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Las Nevadas was finally open. Quackity’s little project had been considered a success by his staff, of the remaining staff that was. But Quackity couldn’t help but feel like an absolute failure, a fucking fool he was.
He’d trashed his office when he got home that night, after purpled’s betrayal. He was singed and pissed, and most embarrassingly of all, tears streamed openly down his face.
He screamed out of anger, shoving the contents of his desk to the floor, sending a flood of papers scattering around the desk. He chucked the half empty inkwells at his wall, painting dark splatters upon the smooth white surface, reveling in the ugly sound of glass shattering to pieces upon hard impact, before collapsing to the floor with an open sob. Hands fisted into his hair, pushing his beanie askew. He watched his tears fall and soak into the black fabric of his slacks.
He let out another frustrated yell, he wanted to scream, scream until he lost his voice. He wished he could drink himself into a stupor, or perhaps he should just make like Schlatt, and drink himself to an early grave. It’s what he deserved now, anyways right? But he hadn’t kept alcohol in his office for weeks, he had been trying to get better, trying to get better for Slime… but now he was gone, and Quackity wasn’t sure if he felt like getting better anymore.
He leaned his head back to rest against the desk, scrubbing away his tears as they fell. The effort proved futile, and ultimately he let his hands fall limp in his lap. He let his head drop into his knees as he sat in his own boiling anguish.
He only faintly registered the soft turn of the door handle as his office door was thrust open, as someone cautiously entered the room.
He weakly raised his head, ready to yell at whoever it was to fuck off, even if he knew he’d regret yelling at his staff in the morning.
“Quackity? Are you alright? I heard- I heard yelling and glass breaking.”
It was the last person Quackity wanted to ever see in a state like this.
Regular menace and constant pain in his ass, Wilbur Soot, entered his office cautiously, boots crunching over broken glass. Quackity glared at him, tempter flaring, as he opened his mouth to yell at the man to get lost or he’d find his sorry ass back at the train station.
Wilbur beat him to speaking once his eyes fell to where Quackity sat, curled in on himself on the floor.
“Big Q, you’re hurt, what happened?” Wilbur questioned, panic creeping at the edges of his voice as he kneeled down beside Quackity. He instinctively reached out to touch his face gently, but Quackity flinched and shoved him away sending Wilbur careening backwards. The force of the shove, however, also sent Quackity backwards, slamming his back painfully into the desk. He hissed a string of curses, his body already burned and sore all over.
“Fuck off, Wilbur, dont- don’t fucking touch me. What the hell are you even doing here?”
Wilbur’s expression was unreadable, and Quackity avoided his gaze, hands grasping at his pants as he studied his knuckles instead.
“I was in the area- Quackity what happened? Who hurt you…?” Wilbur continued to press, drawing near again, but keeping his hands to himself.
“That’s none of your business. Just get out. Before I make you.” He ignored how he did not feel at all capable to make good on his threat, He just wanted to curl up and not move, he’d worry about clean up whenever he woke up. He tried wiping at his tears again, the fabric of his sleeve scratching unpleasantly against his face. He really wasn’t in the mood for Wilbur’s bullshit.
To his surprise, Wilbur didnt press any further.
“Okay.” He relented instead, voice soft.
Quackity heard him move, and thought for a moment that Wilbur was leaving, and Quackity wasn’t quite sure if that’s what he had actually wanted. But Wilbur didn’t move away, instead he felt him drop down beside him, shoulders not touching by a few centimeters. Quackity’s tired body instinctively closed the gap however, as he leaned him. His head fell to rest in Wilbur’s shoulders. He was so tired.
He could feel Wilbur tense, and he guiltily observed how tightly he kept his hands clasped in his lap.
“I’m sorry for shoving you. I’m just… It’s been a shitty night.”
“Yeah, I heard. The sirens. That means he’s escaped… hasn’t he?”
Right. He had forgotten completely all about the prison after the betrayal. He didn’t exactly want to discuss the details of his prison visits with Wilbur, not many would take kindly to hear all about how their personal hero was tortured everyday for nearly a year by their regular hookup slash rival.
“I…” He took a steadying breath that came out more like a pathetic sniffle. “I don’t know. It’s a probability.”
They fell into silence after that. Neither comfortable nor comfortable by any means. But he did feel Wilbur’s head rest atop his own, which felt comforting in its own way.
He heard Wilbur snort softly, “You smell like soot.”
He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips.
“Hilarious. I can barely contain my laughter.” He said flatly, but a weak smile had broken out across his face.
“I couldn’t help myself!” Wilbur exclaimed with soft laughter, shoulders shaking slightly. For once, Quackity actually enjoyed the sound, usually his laughter would grate against his ears, but this was much nicer.
When they lapsed into silence again, it was comfortable.
“Q…” Wilbur muttered softly to get his attention, and Quackity realized he had nearly dozed off for a few moments.
He blinked back blearily, looking up at Wilbur. “Mh?” He acknowledged back.
Wilbur giggled, still keeping his voice low and soft. “Can I hold you? It might be more comfortable.” He asked, almost a little timidly.
Quackity’s hesitation must’ve shown on his face because Wilbur quickly backtracked.
“Only if you want- i mean,i know you didn’t want me touching you earlier- it’s just my shoulder has sorta uh- fallen asleep so, it's just a suggestion, is all.” Wilbur nearly mumbled the last part, “We don’t have to.”
“No, I, I think that’d be okay.” He acquiesced.
They shuffled around awkwardly, until they landed in a position that was comfortable enough. Quackity was sat between Wilbur’s long legs, leaning back into his chest, while Wilbur loosely wrapped his arms around his middle. It was. Well, it was nice.
Quackity let himself be held, he hadn’t let himself be held in so long. His body sagged into Wilbur’s arms with exhaustion, even if this was some conniving ploy to lure him into a sense of security before attacking him, Quackity couldn’t really bring himself to mind that much anymore.
Wilbur made no move to do this; not even once did he make any movement to even suggest an ulterior motive.
Rather, Quackity found himself being surprised when Wilbur began to affectionately nose at his neck.
He jumped slightly at the sudden touch, and Wilbur reacted immediately, tensing and pulling away. He began to mutter an apology, his arms indecisively holding him tighter before pulling away. As if Wilbur was scared that Quackity would leave him, upset, but in equal measure he wanted to respect Quackity, not wanting to make him feel trapped.
Quackity found that he didn’t want to leave. Usually he’d run from affection like this, like the coward that he was when it came to that level of trust, to trust someone with your heart like that. He blamed it on his exhaustion, the bruises and ache in his bones. But he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t there. He was willing to trust Wilbur with this.
The thought was terrifying, and he knew he was so, so vulnerable. But Wilbur was warm, and he felt safe. Like he had so long ago, when he held Quackity in that freezing, moldy ravine.
He’d been vulnerable then, too, and he understood now that Wilbur back then had absolutely taken advantage of his vulnerability. It had been a wound he had worn so openly, So really, he had only himself to blame, flaunting his weakness like that.
He thought he would’ve known better by now.
But, History is doomed to repeat itself, and he was tired of reminiscing, and tired of thinking and worrying. He brought his hands up to cup Wilbur’s, making them forcibly still around his midsection. He cut him off with an intentionally small voice, turning to look up at him.
“Mh, why did you stop? ‘Felt nice.”
It worked like he had hoped, Wilbur relaxed, and held him close again, while Quackity relished, if not a little selfishly, at the way the tips of WIlbur’s ears turned pink. He admired the way the blush dusted across his cheeks, and lifted a hand to brush away the curls of hair he abashedly tried to hide behind. He pressed a featherlight kiss to the corner of his mouth, before dropping his head to rest comfortably against his collarbone again. He made sure to subtly expose more of his neck for Wilbur, in an act of kindness to spare the man having to even ask later on.
Wilbur buried his face into his neck, pressing gentle kisses generously. Each one full of affection and care. Quackity let out a content sigh as Wilbur trailed up his neck, peppering the side of his face lovingly. A gentle hand cupped the opposite side of his face, in more of an unspoken question, for Quackity to turn his face more towards him. Quackity was both endeared and appreciative. He’d never expected Wilbur to be such an accommodating lover, when it came to more traditional things. It struck him how domestic this was, sans the extenuating circumstances.
He was going to need to have lots of reevaluations of his life choices come morning. Unpacking this was not going to be fun, at this rate, he might have to consider recruiting Puffy for her therapeutic services for Las Nevadas.
Quackity adjusted willingly, tilting his head so Wilbur could press kisses to his jawline. He felt him nip mischievously on occasion, drawing out small titters more akin to playful chirps from Quackity.
“Mm never took you for such a lover, I ought to call you my Loverboy.” Quackity hummed to him, as he patted playfully at the hand he still held.
Wilbur let out an affectionate chortle against his neck, the light vibrations sending a pleasant shiver down the back of Quackity’s neck.
“Hm, probably not a good idea, but I don’t think I’d mind as much if it were coming from you.” Wilbur paused, nuzzling into the crook of his neck before continuing again, softer.
“I… do care for you, Q. I always have, I think. Though I’d understand if you didn’t believe me, I know it doesn’t always… seem like it, and sometimes I-I think I even stopped believing myself. I just- I want you to know that. I’ve always been so soft for you, despite all the stupid ways i’ve behaved contradictingly”
It was a confession, yes. Soft in its existence, a tender, fragile little creature that had undoubtedly nested itself within the tight, obfuscated chambers of his heart. Likely trapped behind walls constructed of clay bricks fired by artificial fears, surely of his mind's own creation.
He needed to navigate this carefully, he understood that. For both their sakes. His pause, mistaken silence by Wilbur, muttered his name anxiously, desperate for his response.
First, internally, he tackled the beginning. He did recall Schlatt calling Wilbur ‘loverboy’ on occasion. He recognized that he also didn’t really care, so long as Wilbur didn’t mind. Wilbur was his loverboy, and god dammit, Quackity was going to call him whatever pet name he pleased.
Secondly, the confession. He needed to respond, and quickly, before Wilbur began to panic.
“Wil…” He began to fill the silence, still searching for his words. He exhaled softly, sinking further into Wilbur’s embrace while he thought. “Oh Wilbur…” He murmured, almost wistfully.
He felt as Wilbur let out a shaky breath, muffled by his shoulder.
“I don’t know if I'm fully ready to reciprocate just yet. I…” He found himself at a loss for words again. His tongue had never felt more incapable and tied than it did that moment. He steadied himself with a deep breath.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to… you know,bear my heart so openly again just yet. But I think I might be willing… to possibly…try. Maybe we could… I don't know—work something out.” Quackity didn’t even feel satisfied with his final answer, but it’s all that he could manage, to leave the possibility open.
Maybe he would regret it come morning, giving Wilbur even the idea he might be allowed back into Quackity’s life. It was a dangerous turn of events should this turn out to be the ultimate long con by Wilbur to worm and manipulate his way into Las Nevadas.
Wilbur doesn’t react at first. But then Quackity feels him relax, shoulders slumping as he exhales shakily again, but much louder and more force, as if he’d been holding it.
“It’s more than I deserve, but I think I’d like that. Thank you.” Wilbur’s voice was barely above a whisper, as he hugged Quackity close. He mumbled his thank yous a few more times, in between the reverential kisses he returned to pressing to his neck.
Really, It was probably more than either of them deserved. He ignored this in favour of leaning appreciatively into the affection.
“Are you trying to kiss me better, Wil?” He teased, as he brought a gentle hand up to Wilbur’s face, gently directing him to meet his gaze, faces close.
Wilbur gave him a sheepish grin, closing the space between them with a chaste press of lips, which Quackity returned eagerly.
“Is it working?” Wilbur asked when they pulled apart, a mirthful edge to his tone.
“Hmm, I’m not entirely sure yet, I need to check again, I think.” Quackity reconnected their lips, this time however he pressed further, softly licking into Wilbur’s mouth, who parted his lips keenly.
Wilbur’s lips were chapped against his own, and he could taste the lingering cigarette smoke on his tongue. He imagined he was no better though, he shared the exact same habit.
They pulled away, both a little breathless, breathing each other in as they regained their breath. Quackity was dizzied by the genuine softness of the kiss, resting his forehead against Wilbur’s.
“Yeah, I think it’s definitely helping.” He affirmed, once he could speak again, while he grinned like a lovey dope.
Wilbur laughed, burying his head into his shoulder and snuggling him close, entwining their legs together. Now they truly were a cuddly mess on the floor of his trashed office. Quackity ruffled his curls before slouching so he laid more comfortably against him.
Wilbur hummed in half-hearted protest as he had to move his head from Quackity’s shoulder as he moved down, but grinned down at him when he looked up at him, hands moving to hold Quackity’s face gently.
“I dunno about you, but this floor is kinda starting to hurt my ass to sit on…” Quackity said, dopy smile persisting.
“Do you feel like moving?” Wilbur asked, as he began to play with the strands of black hair that poked out of his beanie.
Quackity scrunched up his nose at the thought of moving, but if he slept on his office floor, his back was gonna pay the price in the morning.
“Not really, no, however it’ll be worse to sleep on the floor. We should probably go back to my place, where there’s a perfectly good bed to sleep on instead.”
“We?” Wilbur questioned, unable to suppress his hope.
“Yes ‘We’. You’re going to carry me, of course.” He joked, but Wilbur looked serious, an adorably dedicated look crossing his face.
“Of course, of course. Don’t want you to strain yourself in this state.” He nodded sagely, which made Quackity scoff, rolling his eyes.
“I was kidding. I can walk there myself Wil, I'm inviting you back to my place, if you're interested.”
“Yes.” Wilbur answered quickly, the tips of his ears reddening once again. “I mean- I would love to— come back to yours, that is. I- Yes. Yes, I’d love to.”
Quackity laughed affectionately as Wilbur flustered and stumbled over his words, hands fidgeting with the strands of hair he’d been playing with moments before.
“Don’t get your hopes up for uh— anything too interesting to happen though, I’m too exhausted and sore for that.” Quackity clarified as he sat up, stretching his back out in an arch.
Wilbur flushed redder, spluttering quietly. Quackity detangled himself from Wilbur, immediately missing the body heat as he stood. But when Wilbur followed suit, rising to his feet, he wrapped his arms around him and pressed Quackity back against his chest. Quackity swayed with him for a moment, patting at the arms wrapped around him patiently.
“C’mon, amor, I don’t live too far from here.” He insisted, pulling away from the embrace.
Wilbur let him go reluctantly, but remained close next to him. Practically shadowing him as he grabbed his coat.
“Are you sure you’re good to walk? You still look pretty beat up. What…happened?” Wilbur inquired, still looking concerned.
Quackity shrugged noncommittally as he buttoned the black wool coat.
“Nothing I could tell you in just one night. At this point, I just want to go home, clean myself up and… deal with everything tomorrow.” He said instead, pulling out his keys from his coat pocket. Wilbur didn’t press the topic further, instead he kept close to Quackity as they exited his office, locking it behind them.
Wilbur kept as close he could to Quackity, their shoulders regularly brushing, as well as their hands. It was clear Wilbur wasn’t going to initiate it, so Quackity does it instead, linking their hands together with a reassuring squeeze.
Wilbur didn’t react openly besides a slight smile, but he returned the sentiment, squeezing back.
They walked in comfortable silence until Wilbur seemed to realize where they were heading.
“Quackity. Q, Big Q.” Wilbur tugged at his hand excitedly. “Am I being led to where I think I’m being led to?”
Quackity smirked, flashing Wilbur a smug look.
“And where do you think we’re going?”
Wilbur gaped at him, running his free hand through his hair in astonishment.
“You live in the bloody Space Needle?!”
Quackity shrugged in faux modesty as they stepped out into the fountain plaza. The plaza was beautiful at night with the illuminated fountain framed by a backdrop of lavish casinos and bars. All of which were soon going to be open to the public. It only brought a fresh pain in his heart when he realized Slime would never get to see it finished.
He didn’t even realize he’d come to a stop until Wilbur tugged at his hand, eyebrows furrowed with concern, looking at him with a silent question.
Quackity stared back out at the fountain for a moment longer before turning back to Wilbur, flashing a quick smile hoping to reassure him. They began walking again.
They were rapidly approaching the Needle now, standing at the base of the impressive building. Quackity pressed the call button for the elevator, ignoring the curious, yet worried glances Wilbur would occasionally throw his way. They stepped into the elevator, their silence maintaining as they rode it up to the top.
The elevator gave a soft ding upon its arrival, doors sliding open to his apartment. He made quick work of kicking off his dress shoes, and putting his coat up. He held his hand out for Wilbur’s expectantly. He was only met with a confused look.
“You’re not going to wear that thing inside, are you? You’ll overheat.” He questioned, with a little gesture of his hand for his coat again.
Wilbur rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess not, I don’t usually take it off or anything. The van doesn’t really have a coat hanger anyways and-“
“You sleep in your burger van?”
Wilbur winced. “For… the time being. It’s only temporary, since my last place was well. literally a cave. And the other one, is currently a giant hole in the ground. My options were slim.” He explained.
“Okay well- ignoring how downright inhumane that sounds, under my roof, shoes come off at the door, and I run the heat high so, you’re probably gonna wanna ditch the coat. Up to you. Shoes off though, not up for debate.” He said, wandering further into the apartment. “I’m gonna grab some stuff to clean my wounds up a bit, make yourself comfortable!” He called back as he beelined for his bathroom.
He searched through his drawers for basic medical supplies, bandages, antiseptic and preferably some sort of salve for his burns. He didn't necessarily keep his home as well stocked as he should've though, so his options were limited. He had a few plasters covered in silly multicoloured hearts he didn't remember buying, and some sort of salve missing its label. Maybe he should just clean his wounds tonight and buy a potion of healing tomorrow.
He abandoned his search for medical supplies; instead he wet a washcloth with warm water before shedding his tattered shirt. He dabbed the wounds on his shoulder tenderly, watching himself wince in the mirror at the sting. His armor and shield had protected him against most of Purpled’s physical attacks, thankfully.
He finished up cleaning his wounds quickly, he didn't want to be a rude host after all.
When he exited his bathroom, he found Wilbur who had shed his burgundy coat and hung it besides Quackity’s. The sleeves of his fraying sweater where pushed to his elbows. He was staring out at the glimmering city lights. He turned on Quackity’s approach.
“Can I get you anything?” Quackity offered politely, fighting the exhaustion out of his face.
“I think you should get to bed, you look like shit.” Wilbur responded, before wincing at how bluntly he phrased himself. “Sorry, I just mean you look tired. Very, very tired.”
Quackity laughed, scratching at his neck self consciously. “You’re not wrong. I’m pretty fucking tired.”
He was tired, too tired to care as he threw his beanie and tie to the floor, all but collapsing into his plush bed. Wilbur more gingerly slipped off his jeans before climbing into the bed beside him, where he was greeted by Quackity’s arms wrapping around him and pulling him in.
“Mn, why are you so fucking cold, man?” Quackity grumbled into Wilbur’s chest.
“Side effects of being dead,’suppose.” He mumbled through a yawn in response, combing his hands through Quackity’s hair. “Why are you so warm? You’re like a tiny space heater, how do you survive with the heat on?”
Quackity hummed in response, He barely heard Wilbur, his exhaustion finally winning over him, as he fell asleep to the gentle rhythm of Wilbur’s breathing.