his notebook and start taking notes on Cecil.
"So, um, my mom practiced a little bit of witchcraft, cause that was before ordinance 3.19 passed prohibiting magic used by non-gingers, and I thought, maybe I could find something in one of these books to fix myself."
Cecil was talking like he forgot there was supposed to be spaces in between words, pouring out his story while his fingers subconsciously clenched Carlos', refusing to let go, needing to be grounded. Carlos squeezed back.
"And so I found this cool spell that was supposed to transform matter, right? It just said I had to focus on whatever I wanted, and touch what I didn't, or something. It sounded so simple," his voice broke, and Carlos' other thumb found Cecil's cheek, wiping away the first pool of tears on Cecil's cheek before he even registered that they'd spilled.
"But I guess the spell only worked under a periwinkle moon? I didn't know there were different blue moons, and I did it under a blue moon that night, so my...junk...took the shape of whatever I had drawn on the back of my hand that day instead..."
Cecil lapsed into embarrassed silence, but at this point Carlos was brimming with inquiry both from the point of view of a best friend and a scientist.
"Which was...?" He prompted, trying to coax Cecil's words out without making him afraid.
His eyes turned up again, and this time he didn't back down when he found Carlos' burning with intensity. They were hard eyes to meet, but there was still no disgust, only curiosity.
"Uh..maybe you should see for yourself? If you promise you won't scream.." Cecil said hesitantly, unlocking his leg from their tight position against his belly.
"Are you sure?" Carlos asked, voice also shaking in a way that was strangely comforting to Cecil. He was glad he didn't have to be afraid alone.
Cecil wordlessly unraveled his legs, leaning up against the arm rest of the couch with body language that looked so vulnerable, so trusting. Carlos was still rather uncertain - less about what he was going to find, but more about upsetting Cecil. But when his gaze didn't waver, Carlos slipped right in between his legs, hands falling down to either side of his chest so he could gaze at Cecil from above.
Carlos leaned in slowly, going for a kiss first, before trying to get any clothes off. And it was such a good idea - Cecil tasted like passion and pumpkin spice and everything warm and familiar. The kiss deepened, and without breaking it, Carlos moved to start unbuttoning Cecil's shirt. That was another first - they were, apparently, just diving right into those tonight - and Cecil had to tug his eyes shut as his shirt fell open. He wasn't as ashamed exactly, but he was no more excited about the surgery scars he brandished across his chest then he initially had been to hint to their existence. But closed-eyed Cecil was somehow not even startled by Carlos' lips on his chest, kissing along the area that had only become flat a few years ago. The sensation was dulled right on the scars, but Carlos' immediate and complete acceptance was enough to shift Cecil's body from embarrassment into a deep, visceral feeling of arousal. And god, did that feeling make him want Carlos to be naked.
His arousal wasn't even dulled by Carlos' hand finding the zipper to his jeans and yanking on it, following an impressive unbuttoning of his jeans.
Cecil's hips bucked forward involuntarily, his eyes open and gazing lustily up at Carlos while they both hung in this state of in between He could feel his bulge straining at his underwear, wanting Carlos. He knew Carlos had to be able to see it, because he was so unbearably hard, and he wondered what he was making of the...rather unorthodox movements in his underwear.
Carlos' hands met Cecil through the fabric, hands trying out new territory, gauging Cecil's reaction.
Making sure I don't run away and leave him sitting alone again, this time way hornier, Carlos thought to himself, blushing again at how he had acted earlier.
After a minute or two of having his cock palmed through fabric, Cecil choked out, "Please Carlos, stop teasing," in the most strained, need-drenched tone Carlos had ever heard. So he had to see exactly what it was Cecil was making such a big fuss about.
He slipped his fingers into the waistband on either side of the man's hips, ready to gaze at his beautiful boyfriend's body completely naked underneath him.
The surprisingly warm air of the radio station tickled Cecil's thighs, encouraging his body, and the lack of confining underwear really gave him room to grow.
He held his breath as the tentacles unfurled from his crotch. He was not so aroused and beyond everything he wasn't still anxious about Carlos' reaction, but if it was a positive reaction, he'd basically be there.
He couldn't have closed his eyes now if he wanted to, as he was much too intent in cataloging every single way in which he noticed Carlos reacted.
His eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head, for once, but the only move he made to shift his position was to try and scoot closer, and he didn't even flinch at all, which was incredible seeing as Cecil's junk was, in fact, three tentacles of varying length. The first was a little under two feet long, the smaller ones to the left of it somewhere around 8 inches each.
"Holy shit. You have tentacles. As a cock."
Cecil blushed furiously at Carlos' bluntness and the scrutiny he was under. How would Carlos like having his boner stared at so much?
"Is this is?"
"What?"
"Are these the only ones you have?"
Cecil had a moment of confusion until realizing with a start that Carlos was hard, pressed up against the back of his thigh. So his perfect boyfriend was not only accepting, but he actually liked it.
"Uh, no. I tried to get tentacle tattoos on my back once, you know, just to match, but they animated as soon as they were healed, so I have those too," Cecil mumbled, looking away but also rolling his body a little so the largest tentacles could be released from the dimples on his back.
"How does no one else notice this?" Carlos pressed on, his desire for answers and pure joy every time he learned more really fueling Cecil to push down his discomfort.
"Well," stammered Cecil, "They um...they really only come out when I'm aroused. Like, strictly."
Carlos grinned like a fool at that, looking more ecstatic than Cecil could have dreamed of being at that moment. But the nerves were starting to fall away, and he could feel himself getting slick and starting to throb ever so slightly.
"Can I touch them?" Carlos asked, his voice a picture of innocence, but the devilish look on his face quite the opposite.
"Please, please do," squeaked Cecil, in complete disbelief that this was happening to him.
Carlos's smile didn't dull as he wrapped his fingers around the center tentacle...
~*~*~to be continued *~*~*