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Right before Wilbur's face could inch closer to Quackity's, intending to leave a small peck on the other's lips, Quackity managed to turn his head away, leaving Wilbur to stare at how his cheeks were getting redder by the second, at how flustered he was becoming.
He looked cute. It then made Wilbur chuckle and just press his lips against the duck's cheek that was facing him now.
“Quackity-y-y,” he drew out his name softly, “look at me, ple-ease?”
It just so happened that Quackity's lower back was pressed against his office table, with Wilbur invading his personal space oh so arrogantly, having his hands resting on the avian's hips.
He looked cute. He always did, he looked gorgeous. Wilbur has always thought so, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Not once and not even twice he once in a while caught himself staring at his supposed rival for more than necessary, wishing he could be at least a bit closer to him in any way.
Quackity sighed, carefully placing his hands on Wilbur's sides, still refusing to fully face the man.
But he liked it. He liked having Wilbur so close, the other being so gentle with him made him melt. It wasn't something he would expect from the brunette, but it was nice. And he was so afraid to admit that.
“Why— why should I?” he mumbled, fingers nervously fidgeting with the cloth of the taller’s coat.
And yet Quackity trusted Wilbur.
“‘Cause you have a pretty face,” the side of it that Wilbur was left to look at was the one where his scar was, going all the way through his eye and down to the corner of his mouth. One of Wilbur’s hands went up to carefully brush his fingers against the wound, a feather-light touch, before kissing it just as gently. “And I like looking at it.”
Quackity felt safe around him for some reason.
He never really cared about the scar, but it seems like Wilbur did. The way he would talk about it sometimes, like it was the coolest thing ever, always managed to get that little smile out of him. Even if Wilbur never got to see it.
There came another kiss, a little firmer, but still careful, and then he felt the other just nosing at his cheek, cat-like. Dumbass.
After mere seconds that felt like a blissful eternity for both, Wilbur finally pulled away to once again take in Quackity's whole presence. Oh, how he loved this man.
“I— I like looking at you,” and now it was Wilbur’s turn to feel how his face was heating up.
Wilbur trusted Quackity. He trusted him enough with his feelings.
It felt like they were the only ones for each other, to understand and accept with all their flaws, and they were the only ones to not be turned away by them, but the opposite. They knew each other a bit too well for their own good.
Quackity finally looked up to Wilbur again, hesitant, but a small laugh escaped his lips when he saw the taller’s flustered look. “Dumbass,” his voice soft.
His hands pulled away from Wilbur's sides to carefully find their way to the man’s face, cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing back and forth, sometimes barely touching the frame of the other's glasses. Wilbur’s silly smile only grew from that. Quackity's hands were warm.
It was nice.
After another couple of gentle moments, Wilbur's eyes sparked with a little idea. One of his hands came to rest on Quackity's, moving it slightly so he could press his lips against the duck's palm. Then again, and again.
Another tender gesture, but with each of those the feeling of something blooming in Quackity's chest only grew. The warmth felt like he was about to explode.
Quackity was looking at Wilbur, and Wilbur was looking right back at Quackity. The shorter really just wanted to hide his face again, as it was probably impossibly red by now, but he felt a bit better about it when it came to his focus once more that Wilbur was just as flushed. Quackity thought he looked cute.
Something about the way Wilbur's eyes were practically gleaming with affection made Quackity want to express just how much he actually liked the man—
(Every little detail, how he liked his fluffy curls with that stupid white streak, his voice with that ridiculously attractive british accent, his eyes, the way he would look at Quackity, whether it was accompanied by a sly smirk, challenging him once again, or if there was something soft in his gaze, something Quackity wouldn't let himself spiral about up until recently, and how most of the time he wasn't even actually annoyed when Wilbur showed up at his office unannounced—)
Wilbur then took Quackity's other hand, the one still resting comfortably on the other side of his face, slowly pulling both down, just holding them now. Quackity's hands in his.
“I like you.”
—but he couldn't. Not like that. He wasn't quite ready to repeat the words back, but oh, how he wished to. It was so simple, yet meant so much.
Wilbur knew it, when the duck's expression got a hint of nervousness to it as he remained silent.
And yet he still wanted to be close to Wilbur. So pulling himself together, he finally gave in, and bringing his face closer to the curly-haired man, he pressed their lips together. It was nice and soft. One probably couldn't even call it a proper kiss, just a long-lasting peck, but it was enough.
And right after that Quackity was wrapping his arms around Wilbur's middle and burying his face in the other's shoulder. Having processed what had just happened, Wilbur couldn't help himself grinning, right now he had all he could've ever wanted. The only person to actually see him. He was happy.
Wilbur wanted Quackity, and Quackity wanted Wilbur. He knew that the other couldn't let himself say it out loud, but it was okay. He was willing to wait if it meant he could help Quackity to get more comfortable, and he would give him all the time in the world needed.
So his hands traveled to the duck’s back, one of them starting to rub in slow motions, up and down, and with that Quackity could feel the bits of tension slipping away. Resting his head on Quackity's, Wilbur let his eyes fall shut.
Oh, how they loved each other.