It had taken three months of actual dating for Cecil to find his way into Perfect Carlos' Perfect bed. Which is at least mildly surprising, especially considering the fact that both men had wanted nothing more than curl themselves around the other since before the Bowling Alley Incident, but it starts to make much more sense once you took into account the scheduling nightmare that was living in Night Vale, the fact that neither of them had anywhere near what anyone would call a normal work schedule (even given Night Vale's rather loose definition of 'normal'), and, probably most importantly, the fact that neither of them were particularly good and forming complete, coherent sentences in the other's presence. But they had finally gotten there and it was as wonderfully awkward and fumbling as first times inherently were. It was better than any dream or oracle driven fantasy could have predicted, and Cecil was so incandescently happy that he was literally glowing. The glowing would have definitely bothered Carlos before coming to Night Vale, but he had been in town (and around a certain community radio broadcaster) long enough to know that Cecil's tattoos moved and were sentient, and that his hair didn't always check with him before changing color, and that the scar on his forehead was really a third eye, so really, glowing wasn't all that strange anymore — especially since he had briefly been legitimately concerned that tentacles were going to be involved at some point (and really, Carlos should have known better than to pay any attention to what Steve Carlsburg had to say about Cecil).

But now Carlos was asleep, so Cecil was trying to keep the glowing down to a bare minimum so as not to wake him. It was absolutely vital that Carlos stay asleep just now because Cecil was trying is very hardest to avoid scaring the scientist away. There were needs that had to be met and compromises had to be made; they were just best made while Carlos was unconscious and unawares. And it wasn't like Cecil was going to do anything unsavory or unethical or hurtful, but Carlos had once said that Cecil's tattoos wanted to eat him (which was ridiculous because there wasn't a single part of him that would ever want to hurt Carlos even a little bit), so it was best to be safe and leave the scientist completely in the dark about what he was going to do. And really, they didn't want to eat him — they just wanted to taste.

Carlos was sleeping on his back, his face turned slightly into the pillow and the blanket pushed down to his hips with his arms were up above his head. Cecil sat cross-legged on the mattress, his knee brushing against his boyfriend's hip, and placed his left hand on Carlos' slightly convex abdomen, spreading his fingers out as far as he could. His tattoos began to tentatively slither off of his pale skin and onto Carlos'. They writhe happily, although they're careful to stay close enough to Cecil's hand that they could make a hasty retreat if it was necessary; that had been part of the deal. If they stayed relatively where they were supposed to while he and Carlos were busy, then he'd let them taste while Carlos was sleeping; the dragon had to stay on his back at all times because it never had very good self-control and would probably get over excited and disturb the scientist's sleep — which would be unacceptable for multiple reasons.

There was a warm tingly feeling in his stomach that pulled Carlos back into consciousness. He cracked his eyes open and saw Cecil looking down at him, his eyes focused on his hand, which was a pleasant weight against the scientist's skin. He followed his partner's gaze and looked down to see Cecil's tattoos dancing on his own skin. They seemed to be the source of the warm tingly feeling, and since Cecil had promised that they in no way wanted to eat him, he decided to go with fond amazement instead of confused terror. He hummed, shifting a little bit while he tried to figure out what was the appropriate thing to say in this particular situation. After a few comfortable moments he met Cecil's surprisingly panic stricken eyes.

The tattoos quickly retreated back to where they usually were, and Cecil pulled his hand back as if it had been burned. The Voice of Night Vale stammered out something that sort of sounded like an apology before turning away. He sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched over and curled in on himself. He took a few deep breaths and then started grabbing for his clothes.

"What are you doing?" Carlos asked stupidly, feeling a bit sick.

Cecil took another shaky breath, finally getting ahold of his pants and making a few failed attempts to get into them. "I'm just going to go. I mean, you have to do, uh, science things tomorrow. And you need to be well rested for that. So I'm just going to go, um, home." He was visibly shaking and was barely able to get one leg into his jeans let alone the other.

"Y-you don't have to go" he stammered, sitting up. "I mean, don't leave on my account. I-I don't have to work tomorrow. It being the weekend and everything." He reached out and awkwardly placed his hand on his partner's shoulder. Cecil tensed a bit but stopped shaking; he still didn't say anything else.

"Is this about your tattoos?" Carlos pressed a few minutes later when it became clear that his boyfriend was still doing his best to pretend that he could be neither seen nor heard.

He nodded jerkily and blurted out his reassurances in a rush. "They don't want to eat you; they just want to taste, I swear!"

"Okay," he replied slowly, not really sure what he was supposed to do with that information. For lack of knowing what else to do he drew himself closer to his boyfriend, pressing his front along his back and wrapping his arms around his abdomen. "I wasn't really worried about being eaten, but, uh, thanks for the reassurance."

He hesitantly covered his scientist's hands with his own. "So you don't mind?"

"I don't mind," he promised, smiling as the tingling feeling returned, this time as the tattoos cautiously spread up his arm. The only one that didn't move was the small dragon on his shoulder blade. It was about four inches long and resembled a Chinese Dragon in that it was long like a snake with legs and wings; it was dark purple, almost black in places, and highlighted with little shocks of red and orange. Surprisingly enough, it looked rather adorable.

"What about this one?" He asked, rubbing it gently with one finger. "Does this one move too? I haven't seen it before."

Before Cecil had the chance to say anything the dragon came to life, growing to over a foot long and using the connection between Carlos' finger and Cecil's skin to slither up the scientists arm and settle happily around his neck. There was an odd buzzing sensation, almost as if the dragon was purring.

Carlos chuckled. "Well that answers that question."

"He's really very friendly," Cecil replied, sounding a bit less desperate. "He just gets a bit over overexcited."

He smiled, gently kissing the back of his friend's neck. "Kind of like someone else I know." Cecil smiled and turned his head so that he could meet Carlos' lips for a real kiss.

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

The kissing had inevitably turned into more, and now the pair was lying side by side their fingers interlocked and their chests heaving. All of the tattoos had willingly returned to their original host; although the dragon had curled up sulkily on Cecil's sweaty stomach. Cecil himself looked rather pleased and self-satisfied, which provided a rather nice juxtaposition — in Carlos' incredibly scientific opinion.

"So what's his name?" He asked, rolling onto his side in order to get a better look at his partner. He reached over and placed his hand on his stomach, smiling at the way the dragon's tail twitched at the contact.

Cecil looked over at him, his expression bordering on affronted. "He doesn't have a name. That would be weird!" The scientist laughed, leaning over so that he could press a kiss against the radio broadcaster's stomach, smiling at the way his skin jumped and twitched under his lips.

"I think I'll call him Fred," he answered, dropping another kiss against his skin before carefully repositioning himself between his friend's legs, looking up the length of his torso.

He rolled his eyes. "Fred? You can't name him Fred! That's ridiculous." In direct contradiction, the dragon gave a startlingly effective nuzzle for a two dimensional figure.

"I think Fred likes it," he replied, smiling as the dragon licked at his fingers. "And since you never bothered to name him, you're just going to have to deal with Fred. And besides I think it suits him."

Cecil just rolled his eyes again (this time looking more fond than exasperated) and reached down to run his fingers through Carlos' perfect hair, deciding that a bit of ridiculousness was probably alright and in no way forbidden by the city council.