Archive of Our Own

Title: As It Develops
Author: htebazytook
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: *disclaims*
Pairings: Cecil/Carlos, (background Dean/Castiel)
Summary: Welcome to Night Vale / Supernatural crossover. Night Vale's latest visitors are asking all the wrong questions.

 

Cecil is dreaming about a mountain, knowing somewhere in the back of his mind that it must be a dream because he does not believe in mountains, but he finds himself intrigued by its awesome size and snow-tipped peaks nevertheless. It's cold as he climbs up the rocky northern face, hands faltering in their holds, going numb, going stiff and useless and Cecil is trapped, now, he guesses. Too high now to jump down without facing certain death, too low to signal for a blue helicopter in a desperate plea for help.

Wait. Wait. A sudden reprieve from the cold, unforgiving air that has been swirling around him. Warmth. A warmth against Cecil's neck that spreads like wildfire through his limbs. A warmth across his chest, a little thrill of fear as he nearly loses his balance on the icy ledge of rock which is quickly replaced by a bloom of heat and a shiver that jolts him awake.

"Carlos," Cecil realizes. Carlos's arm winds tighter around Cecil's chest in response, mouth moving lazily against Cecil's neck with soft sucking kisses that drag him inexorably out of his exhausted state. There is one soft sheet settled diagonally across Cecil's bare torso, the weight of Carlos's leg twined around his thigh and frigid central air bearing down on them from the vent in the corner.

"Good morning," Carlos says, smearing the words across Cecil's neck before offering delicate bites and soothing kisses to the sensitive skin.

Cecil tilts his head to allow him better access, heart starting to race as his eyes drink in the thick morning sunlight slashed across the ceiling. He feels more like he's dreaming now than he had before. Carlos touching him lazily, hand running up his chest and down his arm, up through the clingy sheets to pull himself closer.

Carlos's chest presses against Cecil's arm while the oversized orange T-shirt Carlos wears to bed scrunches up between them. And as lovely as that is Cecil's desire to actually see Carlos soon dissuades any lingering lethargy.

Cecil removes Carlos's arm, pushes him gently onto his back and slides halfway on top of him, feeling uneven from having one elbow on the mattress while the other is propped up higher in a nest of sheets, feeling even more uneven from the long dark lashes around Carlos's liquid eyes. They look particularly pretty without his glasses in the way. Half-lidded look up at Cecil with his head framed by the gorgeous mess of his careless curling hair.

Cecil kisses Carlos's glistening lips, touches him in the quiet early morning until he's wrapping arms and legs around him, gasping and coming.

Carlos leaves for work while Cecil is still dozing. When the alarm on Cecil's watch goes off the sun is higher in the sky and the room is less heady with golden sunlight. Carlos's orange T-shirt is crumpled up on the floor where he'd flung it earlier, and Cecil steps over it as he shuffles his way into the kitchen.

He pours the coffee Carlos had left for him, sips it while watching the world through a little window above the sink. Glimpse of featureless desert through the disruption of one-story houses and desperate flora. The sunrise splattered indolently across the sky, the calming infinity of the void churning above it.

Cecil sighs contently.

*

"Listeners, I've just received a call from Old Woman Josie, out near the car lot. She has been reporting on the habits (and presence) of the angelic persons with whom she lives for the last couple of months. Of course, as we are all perfectly well aware, angels are not real. Not the ones on top of your Christmas tree during the holiday seasons sanctioned by the City Council every third lunar eclipse of the year, if there is one . . . not the ones who stop you in the fancy cheese isle at the Ralph's and shake their radiant heads disapprovingly at your embarrassingly unsophisticated cheese selections . . . They simply are not real. Eeeeverybody knows that.

"Today's angelic report from Josie was . . . a bit strange. Well, not so much independently strange as merely stranger than the norm, like a person with multiple face piercings and intricate tattoos on every available patch of their bare skin who names their dog Sparky or Fido. Like that. In her phone call, Old Woman Josie reported today that a new angel has visited her. She described him as having no beard and no robe. She went on to say, train of thought apparently on its way to derailing at this point, that he was young. And sexy. And that he had a raincoat. I'm not exactly sure why an angel - or anyone, really - would need a raincoat in the middle of the desert, but that's Josie for you.

"Soon after appearing, the new angel, who was not as tall or luminous as the others, exchanged harsh words with the original angels which resulted in their departure. They did take the time to complete Old Woman Josie's remaining daily housework before their panicked evacuation into whatever dimension they had originally descended from. How considerate! Or it would've been if they were real.

"And now for a look at the community calendar."

*

"Sorry Cecil, I got caught up in my work and I just – oh." Carlos's breathless worry eases into a smile. He puts his satchel on the table by the door and joins Cecil on the couch. "You ordered pizza?"

If Carlos's only imperfections were dedication to his field and a tendency to become too absorbed in his experiments to remember to call him regarding dinner plans, then Cecil didn't mind. When Carlos hadn't come home at six when the lab closed Cecil had figured it was going to be one of those nights.

"We haven't eaten there yet this week," Cecil says, feeling pleased with himself for shielding Carlos, who sometimes forgot the finer points of Night Vale's civic regulations, from a misdemeanor. "I got mushrooms."

Carlos smiles more. Cecil takes back any previous contemplations about his glasses getting in the way of his beauty. "Thank you."

They pick up their forks and dig in. Big Rico's pizzas weren't really the way pizzas used to be. Luckily, Cecil had found that choosing to forget this helped him to better enjoy their inelegant bowls of melted cheese and toppings swimming in tomato sauce.

*

"Last night Carlos came home late. Now, I don't normally like to talk about my personal life on the air like this, listeners, but there is something I think you should know. At his lab yesterday, Carlos was paid a visit by two agents. They weren't from a vague yet menacing government agency, but rather a widely recognized and presumably operational government agency which has been referred to by some of Night Vale's older residents as 'the FBI'. Whatever that stands for.

"The agents were not hooded, they did not disguise themselves as animals or household objects . . . Carlos reports that they wore suits, that one was tall with short hair while the other was unusually tall with unusually long hair. Carlos asked them what they wanted, and the agents informed him that they had hoped to meet with the town's coroner but the Sheriff's Secret Police had turned them away because they didn't have a coroner. The Secret Police had instead redirected the FBI agents to Carlos, saying , 'Hey, yeah, Carlos is a scientist. Yeah . . . I bet he has like, a lab and sciencey tools and all kinds of complicated stuff over there. He's the guy you wanna talk to about this. For sure.'

"Agents Fogerty and Cook had questions. Questions about several disappearances over the last couple of decades. If you ask me, listeners, it's pretty weird that the government would look into the relocation of missing persons, right? The government is generally responsible for perpetrating a certain number of abductions in order to fulfill their yearly quota, so I don't really see what the big fuss is about."

*

"Oh," Cecil says. And, "Yes."

Carlos had gotten home on time. He'd gotten home on time and instead of starting dinner had started in on Cecil, pinning him against the fridge so that the NRA magnet of a person murdering a poor defenseless gun that held up the calendar dug into Cecil's back but he couldn’t care less. Their tongues and legs and limbs in general are intertwined, Carlos's hair smashed against Cecil's forehead and Carlos's moans reverberating into Cecil's mouth and through to his very core, the curl of arousal in the pit of his stomach and blood rushing hastily southward. Carlos smelling so good and feeling so eager as he grinds his erection into Cecil's leg, kissing him so hard and Cecil wonders if they'll fuck on the counter. He really, really hopes so.

Carlos stops kissing him and Cecil lets out a whine but it turns to a gasp when Carlos breathes hotly into his ear and murmurs, "I'm going to make you feel so good, Cecil," in a voice like a fine red wine. He's undoing Cecil's belt, still grinding against him. Cecil thinks his pulse must be visibly shaking his body. He thinks he'll –

"Oh shit."

"Sam, wha - woah! Woah, okay."

"Uh, sorry guys," says an unusually tall man with unusually long hair who Cecil presumes to be Sam. He hasn't lowered his gun.

The other man is still holding his up a little listlessly, he's staring at Cecil and Carlos with very wide green eyes and a slack jaw. "Dude," he says to his companion, though he can't seem to tear his gaze away. "I knew this scientist guy was fishy. He's hooking up with a . . . well, I dunno, a something."

Carlos takes a generous step back from Cecil. "Agents," he blinks. "What are you doing here?"

The shorter man raises his eyebrows. "What're we doing here? What're you doing keeping a monster at your house?"

Carlos frowns attractively. "What?"

Sam points at Cecil. "Him! Look at him, Dean!"

"I am," Dean says, eying Cecil warily. It's still kind of an infatuated eying, though. "What do you think? Djinn?" He pauses, double takes at the coffee table. "Hey, weren't those books in a different order like a minute ago?"

"Excuse me?" Carlos interjects, a bit testily. "You haven't been in Night Vale very long if the sight of Cecil is disturbing to you. He's only got one extra eye, after all."

Dean is incredulous. "Would you mind explaining to me what the fuck kind of human has more than two eyes?"

Cecil rolls his eyes while glaring with the third one. ''Um, anyone who's been caught outside during one of the noisier sunsets . . . ?" Ugh, outsiders could be so ignorant to local customs.

Dean is still staring.

"Okay, okay, whatever," Sam says. "Look guys, we just came here to find out what happened to the people who went missing last month during the meteor shower."

Carlos folds his arms. "I've been studying it."

"Yeah, we know, and that's good, but we need to figure out what it is and - "

"Science takes time," Carlos says firmly. "It takes, it takes proper study and dozens of experiments and two FBI agents can't just waltz into town and expect to find out all the answers right away. Night Vale's mysteries are innumerable, and I have spent the last two years investigating them with only limited success, so I don't think there is very much you can do here to help."

Dean is pissed. "Now wait just a minute - "

Sam holds him back. "Thank you for your time," he says with a strained smile, and drags the other agent out the door with him.

The tension in Carlos's body dissipates as he turns to Cecil. "How did they break in here? Aren't they supposed to be government officials?"

Cecil frowns, unsure of why a bit of harmless breaking and entering is worrying his usually very intelligent boyfriend. "Yes . . . " He backs Carlos into the kitchen island and presses his thigh between his legs, is rewarded with a sigh and a restless thrust of Carlos's hips. He takes Carlos's glasses off and sets them on the counter.

Carlos grins.

*

"And . . . we're back. From the weather. Uh . . . okay, I'm not going to beat around the bush here, listeners . . . there is an angel – no, a man claiming to be an angel – in the studio with me now. He, uh, he just kind of appeared in a rush of what sounded like wings. He's . . . young. He has piercing blue eyes and just the right amount of stubble and is wearing a trench coat."

"It's an overcoat."

"Oh. Oh? Sorry, my mistake. Now, Mr . . . ?"

"Castiel."

"Hahaha, oh you are a joker aren't you? We all know that angels are named Erika exclusively."

"You are Night Vale's primary news source, correct?"

"Well, I don’t want to sound arrogant, but - "

"Twelve people went missing during the last meteor shower. Do you know why?"

"Uh . . . I really only report the news, so . . . "

"Have you noticed the smell of sulfur in the vicinity? Cold spots? Warm spots? Demonic possession?"

"I hope you are not referring to the Glow Cloud's weekly parent-teacher possession - it is an upstanding member of the community and . . . Castiel? Castiel? Listeners, the charlatan angel has disappeared in the blink of an eye. Literally. Um. I've . . . completely forgotten my material for rest of the broadcast. So . . . Stay tuned next for All Things Considered Insentient That Are In Fact Learning To Think For Themselves Though Their Continued Observation Of Your Family."

*

Cecil is watching Carlos watch a Netflix documentary. They're partaking of an attempt at wine and cheese that fell a little short of brie and merlot and ended up just the Cracker Barrel cheddar and cranberry-lime juice they'd had at the (non-abandoned) gas station. It was still good, and it was probably better because Carlos had a thing about spending too much on food just for the sake of its brand or perceived sophistication.

And sure, Cecil is listening to the documentary in the background, but giving Neil deGrasse Tyson his undivided attention seemed sacrilegious when Carlos sat beside him on the couch so beautifully rapt, finely chiseled jaw in profile.

Past Carlos's perfect nose Cecil sees the front door open. Burst open. The shorter FBI agent is storming through it.

"You're supposed to be a scientist, right?" he's shouting. Carlos jumps to his feet and Cecil pauses the documentary. "What the hell kind of craziness is going on in this town that it can blink an angel out of existence, huh? There's not even a meteor shower tonight is there? And would somebody mind explaining to me why you apparently can't get a beer literally anywhere in this stupid town? I'm pretty sure I haven't traveled back in time to prohibition because, oh yeah, that's right, there are actual flying saucers hovering above the Arby's!"

"Slow down, Dean," Carlos soothes, and Cecil thinks he's being a bit too hospitable to a man who had broken into their residence twice, now, even if he was a government official. "What happened?"

Dean is still visibly vibrating with rage, but his voice begins to falter as he continues, "There was . . . this guy, I dunno, I details are a little fuzzy. He had a tan jacket and a weirdass suitcase and he said something but I don't know what he said. I don't – just, look. Can you help me or not?"

"Where's your partner?"

Dean is busy scrubbing his face with his hand and breathing carefully so it takes him a minute to realize Carlos had spoken again. "My what? Oh. Yeah, Sam. Yeah." He nods to himself, glancing around at nothing. "He's looking for Cas out by the car lot where one of Metatron's sleeper cells was hiding out. I was trying to tune into the police radio on the way over here to see if I could hear something that might help, but the only thing on any of the stations was some robot chick reciting numbers."

"Hm . . . " The promise of problem-solving is a palpable gleam in Carlos's eyes. "I'll help you look, Dean," he says nobly. "We'll need to go back to my lab first, though."

"Yeah." Dean clears his throat. "Okay. Thanks. Let's go, I'll drive." He walks back out the door with somewhat less tension in his gait.

"Oh . . . you don't mind, do you, Cecil?" Carlos's eyebrows have knit together in concern, hand on Cecil's arm to anchor them together. "It's just - "

Cecil kisses him. "Go," he says. And Carlos smiles his dreamy smile before leaving to save the day again.

*

Carlos explains what had happened when he gets in later that night. Quite late, talking to Cecil from the bathroom while brushing his teeth. Cecil has his eyes closed on the bed and is struggling to listen. He thinks he's got the gist of it though – Cecil had been gallant and courageous and it had all been down to whatever sonorous science he was spouting above the sound of the faucet running.

"Are you listening, Cecil?" Carlos says, louder because he's standing now at the doorway in shadow from the dark bedroom and bright bathroom. He flicks the light switch and Cecil's eyes all readjust to the late night purple cast to Carlos's face, shoulders, the sweatpants low around his narrow hips.

"Of course," Cecil replies. He stretches on the bed, feeling disoriented from laying without a pillow under his head and Carlos having woken him up from a potent dream now lost to memory.

Carlos sits on the bed, cups Cecil's cheek and bends to kiss him in an especially savory manner. Cecil's body responds with great interest, convincing his brain to start paying attention unless it wants to seriously miss out.

Carlos shifts back to kiss Cecil's neck, pushes up the now wrinkled button down shirt Cecil had worn when succumbing to sleep out on the couch earlier. Carlos's wet mouth leaving shocks of pleasure across Cecil's chest, licking into his bellybutton to make Cecil squirm and buck his hips up into Carlos's hands where they fumble in the dim light to unbuckle and unzip.

Carlos doesn't touch Cecil's cock until he's gotten the rest of their clothes off and has dragged Cecil to the edge of the bed, resettled himself on the floor and taken it softly into his mouth. Clever tongue and dark eyes looking up at Cecil driving him insane in equal measure.

Cecil's hand migrates to Carlos's hair and encourages him to go faster, to which Carlos moans deliciously around Cecil's cock, sucks him harder and bobs his head more quickly. Cecil is too far gone to breathe, let alone say anything about how very close he is.

Carlos seems to sense it anyway. His powers of observation truly are unmatched whenever he puts his mind to it. He lays by Cecil on the bed looking impossibly alluring and Cecil still doesn't know what kind of local phenomena had tricked Carlos into being here but he isn't the kind of person who investigates the reasons for things and he hopes Carlos never thinks too much about it either.

Carlos lets Cecil kiss him, hums and gasps out, "I want you to fuck me," into the electric-charged quiet between them. "I want you so badly, Cecil," he says.

Cecil finds the three quarters empty bottle of lube in the nightstand and his hands slip because they were always too hasty and got it everywhere. It just makes Cecil remember the other times they'd used it, now – the array of colors that would fill the east-facing room depending on the time of day, sweet and dirty words of the past echoing in Cecil's ears.

Carlos sucks in a sharp breath at the first finger, but his countenance smooths and he looks liquidly at Cecil, bears his hips down and asks for more with barely moving lips that Cecil can't stand not kissing for long. When Cecil has three fingers curled inside him Carlos groans into his mouth and mutters, "Please, come on, please," nearly incoherently.

So Cecil fucks him, deep and slowly at first. The way Carlos writhes beneath him is better than his voice or his hair or anything. Carlos so lost to pleasure, begging for more and clinging to him desperately is the only thing that Cecil wants. He thrusts harder as Carlos's fingernails bite into his arm and his slackened mouth murmurs, "Right there . . ."

When Carlos comes it's with his eyes scrunched up and short helpless curses shouted out to the dark purple room. Coupled with the clench of his body around Cecil's cock it is simply too much to take so Cecil goes over the edge along with him.

Later, after cleaning up and getting the covers settled comfortably Carlos curls up behind Cecil. "Life is so much more interesting," he sighs. "In Night Vale." His arm tightens around Cecil's waist.

Cecil smiles. "I know what you mean."

Carlos's breath tickles the back of Cecil's neck in the best possible way. "Good night, Cecil."

"Good night."

*

"The ethereal imposter Castiel mentioned on a previous broadcast has made himself known again. The stubbly man in the trench coat was spotted at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex enjoying a soda and thing of fries that were too soggy to eat but which he ended up eating anyway because he'd already paid for them and it's not like there wasn't ketchup.

"One of the FBI agents who recently visited Carlos the scientist sat next to the nonexistent Angel of the Lord and complained about the quality of the burgers in that establishment as well as in Night Vale in general. The lack of buns and the addition of insect-like apposition eyes to the beef had made it difficult for him to finish his meals during their stay.

"'You just had to go off on your own didn't you, Cas?' the FBI agent said.

"'I can handle myself, Dean,' the angel replied, picking moodily at his disappointing fries.

"'That's not the point,' Dean said, watching the angel doodling Enochian sigils in his ketchup. 'You . . . listen. You have this tendency to bite off more than you can chew. And it keeps ending up with you dying or worse. And if you're gonna keep doing that, then can you at least give me a heads up about it?'

"The angel tilted his head and looked at Dean inquisitively. Which was adorable. 'Why?'

"'Because if you're gonna keep being reckless as hell with no regard for your own safety or the consequences then . . . I'm in,' the agent said, making himself look Castiel in the eye and wondering if what he'd wanted to say had accidentally come out in what he'd actually said.

"The angel regarded him (or would have if angels were real) and pointed out, inexplicably, 'They've got pie, here.' "

"More on this story as it develops."

*