#broadcastiing

I.      Carlos had nightmares a lot, their first few months on the run. He’d awake up and forget where he is, who he was with. He’d forget Cecil the now former Hydra agent saved him and that he wasn’t going to be tortured at any moment. Those few moments of forgetfulness are always enough to send him into a panic attack.        He can keep quiet most of the time, stumble to the bathroom before he wakes Cecil up. He refuses to show any weakness, any vulnerability. He can deal with this on his own. He already owes Cecil more than he’s comfortable with.        Then Cecil wakes him up halfway through a nightmare.        His lungs rattle in his chest, heart racing as he struggles to breathe. His chest aches, and his hands tremble. He doesn’t register Cecil until there are hands on his shoulders, bringing him back to reality “Carlos?” He shakes his head because he can’t talk, can barely think. “Breathe with me, okay? In through your nose, out through your mouth.” Cecil’s tone is calm, level, and  it gives him something to focus on. He latches onto it and eventually manages to follow Cecil’s instructions.        They end up sitting side by side, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip. “’M sorry.”        Cecil glances at him. “It’s fine. Panic attacks suck. I get it.”        “You get panic attacks?” It’s one of the few bits of personal information Cecil’s offered up.        “Used to. Haven’t had one in years.” Cecil rolls out of bed, quiet as a cat. “Get some sleep, alright?”         “Don’t tell me what to do.”        “Oh my God. Sleep. It won’t kill you.”

II.     Carlos would never admit it, but he falls a little in love with Cecil the first time they kiss. It isn’t particularly romantic, the kiss. The pair is in a coffee shop for the free wifi for Carlos to work, and Cecil keeps a casual lookout.         Cecil’s sharp intake of breath has his head swinging forward. His eyes skip over the crowd, lingering on the two men who just entered. They seem normal enough, he thinks, but one look at Cecil’s face sends something close to fear spiraling through him. “We need to get of here,” Carlos hisses, shutting his laptop as the Hydra thugs glance around.         Cecil picked good seats, tucked in a nook with a good view of the doors. They havne’t been noticed yet, and they can slip out the back doors without anyone noticing–         “Carlos. You need to kiss me. Right now.”         “I’m not fucking kissing you!” Carlos snaps, balking at the idea. Cecil’s very attractive, and he doesn’t need to remember kissing Cecil every time he looks at the man, thank you very much.         “Oh, for God’s–” Before he can react, Cecil grips his shoulders and pulls him into a kiss. It’s strange to be so close to Cecil after months of fiercely protecting his personal space, but… he can’t say he dislikes it. Cecil’s chest is firm muscle against his hands, his lips smooth and and warm.         When they pull away, both of them were flushed and breathing hard. Cecil stares at his lips for a moment before glancing at his face. “We have a minute and a half at most before they come back. Ready to run?”         “Always. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge.” He doesn’t let himself look at Cecil for fear of what he’d see.

III.     There’s the time Cecil finally tells Carlos about his past.         They’d been arguing for the longest time about Cecil being honest with him, telling him the truth for once. If there’s one thing Carlos can’t tolerate, it’s lying and dishonesty. It’s never been a good thing in his life, it’s always led to trouble, and he can’t bring himself to trust Cecil more than necessary. He wants to trust Cecil, but he just can’t.         They’re staying in a hotel in some city–Miami, maybe–when Cecil coughs and shuffles his feet to get Carlos’ attention. When he looks at Cecil, the man seems… smaller, withdrawn. He won’t meet Carlos’ eye, won’t even look at him. “We need to talk.” Cecil’s normally expressive voice is perfectly calm, flat.         “Okay?” He doesn’t like this version of Cecil, doesn’t know how to react.         “I was 15 when a Hydra recruiter found me.” Oh. Oh. Carlos listens with drawing horror as Cecil tells him his life story, tone maintaining that razor-edged stillness. It takes over an hour until Cecil is done speaking, and for a long time everything is quiet except the distant sound of traffic.         Carlos throws his legs over the edge of the bed and crosses the room in three large bounds. He surprises even himself by sweeping Cecil into a massive hug. It’s one of the few times he’s initiated physical contact with Cecil, and the man is stiff for a moment before hugging him back.         “Thank you for telling me the truth,” he murmurs into Cecil’s throat.         “It’s not a big deal.”         “Yes it is.”         Cecil just squeezes him tighter.

IV.     “Do they have any meaning?” Carlos glances up from his laptop where he’d been reviewing a message from one of his Rising Tide contacts. “Your tattoos. Do they have any meaning?”          Carlos shrugs. He has two half sleeves, and a collar of tattoos that wrap around his throat. “Some of them do. Most of them I got because I could.”          Ever since Cecil told him everything, something in their relationship had shifted. Carlos trusts Cecil now, is more willing to joke and show physical affection. It goes beyond that though. They haven’t talked about it, but if Carlos doesn’t know any better, he’d say they’re dating.         Cecil  leans forward, thumb running along a spot at the nape of neck. There’s a small tattoo there, a fractal, and it’s not terribly elaborate like some of his other tattoos. Cecil seems fascinated by it though, presses a quick kiss to shower dampened skin. Carlos turns his head to kiss Cecil’s lips, slow and open-mouthed and careless.        They spend the next few hours lazing in bed, and Cecil asks about every tattoo Carlos has. It’s lazy and easy, and Carlos wishes they can stay like this forever.         Too bad there’s no rest for the wicked.