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"You look like shit," was the immediate thing he said, the airlock doors closing behind him with a loud thud, his gaze promptly landing on the hunched-over posture of Multi.
The man in question slowly turned around at the sound of his voice. His eyes didn’t waste a second before finding his — but the eye contact was not something Quackity really cared about right now.
Because when he entered, all that he saw was his back, and the way his wings seemed more grayish than normal, dangling out of the coat holes as if they were dead. The sick-looking color of his skin also caught a little of Quackity’s attention — but he was so used to seeing the man’s naturally pale complexion have more green undertones than not, that he didn't think it was that important.
That’s why he almost instantly dismissed it. It was never worrisome, so why would it be now?
As he was now facing Multi, he could see that his face didn't escape the worn-out look. His eyes were half-closed, as if he was barely able to keep them open, having to fight himself so he wouldn't immediately fall asleep.
And under them, the eye bags that were a rather usual sight on his face grew to an enormous size — the color of them changing from a soft gray to a frantic purple, one that reminded Quackity of fresh bruises.
Multi just overall looked damn exhausted, as if the last time he slept was over a week ago.
…which, presumably, was not that far off the truth — considering that while Quackity had spent most of his time last week in his room, he hadn't seen Multi come rest once (and as far as he knew, Multi didn't have another place to sleep at).
When they last saw each other, he already looked like he was on his deathbed. Now, he just genuinely looked dead (which was somewhat impressive since he was not. As much as Quackity was aware, anyway).
“Such a nice way to greet somebody. Thank you for the compliment, really,” Multi deadpanned.
“No, but you genuinely look horrible.”
“Wow.”
Ignoring Multi’s sarcasm, Quackity took a few steps forward, trying to get a better look at the man — because whatever was up with him, it wasn’t good.
And there was no world in the universe where he didn’t do something about it.
“Are you sick? Is it because you spend your whole days in the lab? I told you that you shouldn’t be so close to the reactor all the time, you’re going to get sick some day—”
“I don’t get sick,” Multi cut him off rudely, his tone intense.
And the response wasn’t even really convincing. It sounded more like an excuse than a fact, like he had just thought it up.
So, a very unconvinced Quackity answered with a “Right.”
“It’s really not that. I’m just—hm."
“You are just what?” he pushed.
Multi looked away.
“Nothing,” he said, as if it wasn’t full of bullshit.
Even though his face was slightly turned away now, Quackity kept on staring at him. A few too many seconds of the stiff silence passed before he sighed, closing his eyes for a moment.
He knew damn well that trying to get any information out of Multi this way was going to bring him absolutely nowhere.
And so, as a way to partially change the topic (while not really), he questioned, “Even if you are fine, how can I help?”
“You don’t want to help me,” Multi stated, turning his whole face away, not allowing Quackity to see his expression anymore.
“You don’t decide what I want and what I don’t want,” he said, once again walking towards Multi, ending up just a step away from him. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes not leaving Multi’s side profile for a second.
“What’s up with you today? You are not acting like yourself. You are all— weird and jittery,” he mentioned, gesturing a little. Just then did the realization hit him, making him hesitate for a second before his hand instinctively reached for his sword. “Are you a clone?”
At that, Multi whipped his head around, his eyes rounded by alarm.
“I’m not,” he insisted, and it almost sounded real, if not for the fact that he was acting just so odd.
“Then why are you being so suspicious?”
Multi faltered for a second, “I just—fuck, okay, I haven’t eaten in a while. I can’t exactly go out and hunt, because these fuckass alarms don’t differentiate between me and the clone, so I won’t know if it comes to the lab, and I can’t have him rummaging through my shit while I waste my time eating.”
Quackity licked his lips, unsure of what to do with the sudden burst of information.
“You know that you could’ve just asked me to bring you something, right?”
“It has to be fresh. And big enough so that I can get full, because once I start, the hunger is going to get ten times worse.”
“...am I enough?” Quackity asked without a second passing, the question pushing onto his lips before he could really think it through.
But it was, admittedly, something that he (quite desperately) wanted. And it was a perfect occasion to ask, because the offer wasn't completely out of place. It made perfect sense in this context, and Multi couldn't really deny Quackity (nor himself).
He still huffed, annoyed, as if he thought that Quackity was joking.
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not drinking your blood.”
“I think that you are going to,” he took a step towards Multi, causing the man to back off slightly, some bizarre confidence suddenly rushing through his veins. “Come on. You are starving, and I won’t die just because of a few sips.”
“It won’t be just a few sips.”
Quackity shrugged.
“I think that you have enough control over yourself not to kill me.”
“But I will still hurt you,” he said, as if Quackity hadn’t known that.
“So what? Wouldn’t be the first time,” he remarked, and when Multi still didn't look entirely convinced, he added, “It’s not like I mind a little pain, anyway.”
“Are you kidding?” Multi's voice cracked, filled with disbelief, as the corner of his mouth twitched slightly — and considering that the movement was barely noticeable, Quackity was honestly impressed with himself for being able to read Multi's emotion so easily.
“I’m dead serious.”
“Are you a goddamn masochist?” he questioned, and when all that Quackity did in response was give him a smile, he groaned. “Fucking obviously you are.”
But there was something set in his voice. Like he has just accepted his fate. Realized that, whatever he would do, Quackity wasn't going to let him go hungry.
Maybe it was just because he was starving, or maybe he just wasn't that against the idea of drinking Quackity's blood. Either way, Quackity was going to get what he wanted, and really, that was all that mattered.
At last, he reluctantly turned around. As he started walking towards one of the corridors, he checked if Quackity was following him.
“The second I go too far, you call for Graf, yes?” he said over his shoulder.
“Fuck’s Graf going to do?”
Multi shrugged, “Stop me. I don’t know, he’s smart enough to figure out how to do that.”
Soon enough they ended up in one of the many offices (not the Multi's private one. That one was hidden and in a completely different part of the lab).
It looked more like a mockup than anything with its filled bookshelves by uncategorized books and files, drawings of— something? hanging on the walls, and the cluttered desk situated right across the room.
The second they entered, Multi was already at the desk, putting the documents away (ones that seemed like they were full of information, and yet they didn't say anything. As if they were meant to be simply that).
As the Pole continued putting away the papers, Quackity leaned on the table.
“Where will you bite?” he questioned, unbuttoning the top of his shirt as he did so.
“I can bite you on the wrist,” Multi answered offhandedly, his eyes scanning the sheets.
Quackity furrowed his eyebrows, “I thought that it’s better for your instinct when you bite people on the neck.”
Multi looked up from the documents, an empty emotion behind his pupils. Maybe Quackity still couldn't fully read his feelings.
“How much of your free time have you been spending reading about vampires? Because you know damn too much considering that you never met one before me.”
“That doesn’t really matter if I’m correct… because I am correct, right?”
Multi hesitated for a broken second, "Unfortunately, you are.”
“Then bite me,” he said, ordered in a way, the courage from before still present.
He tilted his head back, showing more of his neck as he moved the collar away. A shiver ran down his spine when he made eye contact with Multi, seeing how much his pupils dilated with hunger, hearing how his breath hitched at the sight.
Practically instantly, he dropped the uncategorized documents as he started walking, not caring that he was walking over them.
“Sit on the desk,” he commanded with such intensity that all Quackity could (and wanted to) do was listen.
His legs were dangling off its edge. The space between them was empty for virtually no time, Multi promptly positioning himself between them — one of his hands on Quackity's thigh, the other one on the back of his neck.
The Pole leaned forward, making their chests touch. They were so close, with his open mouth almost touching Quackity's skin, his breaths slowly landing on his nape.
He was about to bite when he hesitated, paused — leaned away, leaving Quackity confused before he even had a chance to relax into the touch.
Quackity was just about to ask if something was wrong (because something had to have happened; he wouldn't just resign from biting him for no reason at all) when Multi started to talk.
“Message Graf that if you don’t text him again in 10 minutes, he has to come to office 4. My order,” he hurried, his voice rough, like it was difficult for him to talk.
Quackity, too distraught by everything, barely nodded and quickly wrote the message with trembling hands. He didn't pay attention to the numerous misspellings and the barely understandable grammar. It didn’t matter.
There was hardly any time between the moment he sent the text and Multi biting.
An unstoppable gasp (or was it a whine?) escaped his mouth in surprise, a sudden rush of multiple overwhelming sensations filling his senses, a feeling of immense (and not anticipated) pleasure everywhere.
Because he expected it to feel horrible. He thought that he would instantly feel like life was getting drained out of him, as if his soul itself were leaking through his veins and escaping him with the blood.
He considered that, maybe, he would enjoy the honesty and primitivity of the pain. That the idea of getting bitten by Multi would let him ignore how much it hurt, that a simple fact of the Pole’s mouth sucking at his neck, his teeth deep in Quackity, would make the entire experience enjoyable.
He did not think it would feel like he was on a tenfold dose of Kelpamine, the adrenaline mixing with pure delight.
There was an immediate boost to his heartbeat, his limbs slacking as he completely lost any control over them. Without a second passing, his body accepted the state of bliss.
Quackity closed his eyes, allowed his thoughts to drift away as he stopped listening to the outside world just to focus on the sensation, deciding that this was all that life was about.
Some time that he couldn't have counted has passed as he saw stars and colorful auroras behind his eyelids. He was unaware of the world around him, his mind in paradise as he occasionally let out a satisfied whimper.
He didn't truly control himself when he opened his eyes, his gaze shifting, unsteady as if he were drunk. He slightly turned his head to the side, trying to look at Multi — trying to see him, to be able to memorize how he looked when he was so focused on swallowing Quackity’s life fuel.
He could barely see the man from his perspective, just a few dreads visible in his field of vision.
Realizing that he wasn't going to get a better view, he half-closed his eyes again, letting his legs wrap around the man, his hands grabbing onto his coat with an immense need to hold him.
At his movement, Multi moved away from his neck, the fangs leaving his neck, making Quackity whine as the pleasure disappeared with them.
“Are you alright?” he questioned, his voice rough but almost dreamy.
Quackity slowly looked up at him through his lidded eyes, instantly landing on Multi's reddened lips, on his own blood dripping down his chin.
He had to really focus to keep his eyes on Multi, fixating on his lips. His head was swimming with the lack of oxygen, drunk off it — and maybe that's why the thought that ‘If he had given his blood, he deserved a little prize, right?’ appeared in his brain.
Fully ignoring Multi's question, he leaned forward, not letting uncertainty stop him as he connected their lips, tasting himself in Multi's mouth.
The Pole didn't seem all that surprised — not with the way he smiled into the kiss, almost instantly deepening it, the hand he was resting on Quackity's neck bringing him impossibly close, trapping his hands between their chests.
Multi’s lips were chapped and cold, the inside of his mouth barely warmed by the heat of Quackity’s blood. He kissed as if he were still starving for Quackity, as if the blood were not nearly enough and he needed so much more. The pure hunger made Quackity’s heart race again (even if there was barely any blood to pump).
With the sheer intensity Multi had been kissing him, and with his body too tired to try to fight for it, he gave away the control, letting Multi lead him
And Multi kissed him like his life depended on it, bruising his lips and scratching them with his fangs, at last causing him to bleed. It was almost possessive, as if he wanted to mark Quackity, to leave a scar that would yell to everybody that this mouth was taken.
Unavailable.
That there was somebody already there.
Quackity couldn’t say that he minded, leaning even more into the kiss, shifting on the desk until it was impossible to move further, pressing their hips against each other.
Multi let out a satisfied gasp at that, his hand drifting up his neck, ending up tangled in the back of Quackity’s hair. He grabbed a handful and pulled, as their tongues met again.
The slight sensation of pain made him completely lose any kind of composure that was left in him, causing him to let out a moan of pleasure that he would later deny, his fingers faltering their hold.
A loud bang startled both of them, causing them to immediately separate their lips. Still, they didn’t move away from each other, Quackity’s wings going around Multi as if to protect the Pole — the man’s bat wings lifted so that they hid Quackity from whoever entered the room.
Both of them looked toward the door. It took Quackity’s eyes a few seconds to finally focus, just so he could see that it was a rather uncomfortable-looking Graf standing there.
As the three of them stared at each other in silence, Quackity tried to get rid of his shattered and ragged-at-the-edges breathing, pretending like it wasn’t there.
It was so painfully obvious what they had been doing, and yet he couldn’t find himself caring about somebody finding out. Actually, all he could feel was ecstasy that someone (someone this close to Multi, at that) could see how intimate their relationship was.
Did another few moments have to pass before Graf finally spoke.
“I mean, congratulations. It's about time, but you really could’ve messaged me that you are fine,” he said, his tone exasperated, like it wasn't his first walk-in on a making-out session in the Polski Cave.
(And to be fair, it probably wasn't. Not with Ewron around, anyway.)
Quackity was just barely able to see Multi shooting him a glare in response, his lips shifting, showing his still-bloodied fangs (and the fact that it was his blood that Graf could see, that he knew was his, made him lowkey go insane).
Graf raised his hands in defense, taking a step back without turning around.
“Okay. I’m leaving. I’ll let the rest know not to bother you.”
And with that, he was gone, the door closed shut behind him, leaving them in a room filled with nothing but the sounds of their own breaths.
A sudden realization dawned on Multi's face as he out of nowhere tried to move away (which Quackity didn't allow him to, his still-steady legs locked around his waist).
“Fuck, we shouldn't have— it's not— this is bad,” he stuttered, his voice going slightly higher.
Quackity rolled his eyes at him. He was, at the back of his head, prepared that this was going to be Multi's reaction.
“Chill the fuck out, it was literally just a kiss,” he said, grabbing Multi's chain and, once again, pulling him into a kiss.
And just like before, Multi kissed him back without a second of hesitation.