Work Text:
Drake barely had the energy to pry the costume from his exhausted frame. He untied the mask and pulled the hat free, discarding them both in the corner of his cramped apartment bedroom, trusting them not to get rumpled. The cape unclipped and he stripped of the rest of his heroic ensemble. The costume was lazily draped on the top of his dresser and he tugged on a sleep shirt before collapsing onto the bed with a huff. His skin under his feathers felt all sweaty from the spur of activity that came with patrol, the cool sheets of his bed a nice relief. He was tired, a satisfied kind of just ran a marathon and the adrenaline’s rapidly fading type of tired, but god tired all the same. That was how most patrols or cases ended, utterly worn out and weary but the underlying bubbling excitement knowing what he’d been out doing never faded.
Drake’s muscles ached from the pursuit of that purse thief, then dealing with the arson attempt (he managed to stamp out the budding flames while Launchpad dispatched the idiot with a Molotov cocktail and his cape only caught on fire a teensy bit), not to mention foiling the armed robbery and a few other petty crimes scattered throughout the evening. It had been a busy night to say the least. Jeez, St. Canard has so much crime.
The door to his bedroom creaked open, dim light filtering into the otherwise dark room and he smiled in spite of his exhaustion. The door clicked shut, and he heard the window he came through slide closed paired with lumbering footsteps. A familiar presence joined him on the bed, the mattress sinking against the weight when his boyfriend tossed himself on it in a similar fashion to Drake’s entrance.
“You forgot to close the window, DW,” Launchpad mumbled, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
He snorted and leaned into the touch, “Oops, I knew you’d get it for me.”
Darkwing Duck gets to sneak in through the window, while his reliable compatriot Launchpad McQuack entered the apartment through regular means. They were still adjusting to the new routine that came with being a hero. Along with the changes that came with dating one. Until they could establish a removed head of operations outside of Drake’s confining one-bedroom apartment, he had been keeping his eye on a seemingly abandoned space in one of the Audubon Bay Bridge spires, they’d been reduced to infiltrating his home through various means undetected. Once there was an incident in which his landlord hired a pressure-washing company to clean the building’s exterior and he’d been forced to get in through the vents. Yeesh, he could feel all the dust and spiderwebs just thinking about it. What made things a tad easier was Launchpad spending more time in Drake’s apartment with him than at his crummy garage bachelor pad. He had a dedicated spot in the closet now and everything. Which was kind of terrifying in the best way possible.
Drake was brought out of his sleepy musings when Launchpad curled up closer, sliding an arm around him. His boyfriend had clearly already removed his leather aviator jacket and gotten comfortable.
“Nice job tonight,” Launchpad commended, sounding as tired as Drake felt.
“You too, especially with that miserable Molotov wielding miscreant, he went down like a sack of bricks,” Drake replied, taking great pleasure in the way Launchpad’s beak curled into a smile at the praise and how he chuckled at the cheesy alliteration. He rested his head on Launchpad’s chest, looking up at him and shifting to meet his boyfriend’s beak in a gentle but brief kiss.
His hand moved to cup Launchpad’s face as he pulled away after a moment or two, snuggling closer against him, content to use LP as a pillow. “I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.”
“You look beat,” Launchpad lightheartedly teased, his faintly flushed cheeks barely visible in the dim lighting.
Drake pretended to look affronted, his eyes crinkling as he tried to keep from smiling, “Hey! Its been a long night.” Launchpad had a point though, his feathers were all ruffled with a hint of soot in a few places thanks to the arsonist, not to mention he’d have a few bruises in the morning.
Launchpad merely smiled, shaking his head with fondness and leaned forward brushing against the feathers on Drake’s neck.
He stilled, his eyebrows raising in confusion, but he didn’t pull away. “What are you doing?” Drake asked.
Launchpad faltered, looking embarrassed as his face reddened and he leaned back to study Drake’s face, “I uh… I dunno your feathers looked kinda dirty. I just thought… y’know... Is that okay?” He fumbled over his words, suddenly unsure of himself.
The puzzled look didn’t leave Drake’s face until Launchpad coughed and awkwardly mumbled something along the lines of ‘…figured you could use some preening…’ only then did it click.
Preening wasn’t something Drake was particularly accustomed to. At least by someone else. He kept his own feathers neat, thank you very much. Even before he became an adult and moved out, his familial relationships were distant and strained. He’d never been truly close enough to anyone warrant such a gesture of care neither romantic nor platonic. He was a bit of loner, cough, understatement of the century, cough. He had acquaintances, and it wasn’t that he drove away the people around him, he merely didn’t seek out any sort of companionship. After all, the man he’d modeled his life after hadn’t needed anyone, so why should he? But that was before he’d met Launchpad and become the hero he so idolized all his life. So now he was faced with a heartfelt and harmless offer of something he’d never experienced… and felt hopelessly out of his element.
He blinked rapidly, bringing himself out of his internal over-analyzation.
“Ohhhh. Oh okay, right, sorry.” Drake paused, as if wracking his brain searching for a way to explain his utter lack of experience in the etiquette behind a simple gesture of affection and social deprivation without delving into the longwinded explanation of his entire life story.
“Sorry, DW, I should’ve asked first,” Launchpad apologized, likely having undergone his own insecure thought process and incorrectly believed he brashly crossed some important boundary in their relationship Drake wasn’t ready for.
Drake shook his head vehemently, “No no, you’re fine, LP. It’s totally okay, just was a bit confused is all… My feathers are kinda messed up.”
Launchpad squinted at him as if closely examining for any hidden tell that things weren’t okay and that he’d made a mistake. At his encouraging nod, Launchpad relaxed, ceasing the scrutiny and gave Drake a hesitant but genuine smile. “Did you want me to preen you? I mean, you said you were tired is all… I figured you wouldn’t mind the help. If you don’t care for that sort of thing I won’t, just thought I should offer,” He explained.
Drake bit the inside of his beak, mulling it over. He wasn’t sure why some insignificant grooming action that every duck he ever met did carried so much weight to him. Maybe it was due to the fact he was a man of routine, and a private person by nature. Launchpad always managed to subvert his expectations and blow past his preconceived notions by merely being his vibrant, kind, and charming self. This was just another reservation he had that his boyfriend managed to disarm and leave him reeling without even realizing it, in a way that made him feel so much more at ease once he found his footing. Just another reason why he treasured their bond so much.
His slightly uncertain expression became one of warmth and affection, “…Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that, LP.” Launchpad visibly brightened and grinned at the go-ahead, nuzzling up against Drake, who took comfort in the warm presence next to him. He felt Launchpad’s bill against his shoulder, gently nibbling at the base of his feathers there, preening him with utmost care.
A contented sigh escaped Drake at the soothing gesture as he relaxed against his boyfriend’s side, more than pleased to let Launchpad smooth down his ruffled feathers. He was starting to understand why people made an effort to preen their loved ones, after all it certainly felt enjoyable in a tranquil sort of way. Drake’s eyelids drooped, still exhausted from their nightly heroic excursions and put at ease by Launchpad’s reassuring stroking of his feathers. The edges of his beak curled into a sleepy smile. Definitely an adjustment I can get used to.