Chapter Text
Carlos has always had two left feet when it comes to dancing. He's graceful enough at walking and its variations, but the moment music comes into it he's a mess.
Cecil loves to dance. Every chance he gets, he's wiggling away to a song, whether it's aloud or just in his head. He does twirls around the house, wielding a duster, on cleaning days. So of course he gets beyond excited when one of the interns mentions Night Vale Prom.
“I'd completely forgotten that was coming up!” he squeaks in delight, digging through the closet for something to wear. He pulls out and inspects several items, one of them the tunic Carlos recognizes from their first date, tossing each one aside with a huff of disdain. Carlos sits nervously on the bed watching the growing pile of discarded clothing.
“Cecil,” he starts, trying to get the other man's attention for a moment. “I have nothing to wear to a dance.”
“Oh, Carlos,” Cecil lilts. “You can just toss on a formal lab coat and you'll be fine. You have the magnificent luck of looking good in anything. I, on the other hand...” He pauses to hold a periwinkle swath of fabric up to his chest, making a 'hmm' noise.
“Cecil,” Carlos tries again, “I can't even dance.” He feels his cheeks heating up, face flushing. Cecil turns and gives him a curious look.
“Your schools didn't have mandatory ballroom dance lessons?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. Carlos shakes his head, not even going to get into the rest of the country's public school curricula. Cecil's expression brightens suddenly. “That's okay, I can teach you!”
Carlos sputters and starts to protest, but Cecil is grabbing his hand and pulling him into the middle of the room, keeping a firm grasp until Carlos gives up and accepts his fate. Cecil places Carlos's hand on his shoulder and holds the other gently.
“Hope you don't mind if I lead,” Cecil says, grinning. “I never did quite get the hang of doing it backwards.”
He talks Carlos through it, showing him where his feet should go, moving them slowly through the basics. Carlos isn't sure if it's easier or harder without music, with no rhythm to follow but Cecil's. They stop after a while, just swaying together in the center of the room, Carlos resting his head on Cecil's shoulder.
“I don't know if I can manage this without staring at my feet,” Carlos mumbles into Cecil's shirt. Cecil laughs, a sweet bubbly sound that sets Carlos's stomach aflutter.
“We'll keep practicing until you get it. Besides, you don't really have to be good at dancing. You're a scientist.” That gets Carlos laughing too, until Cecil quiets him with a kiss. On a whim Carlos sweeps Cecil into a dip, surprising another delighted giggle out of him. “See? You can dance just fine.”
“Only with you,” Carlos says, pulling Cecil upright again. “I think your rhythm might be contagious.”
“Well if it is, rest assured that I only want to share my dance germs with you.”
“Thanks, Cecil.”