Archive of Our Own

It had started that very morning, and it came out of the blue like the times the moon would appear a little too close to Night Vale, washing the little town in bright white light as if it was morning, mysterious dark shadows draped in what looked like torn-up tarpaulin and cardboard floating overhead like malevolent clouds ready to rain destruction upon the little desert town.

Cecil hadn’t had that thing in years, he realised, as he sat up in his bed that morning, realising the world was hot and that the air was stifling. His senses were on overload—he could sense ever hot brush of air against his equally heated skin, his head spinning and light-headed from pressure building up in his head as he groaned, shaking his head and lying back down.

It wasn’t like he was sick—he never got sick, he thought to himself as he buried his face into his pillow, shivering as he curled under the covers in his bed, feeling the soft cotton of his pyjama pants brushing against his legs, each fibre tickling each cell on his limbs, driving his nerves wild as he twitched uneasily in bed.

He could smell everything, too—the smell of his coffee maker brewing downstairs, even through his tightly-shut door; the smell of his old carpet, warm in spots, marked in others by his little puppy Chow that never grew up. He could smell the water in his bathroom, his toiletries, the soap, that bottle of shampoo Carlos left a few days ago—

His crotch gave a twitch, and Cecil’s eyes flew open as he sat upright, eyes wide, all three of them, as a look of overwhelming shock washed over his senses.

No, not this again, nononono—

He felt hot, slick fluid slowly, thickly, ooze out from between his legs, heat pooling in his gut, his crotch, his legs, his cheeks, and his chest as the scent of his arousal filled the air, and at once he knew.

Dear God, did he know what that was, and for goodness sake, he was a little too old for that, right? Too old, no longer that sprightly young little teen he was the last time he had this sort of thing, old… old, like the premature white hairs on Carlos’s perfect, perfect hair, and—oh.

Cecil gave out a broken moan as hormones flooded his body, his entire being giving a shiver that ripped through each of his cells from head to toe as he whined, toes curling pleasantly as slick spurted out from between his legs, and he knew his sheets were probably stained by now, but the sensation of hot, hot slick between his legs, making them sticky, wet, shiny, staining his sheets and his pants dark wine purple, and the very thought shouldn’t have been that hot but it is and Cecil is whimpering, slim fingers shaking as he hurriedly peeled his pants off, panting and practically salivating at the thought of how they stuck to his legs and how wet he was, how wet he was at merely his thoughts of dear, beloved—

“Oh, Carlos,” he moaned to no one in particular, certainly not the Secret Police agent now pointedly ignoring the increasingly heated situation in the bedroom, and now shuffling little by little away from the window in order to avoid the waves of arousal coming off in tsunamis of scents as he pulled his gas mask on. Cecil reached in between his legs, where he could feel himself fluttering beneath his fingers, and with a choked gasp, he pressed his index finger lightly against his entrance, and was met with little resistance as his finger slid in, slick sliding out from inside him and coating his fingers with hot, hot, wetness and with a moan, he wiggled his finger within himself, oversensitive even without being touched before, and at just that, at just a little sensation in him, he shuddered, his entire body convulsing, his entrance contracting around his fingers, with an embarrassingly high-pitched whine.

He couldn’t come down from his high—it wasn’t enough. It was a dry orgasm (well, setting aside all the… fluids on him), and right then and there Cecil knew he was going to be having the roughest week in years.

Bitterly frowning, thoroughly petulant, Cecil sat up from his bed and pulled his soiled clothes and bed sheets, pointedly ignoring the embarrassingly large stain in the middle of them, and trying so very hard not to get turned on at the clear evidence of how just the thought of Carlos got him so wet—

“No, no, no,” he whined, as he felt another charge of slick trickle down his leg, and, frustrated, he dropped the soiled cloth in his hands to quickly head into his bathroom to douse himself in an ice-cold bath to cool himself down.

This wasn’t fair—it was his first real love, first real relationship and then this… heat just happens and he had always planned to take things slowly with his dearest Carlos. Now, everything was going to fall apart—

Not unless he controlled himself. You can do this, he thought to himself determinedly, as he dried himself off and reached for a high cupboard above the sink to pull out a packet of tampons. The packet was dusty, untouched, and with an embarrassed expression on his face, he took one out and unwrapped it.

Sighing, he sat down on the cold, tiled floor and bitterly pouted.

At least, back then when he was a teenager, Earl Harlan was there to help burn it off, one way or another.

He hadn’t been in heat in ages. He knew it was something that was triggered only by some relationship daftness, blah, blah, blah, but this was getting ridiculous, he thought to himself as he found himself staring a little longer than usual at crotches he passed by that morning on the way to the station, nearly driving his car into several lampposts and fire hydrants.

He could feel his mouth water at the thought of cocks, and he whined, squirming in his seat as he came to a stop at the last red light before he arrived at the station, the hum of his car’s engine fading into background noise when he suddenly realised his car was vibrating.

Sure, it always did, chugging every once in a while, even, but today, those vibrations felt… different.

Cecil let out a choked moan when he pressed his legs together tightly when he felt his crotch get a little wet around the tampon inside him, and his eyes widened when he felt it shift inside him, slick and hot and wet, and, unbidden, the thought of Carlos leaning over him, his cock just as hot and slick and wet and hard as the tampon inside him pounding and slamming and piercing him right there, pressing tightly against that little sweet spot he would always play with when he was at home, mewling like a kitten as he laid back in his bed, playing with himself, fingers slick as they are right now—oh, wait, when did his fly get down?

Cecil groaned as he reached down again between his legs and past the tampon, unable to help himself as his hormone-addled mind ran on, as he imagined Carlos squished up against the dashboard in front of him, a sexy smile—no, smirk on his face, barely-revealing straight, white teeth stark against delicious chocolate skin, hot just like he was, as he speared Cecil with his length over and over again in the tightness of his car’s front seat, with hardly any space to pull back to, leaving that large, hot cock always inside him, always prying him full. Moaning, Cecil leaned into the vibrations his car was making, completely disregardful of the fact the light had turned green in front of him, as behind him cars were honking at him to get a move on, counter-flowing to get ahead of him—

And who knows, maybe they can see what dirty little thing he was doing inside his car, and that sent a wave of arousal shooting up his spine as his fingers hooked inside him, teasing the possibly-saturated tampon up right against that little sweet spot of his (he never really knew what it really was) and a loud moan tore from his throat. He was sure that if anyone had somehow passed him by in that exact moment, they would have heard him even through the closed doors of his car.

And another thing, his mind continued, lecherous and sultry, what if Carlos drove by and saw him—saw how dirty and dripping wet with lust he was for him? What if he got hard on that, at what a dirty little slut Cecil turned into at the mere thought of him?

Moaning, Cecil’s fingers moved faster within himself, his pants growing shorter at the thought of that man’s beautiful honey-coloured eyes staring him down as he touched himself, whispering to him in a hoarse voice through filthy smirking lips that barely brushed his ear—

With a gasp, Cecil shook, clenching around himself, and he felt a wave of his slick pour out past the tampon lodged inside him and onto his pants, and the shiny leather of his car seat.

He groaned. Another dry orgasm—

“Mr. Palmer,” a voice spoke up and Cecil jolted, startled, and a bright purple flush crossed his cheeks as he turned around to gape at his personal Secret Police watcher (a young man, possibly in his early twenties, stocky, with dark skin and hair) handed him a ticket. “You’ve officially violated three traffic laws and are being fined. However, you are entitled to a discount and possible exemption due to your medical problem.” He said, normally as he always did, as if he hadn’t seen his charge masturbate in his car in the middle of the road. “Please obtain a medical certificate at the Night Vale GeneralHospital in order to avail the medical beneficiary exemption.”

“T-thank you, Jene,” Cecil stammered, more mortified than worried about the fine, taking the ticket from the man looming menacingly over him with a gas mask over his face. “Nice… gas mask.”

“Standard-issue. You’re secreting pheromones, and I mustn’t be compromised.” The officer replied, “Good day.”

“R-right,” Cecil nodded, and watched him leave, before sighing and staring down at his wet pants. He frowned, and shook his head. At least he still had back-up skirts and sundresses at the radio station—and maybe one of the interns has an extra tampon. Shaking his head, he put his hands back on the wheel and looked up—

To see the yellow light turn red.

Time to wait again, it would seem.

Cecil groaned and hit his forehead on the steering wheel.

Thankfully, today’s intern—a kind young lady named Sefa, dressed in a lovely orange hijab with pink dots, and, of course, the NVCR red shirt uniform, had given him a spare tampon she had on her. Thankfully, being a young girl who grew around dogs, she had learned not only to soul bond with the dog she vehemently denied the existence of, but also knew pyrokinesis—she was really good at it, actually, and so she helped Cecil wash and dry his underwear without much trouble.

Now, dressed in a fresh clean white sundress with small yellow daisy floral prints, Cecil sat in front of the microphone, headphones in place and Sefa in the control room, giving him a thumbs-up to ask if he was ready to start today’s broadcast. She was covered in what looked like two layers of jackets and a parka to combat the biting cold the station was currently in, nine degrees was really pushing it, but Cecil wouldn’t have it any other way. Dressed in a thin, sleeveless sundress in a room at four degrees wasn’t enough to cool his overheated body down sufficiently, but it allowed him at least enough comfort to calm down enough to make the broadcast.

He nodded, the bow around the collar of his dress bobbing, and the moment the ‘ON AIR’ sign lit purple, he cleared his throat, and began to speak.

“Cold is not merely the absence of heat. It is also the absence of a heartbeat. You are cold, yet safe, but dead. Welcome to Night Vale.”

Carlos looked up from the Petri dishes in front of him, frowning. The vine samples on the dishes in front of him gurgled slightly (rather… happily?) as he moved away, rubbing at his eyes, bleary and tired from looking into the lenses of the microscope.

He had gotten those vine samples from a strange bloom at his window that appeared out of nowhere overnight. It came to him knocking on the sand-worn window pane pleasantly, yet urgently, and when Carlos opened the pane, sleepless and sleepy, grumpy and in the mood for chocolate cake (non-gluten, he reminded himself, when he had been more awake), the vine spelled a message: CLELI NI HTEA

Well, it wasn’t quite clear what the vines were trying to say, since they were, at first, being spelled in Russian, and it took a photo and frantic searches on Google to figure out what the characters meant. The meaning confused Carlos to no end—what were the vines trying to say? It was hard enough trying to understand it, but unfortunately for him, the vine was also dyslexic and didn’t know how to spell.

It had told him so, when he was cutting off samples to study, in random 80’s song lyrics set to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody with each slice Carlos made on the vine. It had been a rather confusing event to happen at three in the morning (in Night Vale time, anyway, a call to his cousin all the way in Desert Bluffs told him that it was already eleven in the morning where he was at that time), but it was funny enough to at least keep Carlos interested in the vine to at least study it.

Until it started singing to him as he looked through cross-sections. At that time, he had decided that he had had enough of those vines for one morning.

“Haven’t had breakfast yet,” Carlos murmured, scratching his head and mussing his hair up as he walked out of his lab and headed downstairs to his apartment. He opened the fridge to pull out some Arby’s take-out he had picked up the last time Cecil came over. “Speaking of Cecil…” he stumbled past the kitchenette counter and reached for the radio, which was perched on top of boxes Carlos keeps forgetting to open. He doesn’t even remember what was in them.

The sound of Cecil’s voice filled the room.

“More on the incidents of vines appearing over town,” Carlos smiled slightly as he dumped the contents of the take-out box into a microwavable Tupperware, before putting heating it in the microwave oven. “Old Woman Josie called in to say that Erika, Erika, and, well, Erika, have all tried valiantly to burn down the offensive plant off her bedroom walls. “I’ve never seen them so agitated,” she said, over the sound of what seemed like the unholy screeching of long-dead beasts as the smell of rotting meat and burning cloth pierced my phone’s headset. She went on to tell me that her angels—which, of course, do not exist, Night Vale—usually stood around, generally being kind individuals, and would rarely act up this terribly. They had told her that if she knew of their message, it would seriously threaten her state of her soul’s salvation.”

Carlos chuckled. “Angels,” he smiled, shaking his head, picking up his phone to text Cecil.

Good morning. The vine came to my house today; it said ‘CLELI NI HTEA’. Know anything about it?

“Listeners, Carlos, my amazing Carlos, just sent me a text about the vines. H-he, oh,” what followed next was what sounded like a kittenish moan, a mewl of some degree of obscenity, perhaps, and it worried Carlos more than—well. To be honest, it turned him on more than he would like to admit. “Nnh, ah—oh, he-Carlos, dear listeners,” a wet shlick in the radio station was audible, and Carlos was heating up in the face as all the blood drained from his face in worry, and straight to his lower regions in arousal.

Who knew Cecil’s voice cracking like that; moaning like that could sound so good?

Chalk it up to the list of ‘Kinks-I-Didn’t-Know-I-Had-Thanks-A-Lot-Cecil’.

With only three bites of his breakfast, Carlos rushed out the door, car keys in his hands. The fact that Cecil’s voice was cracking on air meant something disturbing, anyway—it was up to him to find out and take care of his boyfriend.

Not because he was turned on, okay?

… Well, maybe just a little bit.

It was unprofessional of him to be doing this in the middle of the broadcast, but Cecil couldn’t help himself as he slipped his finger in and out of himself, teasing himself by brushing the tips right close to his sweet spot as he let out an unrestrained moan into the air of the booth, thankful for its soundproof walls and dead microphone as he could hear the sound of his own voice saying some pre-recorded message about a PSA regarding pens. Beside him, resting on a tissue was the half-wet tampon that had previously been inside him—he pulled it out the moment the pre-recorded announcement began playing.

Carlos’ text came to him without warning, and Cecil—for once—wished Carlos didn’t text him during a broadcast, but oh, the thought of Carlos actually listening to him speak over the radio turned him on so much more than he would like to admit, and he could feel the temperature rise in the booth as he fingered himself lightly through his announcement of the pre-recorded message, only letting his moans out wild, loud and free the moment the track started playing.

He was thinking of how Carlos might actually get off to just his voice, pleased shivers running down his spine as he twitched in his seat. He tried to call to Sefa for help, but he couldn’t see her in the haze of lust that was clouding his mind. Perhaps she left to avert her gaze, maybe Station Management called her over—he didn’t know, the thought of it completely escaping his mind when he noted the fluttering of his skirt around his legs as he thrust harder into himself, choking on his own spit as he moaned around his knuckles, fist pressed firmly into his mouth to keep his moans to a minimum.

He hadn’t realised the pre-recorded announcement was over until he could hear a familiar voice through the haze of his hormone-addled mind.

“… Car… los?” he mumbled, blinking his eyes into focus as he saw his boyfriend charge into the station through the door visible through the glass into the control room, looking a little worse for wear, bloodstains on his usually pristine white coat.

Ooh, bloodplay. How kinky.

Cecil groaned as he felt himself clench around his fingers, and that caught Carlos’ attention.

“Cecil!” he heard through the glass, and with his free hand, Cecil weakly waved at his boyfriend, hurriedly pulling his fingers out of himself and wiping them off on the carpeted floor of the booth, wincing at the stain it was going to leave. Quickly he reached for the tampon and slipped it inside himself just as Carlos burst into the booth.

“Cecil, you were breaking up—and we’re on air!” Carlos gasped loudly, clearly mortified, and all Cecil could do was offer him a weak smile as the scent of his boyfriend’s cologne hit him harder than a tsunami, that left him lightheaded and breathless, and so very aroused.

Embarrassment was the last thing on his mind; really, as he felt his body heat up ridiculously high despite the 9 degrees temperature in the room, and he let out an embarrassingly loud whine at Carlos, bucking his hips slightly as his cheeks flushed deep purple. He could feel his slick, hot and wet and viscous, trickle down from his entrance, past his tampon, and he knew he needed at least something inside him right now or he was going to—

His eyes widened when he saw the marker pen in Carlos’ lab coat, and without a second thought, he launched himself off his seat, knocking his headphones off and cutting Carlos off in the middle of asking wait Cecil what are you wearing—?!

“Carlos,” he moaned into the sweet, heady scent that was Carlos’s perfect, perfect chest, and lab coat, as his hand reached for the marker in the pocket, “Oh, Carlos,” he rutted his hips against his boyfriend’s, and through his hazy vision he could see a dark flush had crossed Carlos’ face.

“Cecil! What are yo—stop! You’re in the middle of a broadcast—”

“Good night, Night Vale.” Cecil suddenly spoke up, not pulling his eyes away from Carlos and his perfect, perfect lips, “Good night.” Suddenly the purple ON AIR sign flicked off, much to Carlos’ shock.

“Carlos,” Cecil continued, slowly rubbing his hips against the taller man’s, earning him a strangled groan of arousal from his boyfriend. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Cecil, you’re not yourself,” Carlos tried to reason with him, but Cecil surged forward and pressed their lips together, pulling out the marker from the pocket and pressing it into his palm.

“If you aren’t going to, then please, at least the-the pen,” he whined into Carlos’s lips, earning him a look of mortified shock from his boyfriend. Carlos grabbed Cecil’s shoulders and pulled him away from him.

“Cecil. There’s something wrong with you.” He firmly said, but in his arousal, it had come out a little more forceful than Carlos would have liked, but that just made Cecil whine all the more.

“Please, Carlos, please—”

“Cecil, get a hold of yourself.”

“Oh, for the love of—Carlos, I’m in heat!” Cecil snapped, his face flushed purple more from arousal than embarrassment, “I.Need. Your. Cock. Inside. Me!” he punctuated each word with a wriggle against Carlos’ grip on his shoulders, his sundress’s skirt fluttering around him like it was in a cool breeze.

Carlos froze, and stared at him. “… You’re in heat.”

“Yes!” Cecil cried, desperate, confused as to why Carlos just wouldn’t get it. “Sex! Now!”

“What you need is to come over to my place.”

Cecil’s eyes lit up, and Carlos smiled at him kindly. “Come on, let’s get you into the car.”

Cecil immediately followed suit.

What he didn’t expect was that Carlos had a lot of rope on him when they got to his place, and with a rather long, embarrassed phone call with his cousin all the way from who-knows-where, he had managed to tie up Cecil to his bed in the most… interesting way he could imagine.

Carlos had tackled him to the bed the moment they entered his bedroom, and with an earphone stuck to his phone, tucked away in his pocket, he hurriedly talked to his cousin as he tied up Cecil’s pliant body into the bed.

Cecil’s arms were bound to his thighs, wrists bent at a comfortable angle that forced his legs apart, while intertwined ropes connected in beautiful knots and loops around his chest, and through the thin fabric of the sundress Cecil could feel them rubbing against his nipples, and squirming around in place as Carlos stood back, panting, flushed and embarrassed, he moaned loudly. He could feel his slick trickling out of him and onto Carlos’ bed sheets, but his skirt covered it from Carlos’ view.

Speaking of views, though…

Cecil shifted around, spreading his legs more, and he felt the ropes tighten around his arms. He let out a whine, a moan of pleasure as he felt pressure against his biceps, his forearms, his thighs, and his chest, as the ropes tightened around his pectorals, rubbing against his nipples. Across him, he could see Carlos staring at him, wide-eyed, and Cecil could see the tent in his boyfriend’s trousers.

“Carlos,” he whined, and he could hear a sharp intake of breath, and he knew he was done for. With a gasp, and a loud moan, Cecil’s entire body shook and he relaxed slightly, but still not down from his high.

He had come again, and it was still dry, and only from having Carlos watch him tied up and needy.

God, this was so stupidly hot.

Carlos, on the other hand, was at a loss for words. In his ear he could hear Diego’s loud howls of laughter, and the sound of what seemed like a fist beating a table. When Cecil climaxed—at this Carlos still blushed at the thought—he noticed a strong scent of cinnamon in the air. He wasn’t sure what to make of the entire situation, but at least he had managed to control it—somewhat.

“Diego, the rope-tying looks pretty weird,” he spoke up, clearing his throat as he looked pointedly away from Cecil, now writhing on the bed. “Are you sure this is—”

“Oh my god, Carlos, you’re a gullible little thing, aren’t you? You’ll have to thank me later after you’re done with Cecil.”

“Damn it, Diego, what is it you’re not telling me?”

“You tied him up with Japanese bondage art, Carlos. Told you he’d love it.”

“I asked you for heat control methods, you bastard!” Carlos growled, and from the bed, he heard Cecil whine. Panicked, he reached for more rope, and secured Cecil to the headboard, blindly slipping the rope here and there on the knots that dotted Cecil’s tied-up body, pointedly ignoring the still-unexplained sundress his boyfriend was wearing now rumpled-up and so delicious to touch, to pull away, and to tear off Cecil’s willing, mewling, hot, hot body—

Embarrassed at his thoughts, Carlos pulled a little too hard at the rope he had now tied to the two headboard posts, wringing a choking moan from Cecil’s throat. His eyes widened and he pulled back away from the rope, like its touch burned him, and Carlos realized that he had somehow managed to get the rope right beneath Cecil’s chin, tight and secure against his throat, cutting off air supply barely enough to allow Cecil to breathe properly.

“Oh, my God,” he groaned, embarrassed, and in his ear, Diego laughed even harder.

“Jesus Christ, did I just hear you choking Cecil? And you called me a pervert back then.”

“Diego, just—” Carlos sighed, shaking his head, “Just shut up. Goodbye.”

“Enjoy getting laid.”

Carlos scowled, trying to ignore the urges his cock was screaming at him, to just tear Cecil’s clothes apart and spear him with his—

“Stop, Carlos, stop,” he told himself, “You are not taking advantage of Cecil like this.” He mumbled, before taking a deep breath—

Only to choke on the suddenly overwhelmingly strong scent of cinnamon in the air. “Wh-what the—” he managed, his eyes watering from exertion, and his eyes widened when he saw Cecil staring right at him, eyes wide and pleading, legs spread out wide at him, his crotch still covered by his skirt, but the hint of briefs, dark with a wet patch, told him entirely what Cecil wanted. Translation of Cecil’s needy whining and whimpering and half-uttered diminutives of his name no longer required.

“Cecil, I-I’m not that kind of guy, okay?” Carlos managed, scooting closer to manage a little chaste kiss on the corner of Cecil’s mouth, and at just that, Cecil let out a whine. “Look, this is for your own good. I’ll help you ride out your heat, but this is the best I can do. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

His dick, however, had different ideas, but Carlos had self-control, and strong will. Those were the nineteenth and fifth thing scientists are, respectively. (He couldn’t really say the same for his cousin, but Diego Montez was a completely different story.)

“I love you Cecil, so I’ll take care of you through this time, okay?” he softly said, and that earned him a breathy sigh from the half-hogtied radio broadcaster sprawled out on his bed, still so very much offering himself to him. “I’ll go get you some dinner.”

He didn’t wait any longer to hear Cecil’s pleading, leaving quickly to avoid hearing that sweet voice, undone and hoarse and hot with pleasure, because he knew any second longer in that sweet cinnamon-scented room with those delicious pleas and moans, and he would give in to what his dick was demanding him.

That would not do. He and Cecil were taking things slowly.

He was not upset.

Not upset.

“Cecil, I got you some stuff.” Carlos called at his bedroom door, unwilling to open the door, especially now that his boner had cooled off. In his hand was a box of Big Rico’s take-out pizza (so Cecil could still have his mandatory slice that week; they hadn’t gone there for a date this week yet), and in his other were two bottles of cool water. “Cecil?”

There was no reply, and Carlos bit his lip. He had a bad feeling about leaving Cecil tied up and horny like that, and he was sure he had somehow violated some sort of unspoken rule when it came to sexual rut, but he had no idea how to fix it.

He was tempted to call Diego again, seeing as he was the one who graduated his undergrad in Biology, but then he stopped himself before he could get his phone. No doubt he would just laugh in his ear again and trick him into doing things to Cecil that would only make the heat much worse for him to endure.

He wanted to take care of Cecil, he really, really did, but that would require opening the door.

Carlos paused, biting his lip.

“Okay, just as sec,” he quickly promised, setting down the food onto the ground, before rushing to his lab. Behind him, his apartment’s Faceless Old Woman shook her head, silver hair slowly moving in the non-existent wind in her plane of existence, before flicking her hand, destroying some lock that happened to exist in her plane.

That lock was the safety lock for Carlos’ gas mask.

“Cecil, I’m back,” Carlos spoke up, peering into the room, and he was surprised at the surge of cinnamon that attacked his senses despite the gas mask on his face. It seemed it was useless, after all, he sighed, and defeated, he pulled the mask off as he walked into the room—

Only to come to a total stop, heat spreading through his body like wildfire as Cecil’s pheromones (he soon, later, much later will find out after rigorous sample testing) seeped through his nasal cavity, filling his senses with only Cecil, Cecil, Cecil—

“Carlos.” Cecil spoke up, his voice hoarse, and Carlos could see bruises lining the skin beneath the ropes, and he swallowed, suddenly hot, and his pants were much tighter than he would have liked. “Where have you been?”

“I see your head’s cleared up.”

“Asphyxiation can be very clearing,” Cecil replied, and the cold, yet burning hot tone of his cracking voice sending chills down Carlos’s spine and waves of pleasure down straight to his cock. “And very arousing.”

“Clearly.” Carlos replied, clearing his throat to actually use his vocal cords, his voice suddenly disappearing when he heard Cecil’s rough voice.

Quietly he decided he rather liked the sound of it.

Another one for the list of ‘Kinks-I-Didn’t-Know-I-Had-Thanks-A-Lot-Cecil’.

At this moment, Carlos realised, he wasn’t going to be able to fight any sense of urge, after all. Not when he had his sexy-as-hell boyfriend tied up in bed, horny and hot like the sun. Not when the last time he got laid was in his undergraduate years, not when he was more than healthily sexually frustrated.

Oh, fuck it.

That was when Carlos realised that Cecil looked… wetter than usual. As far as he knew, the male anatomy didn’t allow for any generous amount of fluid secretion, and he blinked, when he realised that the cloth of Cecil’s sundress had turned translucent with something wet, clinging to his slim legs, and colouring pink at where it touched his skin. His sheets were also soaking wet, and the ropes at Cecil’s thighs were slipping from their places, the bruises from the rope burn less distinct than the ones on Cecil’s arms, wrists and neck.

“Cecil, you’re wet.”

“Yes,” the broadcaster purred, his legs shifting slightly, still parted, the way Carlos had left him, “So very wet and it’s your entire fault.”

“Wait, that’s not—”

“Carlos.” Cecil growled, and the scientist fell silent, shivering delightedly.

“Cecil, can I look?”

“That’s the only thing I’ve been waiting for.” Cecil purred, and Carlos lowered the box of take-out and water bottles to the ground, and carefully, slowly approached his bed.

He eyed the skirt—clearly ruined now, and making up his own decision, pulled out a switchblade from his lab coat (earning him a whine and a hiss of approval from Cecil in front of him) and he cut the skirt away.

“The top,” Cecil rasped, before Carlos could pull the wet cloth away, and the man nodded, obeying, cutting past the ropes that bound Cecil’s chest in the most erotic way ever. Slowly, Carlos peeled away the white chiffon fabric from Cecil’s body, leaving only Cecil in his soaked briefs.

“Cecil, you’re really, really wet.”

“Oh, talk dirty to me, Carlos.” Cecil moaned, and Carlos shook his head.

“No, I mean it; how could you be so wet?” Carlos asked, the scientist in him kicking in, and at the back of his mind he regretting falling asleep in all those Biology classes back in his undergrad days. “That’s physically impossible, what with the penis and—”

He stopped completely speaking, when he cupped Cecil’s soaking briefs to find the lack of a bulge there and instead found two soft, fleshy folds, and his eyes widened.

“Wait,” he breathed, and he cut away Cecil’s briefs to reveal to him a leaking entrance not unlike the human female vagina. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, as Cecil peered up at him blearily, eyes hazing over with lust again, as lips, raw from being bitten, parted in the beginnings of a plea, when—

Carlos ran his finger along the seam of what seemed like Cecil’s labia majora, ripping a delicious mewl of pleasure from Cecil as finally, finally Carlos was touching him, and yes, yes—

Cecil whined when Carlos took his finger away from his slit, to pull out his phone, hurriedly setting it to its voice recorder app. “Carlos,” Cecil pleaded, but the scientist silenced him with a soft kiss to the inner side of his thigh, now shaking and twitching, unable to move due to the bondage holding it in place.

“Wait a minute, Cecil, this is amazing.”

“C-Carlos, you’re amazing, j-just please, please fu-fuck me,”

“Shh, this won’t take too long.”

Carlos was a little remorseful about his sudden moment of geeking out, but getting the opportunity to study something scientifically new was just so amazing, he couldn’t help himself.

“Carlos, it’s normal, please, just—”

Carlos hushed him again, sweetly kissing the inside of his ankle.

“External genitalia not unlike human female genitalia,” he spoke to his voice recorder, “Labia present,” he slipped two fingers inside the slick hole, earning him a strangled moan from Cecil above him. “Labia… uh, majora and minora, I think?” he prodded around inside, gently easing the two flaps of flesh aside to reveal Cecil’s entrance, dusky, shining wet, warm and trembling beneath his touch. “With external vagina, and… oh, whoa, whoawhoawhoa—”

Cecil was trembling at Carlos’s touch, arousal coursing through him in wave after tidal wave, and he could feel himself harden up and begin to emerge.

“P-penis present,” Carlos stammered into the voice recorder, now more amazed than aroused, “Possibly vestigial, scrotal sac absent,” he stared as a small penis emerged from the top of Cecil’s entrance, peeking out from between the fleshy labia, the tip slightly leaking with what looked like female slick rather than precum, and the scent of cinnamon in the air grew thicker, to the point the air between them was saturated, and it burned Carlos’ air tract, but he didn’t care. “Whoa, that’s—wow,” Carlos breathed, brushing his fingers against the suddenly-emerged penis, earning him a high keen from Cecil, and at his sides he could Cecil’s toes curling. “Wow, okay, penis so very not vestigial; possibly functions for lubrication, secretes pheromones—smells like cinnamon. Responds to stimuli, very well—”

Carlos slipped his fingers inside Cecil again, along the length of the penis, and he found a little bump behind it, and Cecil’s back went as straight as a rod, a scream of pleasure ripping from his throat, as his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“I… think that was his prostrate.” Carlos breathed, “Penis functional, and I think I should start referring to it as the ejaculatory duct.” Lowering his fingers, Carlos parted the labia again to peer into Cecil’s entrance a little better. “Oh, God, what was that called again? Pee-duct? (Later he realised it was the urethra he was talking about, much to his chagrin and his cousin’s impish delight.) Anyway, it’s separate. Holes three in total in genital aperture.”

“Oh, Carlos, touch me there again,” Cecil breathlessly pleaded, the little dick where his clitoris should be (had his bits been fully human female, anyway) giving a little jerk and Carlos found his throat going a little dry.

Clearing his throat, he nodded, slipping his fingers—three of them easily going in with how much slick were on them—back inside Cecil, thrusting once or twice, hooking his fingers to brush against Cecil’s prostrate.

“Prostrate serves as clitoris, too, seems like it,” Carlos reported into his recorder, his voice growing hoarse over the sound of Cecil’s loud moaning in the background. “And God, Cecil, you’re tight.”

Cecil was clenching around his fingers, his toes and fingers curling in the soiled sheets, and he was panting heavily, lips shining from spit and pleas half-spoken.

“C-Carlos,” he gasped, “Carlos,”

It was like it was the only thing Cecil knew, the only thing he could say, as, overstimulated, desperate, and needy; Carlos was the only thing in his mind, in his heart, his head, and his body—

He was begging, and Carlos knew that, even without Cecil’s usual articulation of his plea.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Carlos declared, turning the recorder off, and Cecil let out what sounded like a relieved gasp. Carlos unbuckled his belt, undid his fly and hurriedly pulled his pants and boxers off, his cock springing free from its bounds, and Carlos hissed at the sudden rush of cold air to his hot cock.

“Carlos, oh,” Cecil managed, staring wide-eyed, eyes filled with wonder and awe at his cock, and that was more than enough confidence boost for Carlos, who surged forward, nearly forgetful that he hadn’t really prepared Cecil yet for sudden penetration. He hesitated as the head breached Cecil’s entrance, but his eyes widened when he felt Cecil taking him hungrily, hot, hot wetness making his dick slippery and wet and so hot making him groan gutturally as he surged forward, bottoming out until his hips met Cecil’s, and he felt the broadcaster clench around him as Cecil let out a loud, wailing scream.

White streamed out of Cecil’s ejaculatory duct, and Carlos grit his teeth, pulling out slightly to grip the base of his cock tightly to keep himself from coming at the feel of Cecil’s walls pulsating around him.

Panting, Cecil threw his head back, his chest heaving, his eyes wide, but clearer than they did before. “Yes, I finally came,” he breathed, before locking his eyes with Carlos again.

“More.” He growled, and the scientist was more than happy to comply.

Hips canting, breaths mixing, and flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, accompanied by the wet sound of slick slipping out of Cecil, onto Carlos’s cock, dripping, hot, hot, hot onto the sheets, onto their legs, onto their ropes, and it couldn’t get any filthier than that.

“Cecil, you’re so wet,” Carlos growled into Cecil’s ears, punctuating each word with a thrust against Cecil’s prostrate, earning him progressively louder whines and ‘a-a-ah, ah, ah oh Carlos yes’ with every thrust. “Did I get you this wet? So dripping wet?”

“Oh, yes,” Cecil breathed, struggling against his binds, desperate to throw his arms around Carlos’ neck, when suddenly Carlos reached forward to pull at the rope at his neck, and Cecil’s eyes widened as his air got cut off, choking him as Carlos thrust into him more and more, making him feel so full and airless and choking—

With another strangled scream, Cecil came, shooting another weak spurt of white onto Carlos’s stomach, and more of his cinnamon-scented slick oozing out of his hole.

Suddenly, Carlos pulled at a knot on the ropes, and they came undone all over Cecil’s body, allowing him to throw his arms, bruised and red-lined with rope burn, over the back of Carlos’s neck, his legs lifting and spreading wider to wrap around Carlos’s waist, his own hips canting up to meet with Carlos’s thrusts, want building in the both of them, and Cecil, though exhausted, felt his heat reach its final stages.

“Carlos, fill me,” he begged, his voice broken and cracking, but it was enough to get Carlos going, his thrusting going anew and more haphazard as Cecil felt Carlos’ stomach tense.

“Cecil, I—”

“Fill me.” Cecil urged, his voice slipping into his low radio voice, and that was what sent Carlos sent over the edge, with one final thrust aimed right at his prostrate, pressing hot and firmly over it, as he came in thick, hot spurts into Cecil’s entrance.

The feeling of Carlos’ heat flooding him on the inside sent Cecil over the edge, and he came as well, one last jet of white ejecting from his ejaculatory duct before it slowly retracted into his body as he and Carlos lay tangled in each other’s limbs as they panted, slowly coming down from their high.

A few minutes later, when things got too sticky and uncomfortable, Carlos carried Cecil to his bathroom to wash him up, lovingly, gently washing soap over Cecil’s rope-burned arms and slick-sticky legs, taking extra care around Cecil’s crotch, while the broadcaster, jelly-boned, leaned against his lover contentedly as he watched Carlos clean him up.

They eventually settled into the bathtub together, warm water caressing both their bodies as they settled down together in bubbly, soapy lavender-scented water, Cecil curled up on top of Carlos.

“Your temperature’s back to normal now.” Carlos spoke up after a while, and Cecil replied wordlessly with a nod. “Is your throat okay?”

He shook his head, and Carlos sighed apologetically, reaching for one of the water bottles he brought with him into the bathroom, and handing it to Cecil. With a grateful nod, Cecil drank, while Carlos sat back and traced equations into the small of Cecil’s back.

“You’re okay now, though?” He asked again, and Cecil nodded. “Any chance this’ll happen again?”

Cecil shrugged.

Carlos sighed, “Figures,” he chuckled, kissing Cecil’s cheek softly. “Not the first time I was imagining, though.”

At this, Cecil frowned, and nodded, but Carlos chuckled and kissed the frown away. “Not that I’m complaining.”

The smile that spread across Cecil’s face was positively radiant, and Carlos couldn’t help but smile back.

“By the way, I wasn’t done with my observations. Want to drop by sometime soon so I could maybe finish it?”

Cecil’s eyes lit up, and a devilish little smirk crossed his lips, as he leant forward to whisper in Carlos’s ear.

“Only if you let me observe you, Carlos,” he whispered hoarsely into Carlos’s ear.

“Absolutely,” the scientist chuckled, pulling Cecil in for another kiss, the gentle lap of water around them soothing background music for them.

Sure, later on, Carlos had to replace his mattress, and an entire set of sheets, but sex with Cecil was totally worth it.

What wasn’t was his cousin’s endless teasing of him about it over the phone, but that was one downside he could live with.