Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There’s not a single light on in the apartment.

He’s swaying on his feet, he can feel it. It’s intoxicating, the silence. There’s nothing. Truly nothing. He’s alone, in the apartment, with the lights off and no curtains drawn. He can see the smog-covered stars from every window.

Maybe he drops the keys in the dish by the door. Maybe he slips his shoes off.

He did it. He really did it. There’s nothing but an empty apartment, the only thing he’s ever wanted. It’s done. He doesn’t have to be paranoid anymore. Doesn’t have to wait.

Through the darkness he stumbles to the kitchen. There, waiting for him, is the bottle. Pushed against the wall, on display for almost years, never touched. With a bitter laugh, he drags it out.

The glass is also waiting for him, and it's as easy as breathing to pour out a drink.

The apartment is empty. It’ll stay empty forever.

Glass by glass, he drinks the whole bottle, watching the sun bleed the sky red.

Despite everything, Quackity enjoys his little missions. They feel like freedom, like he’s finally cleaning up his mess. Like he’s finally making it up to everyone.

They call him a vigilante, of course. He’s sure they would label him a villain if not for the fact that they don’t actually know everything he’s done. That is to say, they haven’t linked his past alter ego to his present one.

But no, they remain blissfully unaware and he’s classified as a vigilante. He doesn’t work with heroes and he doesn’t want to, but he isn’t actively coming after civilians or the masked saviours. Instead, his activities seem to be a random assortment of odd jobs, from hacking computers to shutting down slave auctions.

Of course, Quackity is painfully aware that he is anything but random.

He plans, he thinks, he waits. Every attack is measured, every piece of information gathered is necessary and worth the risk of collecting.

So here he is, running across rooftops, on his way to another creepy as fuck warehouse by the riverside when—

“Roulette,” A familiar voice calls, commanding, and with the faint buzz of a voice modifier. “What’s got you in such a hurry?”

Reluctantly, Quackity stops at the edge of the roof. It looks like he’s giving up tonight’s target, although there’ll be another deal, another day.

With a silent sigh, he turns to face the pair that have decided to bother him again tonight— the hero duo PyroManic and Dionysus, although the public just calls them Pyro and Dio. It rhymes, after all.

“None of your business,” He responds bitterly, ignoring the buzz of his cheap voice changer at his throat. It’s bad enough they named him after Russian roulette (something about his unpredictability), but they’re constantly disrupting his missions.

Not to mention all heroes are corrupt and just villains on the government’s payroll, but that’s a whole other can of worms.

Dio chuckles, his eyes flashing. His power’s dangerous— disorientation and some minor short-range teleportation. If you look at him for long enough he can really mess you up. His costume implies nothing of the sort, with all those bright colours, but when your vision is blurring and your head is pounding and down feels like up— the eye-catching print becomes excruciating to look at.

Despite Dio’s response, it’s Pyro who speaks, as usual. “Well, I’d like to think it is my business. After all, you could be about to murder someone.” His costume is far simpler, more in line with Quackity’s own. Black combat gear, simple but bold red and orange accents and forearms bare. To, you know, throw fire at his enemies.

“I’m not.” Quackity spits. This is ridiculous. Can’t they go bother someone else? How did they even know he was out tonight? These fucking heroes. They love chasing after their ‘rivals’ to ‘rehabilitate’ them. Everyone knows it’s bullshit, the commission and the government just want more soldiers.

“But you could be.” Pyro grins, his mask over his eyes so Quackity can see the flash of sharp canines. “We should bring you in.”

He sighs. They’re both trying to get closer to him, but they’re not being subtle. “Then goodbye.” He hops onto the ledge of the roof, ready to run.

“You know, if you told us what you were doing we could let you go,” Dio speaks up, and Quackity pauses. Didn’t the heroes think he was random? Impossible to pin down? Or is Dio bluffing, making a joke?

He turns around to see Dio a few places closer, swirling eyes with bright blue and purple and white. The hero hums, glancing at Pyro before turning his attention back on Quackity. “There’s a method in your madness, isn’t there?”

Pushing through the dread, Quackity barks out a laugh. “Of course not! You think I have the fucking brains to chain some long string of— what, random deals? Fuck no. I’m Roulette for a reason, ain’t I?”

Pyro grins dangerously, eyes burning from under his mask. “Soooo random, right? So it’s a complete coincidence that we intercepted you as we’re going to take down a deal. A deal we linked to Schlatt, the man we’re investigating.”

Before Quackity can open his mouth and bluff, bluff, bluff, Dio snaps his attention to his left. “And it’s a complete coincidence that for every event we’ve linked to Schlatt, we’ve either seen you leaving or caught you on the way.”

Shit. Shit. Okay. Shit. How did he not notice— Because the heroes don’t have as much information as him. He’s been taking down almost double the dealings that he sees the duo at. He knows more than them.

Okay. Fucking shit. He can work with this. It’s too late to play it off, he paused, and he knows Dio is too perceptive for his own good. He has to be to know exactly when to make Quackity just a tiny bit dizzy so his punches are thrown off.

Fuck.

“Yeah. Coincidence.” He drops the cocky, confident tone that served him, that added to his risky gambling persona. Judging from Pyro’s blink, it’s a little spooky.

And before they can say anything else, he’s off, slipping off the edge of the roof and down onto the fire escape, vaulting down to the alley and using the shadows to disappear. His gear is black for a reason. Standing out doesn’t help him anymore.

As he hears distant swears fading into the wind, he checks his watch. Just missed the deal. Motherfuckers. He’ll just have to head in early, hands empty. Thankfully, he’ll miss Royal’s patrol route by hours, instead of minutes, so that’s a bonus.

He gets back to the apartment, slaps something together to eat, and settles down for another round of research. While his past isn’t exactly something he likes to dwell on, it does have its perks— namely, the password into Royal’s website.

Royal is— complicated. They work for heroes, they work for villains. They like to trade information but tend to sell it as soon as you leave. They patrol, but in strict timings and places, like they want to be found.

It’s not a strategy that Quackity would employ, seeing as being found would be terrible right now, but he isn’t going to judge them, not when they’re the reason he can do what he does.

He hates it. The dependability.

But anyway. Back to research.

It’s a few days later that Quackity catches the broadcast. He tends to sleep in, so the morning news is a rarity for him, but he couldn’t sleep last night so here he is, up at six am, dressed and showered and fed. Bored.

”Investigations are continuing following the sudden disappearance of Jay Schlatt, the man behind an estimated sixty percent of the city’s darker dealings. Many, including our trusted heroes, believe he merely went into hiding to plan something big, and now the race is on to find him.”

With a sigh, Quackity debates turning it off. Those idiots are dumber than he thinks if they’re convinced Schlatt’s still alive.

”New information is hard to come by, and Schlatt’s list of known associates is short enough that law enforcement has already drained it dry. On this list are several B tier villains, including Bloody Mary and Royal, the now vigilante. Two fellow A list villains, the Angel of Death and Siren, were also on the list, as well as D tier villain Minx, who is currently in a cell in Pandora.”

Quackity winces, then reaches for the remote. He’s had enough of this.

”To these individuals and any others who have information pertaining to this still at large A tier villain, our heroes have a message.” The newscaster turns to the screen on his left, and Quackity pauses.

If it’s a threat or an indication of plans, he needs to watch.

The little screen cuts to a small line-up of heroes, the top ten. After a moment, it takes up the whole screen. As the number one, Dream, starts to speak, a banner pops up at the bottom with all their names: Heroes Dream, HD, PyroManic, Warden, Captain, Midas, Dionysus, Halo, V. Vulpes and Diamond address villains.

”To those with information about Schlatt’s whereabouts, associates, plans or anything else, be you villain, vigilante, or civilian, I beg you step forward.” Dream starts, confident and mysterious as ever with his voice changer cranked to eleven. It sounds more like a robot than a person. ”Specifically to those on the other side of the law, know that we are willing to make exceptions in this case. Anyone who comes forward with information will be rewarded, and most importantly, not be arrested.”

Shit. Really? He shakes his head. They’re getting dumber every minute. No one’s going to fall for that. They didn’t even specify the reward. Not to mention shelving their fights with other villains until they get Schlatt. Are villains essentially free rein now?

Warden, the man in charge of Pandora, steps forward. ”We’ve talked to law enforcement and everyone agrees. Bringing in Schlatt is our priority. You have our word that if you come forward with information, nothing will happen to you. We’re willing to drop certain charges permanently and others temporarily depending on the information offered.”

Hm. Certainly one way of weeding out the people who would have come forward to try to scam their way into a clean slate. Oh, but—

The minute they learn that Schlatt’s dead, this is all going to drop, isn’t it? There’ll be no deals, no ‘we’re putting you aside for the bigger fish’. So it’s in his best interest to keep that quiet. In everyone’s best interest, really.

And everyone will keep their mouth shut because no one has any clue his body is sloppily hidden under a basement floor. No one else knows. No one else, except…

Royal. How could he forget?

Frantically, he suits up and gaps it onto the roof, running along the city as he scrambles to get to their usual meeting spot. Royal doesn’t patrol during the day, but does set up appointments— information trading appointments.

Fuck. He just has to hope they have a head on them.

He sprints for what must be close to half an hour, his feet slamming onto concrete as the blocks disappear behind him. By the time he skids onto the familiar rooftop, his chest is heaving and his costume drenched in sweat. He isn’t used to doing this under the sun, especially with all this black.

Standing in the middle of the roof, framed by the beautiful gardens of flowers and fruit, are four people. Royal, and the fucking Dream Team. The top three.

Royal, the fucking bastard, turns easily to him, like they’d been expecting him. Always so damn smooth. “Roulette. What’s got you in a rush?”

“You know bloody well.” He spits, gasping for air. “Don’t be an idiot.”

They blink lazily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

So it’s going to be like that. “Leave.” He shoots at the heroes. Dream and HD both tense at his attention, but Pyro just looks curious. When their eyes meet, his mouth twitches up. “I don’t know what they told you, but it’s time to go.”

“I’d rather not, actually.” HD drawls, a light blinking on in his goggles. It’s a threat, somehow, but Quackity doesn’t have time for it.

Royal isn’t any help, as usual. “We were just having a civil meeting. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to interrupt?” They purr, as poisonous as ever.

Unbidden, he jerks forward, stopping himself in the nick of time. He can’t, not here, and judging by the smile on Royal’s face, they know it.

“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s rude to lie?” He says instead, finally turning his full attention to the heroes. Dream looks tense, HD is still laid back but Quackity can see the energy in it. Pyro’s still smiling at him. “What have they told you? That they know everything?”

Finally, Royal’s eyes narrow. If Quackity was still entertaining that part of their relationship, he would have interpreted the gaze as the message it was. That’s suicide.

He turns away. (A message in itself; watch me.)

“…They’ve told us some things.” Dream’s mask dips slightly, like the man is eyeing him up. “Although perhaps it would be better to get a second source. Do you know something, Roulette?”

“I might.” He meets Royal’s eyes. “But I can’t say any of it.”

He knows he’s implying the wrong thing, but he can’t help the rush of vindication as Royal realises he’s taking over their meeting.

“Very well. Royal, we can reschedule?” Dream dismisses, and Quackity could laugh. Dumb and dumber.

“Can’t say it?” Pyro buts in, eyes piercing as they land on Quackity. “Like, physically?”

…Is he going to tell them? If it was Pyro and Pyro alone, maybe. Despite their history, or perhaps because of it, he trusts him the most. Which— that’s not terrifying at all.

But if he denies it, if he says he can offer information now, they’re going to ask for it. And when he can’t give it, they’re going to fight him. He can’t win against the top three.

“…Yeah. I’d need to go away and write it down.” He admits. That’s vague enough, right? They can’t get a lot from that.

HD scoffs. “How are we supposed to believe you? Why would you have info on Schlatt?”

Quackity glances at Royal, who still hasn’t left. They look… confused. He can’t blame them. For once in his life, he has no idea what he’s doing.

Or… maybe he does.

If he can get the heroes on his side, he can get infinitely more help cleaning up Schlatt’s mess. Plus, he won’t be interrupted. When it’s all done, he can drop the ‘he’s dead’ bomb, and disappear from Roulette like he planned to. With heroes, his plan could be accelerated to no degree.

“Don’t.” He says, still turning over possibilities. “But it’s true, and I can prove it. If you’re in, I’ll hand over something in writing. You check it out, see if it’s true, and then we can continue or we won’t. Up to you.”

Dream jerks his head and the three heroes shuffle over to the edge of the roof to chat. And then Royal’s hand in gripping his shirt, their face centimetres from his. “What the fuck are you doing?! Are you insane?”

“Keep it down, you’ll disturb them.” Quackity deadpans, waving to Pyro who’s glanced over his shoulder. With a smile, he waves back.

With a scoff, his shirt is released. “This is what I’m talking about! You’re—“

“Crazy?” He finishes, dropping his smile. “Yeah. Heard that one before.”

“I wasn’t going to tell them. You’re right. I’m not an idiot. And neither are you, so why are you trying to make a deal with them? You don’t need lesser charges, you’re never going to get caught.” Royal tries to grab his hand, but he snatches it away. “Come on, Q— Roulette. You know we have to do this.”

“What the fuck?” He hisses. This is why he avoids Royal at all costs. “No!”

“I’ve given you time,” They say lowly, “I’ve given you space, but your tantrum is over. You made your point. With how you’re acting, it’s clear you need me more than ever.”

“Eret.” He spits. “We’re not together anymore.”

CRACK.

Quackity’s head snaps to the side, his cheek smarting. How. Fucking. Dare they.

“Don’t call me that, not here.” They growl, voice losing all pretence of kindness. “You know better.”

“What’s going on?” Quackity has never been more relieved to hear Pyro’s voice. “I don’t need to step in, do I?”

“No—“ Royal starts, but Quackity pushes them away from him and steps forward.

“No. We’re done.” He shoots one last glare over his shoulder. I mean it.

“Good.” He says, burning eyes darting to the bruise he can’t even see. “Roulette, we’ll meet here tomorrow night, seven pm. That good with you?”

He nods. He’s not in the mood to entertain this anymore. He just wants to go back to the apartment. To the silence.

“Brilliant. We’ll see you then. Royal, it’s been a pleasure doing business. On behalf of the Hero Association, I regret to inform you that your information has not been deemed enough to pardon any of your crimes. Next time we meet, unless for another meeting to discuss more information, we will be arresting you.”

Quackity smirks. Serves them right.

The day passes uneventfully, with Quackity bashing out some work on his laptop before throwing his body into bed for a fitful sleep. True to form, he’s not down for more than a couple hours, and he gets to sorting through his notes of Schlatt, trying to think of something to give the heroes.

The morning passes, he goes to the dank underground gym where he trains, nodding at all the ‘employees’ who know him by name. He forgets lunch, realises he didn’t have breakfast and has an early dinner by himself in the silence. It’s pasta.

And then it’s off into the setting sun, running along rooftops until he reaches their green meeting spot. He’s early, so he sits on the edge of one of the planter boxes.

He should really thank Eret for getting this place set up. It’s beautiful and certainly better than meeting in a parking lot. More mysterious too, although they’re a bit pretentious about who can use it.

Most of the plants are bushy things with delicate flowers, pinks and whites and purples and blues. It’s every Eret, he realises, alone with only the wind for company. He can’t smell anything through the mask (a custom thing that comes up below his eyes, which are covered in face paint, and then a black beanie pulled low), but he would bet it’s goregeous.

It’s only when he hears the thud of footsteps that he realises he’s been staring at flowers. He’s in a spacey mood today.

“Gentlemen,” He greets as he catches sight of the heroes. It’s Pyro and Dio, with Dream surprisingly absent. “Did the boss get sick of me that quick?”

Pyro smirks, and Dio shakes his head. “No. The opposite, really. We figured you’d be more… comfortable with us instead of him. You know, show our good intentions and all that.” Quackity can’t tell if he’s really smiling under that bright mask, but his eyes crinkle like he might be.

He snorts. “Whatever. Here’s the info.” He pulls out the neat square of paper from his inside pocket. There’s a name on it, some other details and a small photo tucked in the folds. Everything they need to start.

Pyro saunters forward, hand sliding off Dio’s shoulder to swing by his side, fingers curled in a loose fist. His eyes smoulder as he walks closer, a swagger to his hips that Quackity didn’t have the time to notice before. When they were trying to kill each other.

When he’s close enough, Quackity extends his arm. Pyro doesn’t seem to notice this, however, as he walks past it, right up into his personal space. When he finally stops, there are only a few inches between them.

Like this, Quackity can’t help but let his head tip up. He’s tall. His eyes are what really steal the show though, and he lets himself admit that in another time, another place… those could burn him.

“How do you know about Schlatt? You worked with him or what?” The hero asks, tilting his head ever so slightly. Maybe under the mask, he’s raising his eyebrow.

The wall comes down. It always does when someone talks about him. “No. I didn’t work for him.” His jaw twitches, and before he can be psycho-analysed (heroes love doing that), he slaps the little packet of paper on the man’s chest. “Take it.”

Before Quackity can pull away, the hero's hand covers his, pushing it harder against his chest. Hard enough that Quackity can feel a heartbeat in his fingertips, warmth in his palm, vibrations in his bones as he talks.

“I’m just curious.” He says, seemingly oblivious to what he’s doing. “Royal, I can understand. They trade information, surely they know something about Schlatt. But you.” He shakes his head, loosening his grip so Quackity can slip his hand out. “The wild card. Comes out of nowhere, targets Schlatt’s deals, but seemingly has no connection to him.”

“Mind your own business.” He warns, moving away, because god he just needs space right now. Why did he think this was a good idea? This is— ridiculous. He’s smarter than this. But then Dio’s there, blocking his exit. Dio to his front, and now Pyro right behind him. Not a good situation to be in. But he’s been in worse.

“Hmm.” Dio tilts his head, eyes darting up and down him. He almost shivers, before he remembers who they are. Who he is. “Alright then.”

There’s a dark laugh from behind him and then in a flurry of movement, they’re metres away on the edge of the building. “See you here in a week, Roulette. I hope you haven’t disappointed us. I’d hate to arrest you.”

He snorts. “Yeah right. And I haven’t, it’s all good info.”

Pyro winks. “We’ll see.”

The waiting is the worst part. He knows it was successful because he sees it on the news, so all that’s left is for their meeting day to arrive. He’s already picked out the information he’s giving this time, he’s already planned escape routes and got himself a new phone so they can text him. It’s all done.

So, while he waits, he does his job. Of course, one of those is finding whatever scumbags Schlatt left behind, but he does have another, legitimate job.

It’s far more boring but it's necessary for him to actually have money. He’s a data analyser for a couple of businesses, staring at spreadsheets all day while he sends in reports. It’s whatever hours he clocks in from home, so perfect.

He manages, during this week, to rack up almost fifty hours of work, which is his new record. Probably shouldn’t be proud of that, but hey, he’s bored. And he can’t do what he used to, so.

But finally, the days pass, and he’s due to meet up with the duo. He waits in the shadows, watching the rooftop anxiously. While he knows the take-down went well, they could still want to arrest him, now he’s ‘lulled into a false sense of security’.

But the heroes show up alone, and look confused rather than angry at his tardiness. So, he slips down, hitting the concrete between planters lightly. He thought he was being stealthy, but apparently not as Dio’s head snaps to the sound.

Strangely, he visibly relaxes when he sees who it is. “Were you going to stand us up?”

“No.” He says candidly, and leaves it at that. “So, I was good for it then?”

Pyro grins. “We’d like to offer a partnership of sorts. We can guarantee we’ll pardon most, if not all of your crimes if you aid our endeavour.”

With a roll of his eyes, Quackity says, “I accept.”

Things move pretty quickly after that. Quackity meets up with them two or three times a week, he hands over the information, and then the heroes take them down. When they’re not meeting up, he’s out on the streets as Roulette, taking down the shadier side of things. The things he can’t show the heroes. The things that are personal.

Then, a few weeks turns into a month. Two months. Three.

They take down a few larger operations together, busting into warehouses and rounding up the people inside. He starts to learn their dynamic and how to not be in the way when they’re fighting.

(“Roulette, the back door—“

Quackity leaps over the fallen beam, sprinting to the open metal door, only just beating the criminal to it. The man can’t stop in time and runs into Quackity’s fist. He steps over his unconscious body in time to see Pyro pin someone against the wall, fist burning as they scream, and Dio standing over someone else vomiting onto their shoes.

Dio looks up. “Thanks. Usually, we’re the big hitters in fights, so we’re not used to catching stragglers.” He says over the screaming. “You’re quick.”

Quackity waves it off. “Sure.”)

He starts to accept that they’re both massive flirts. All the time.

(It’s a stakeout. They’re not supposed to be talking. They’re supposed to be watching for when the dealers arrive. Or the cargo. Either one.

Dio definitely shouldn’t be staring at his ass.

He’s lying down on his stomach, looking through the crack between the floor and the wall. The windows are out because they’d seen some grunts checking them every so often, so here he is. Taking his turn to lie on the floor of the disgusting catwalk, six metres above the abandoned warehouse’s floor.

He’s honest enough to admit that when it’s not his turn, he does have a look. He can’t stare, because then whoever’s waiting with him will call him out. So he gets glances. And even those don’t go unnoticed, but he just scowls and they look away.

But that also means that they can stare all they like. The only reason Pyro isn’t joining in the show is that he’s off relieving himself. He’ll be back though, and Quackity will be very aware of their attention.

It’s not… bad, per se. Just distracting. If he really minded it, he’d say something.

He thinks they know that.

Pyro comes back into the room, and Quackity glances up just long enough to catch the blatant grin at the sight of him on the floor.

“Keep staring, why don’t you?” He rolls his eyes. “Take a picture if you like it so much.”

There’s a huff of laughter that gets cut off when Quackity tenses, movement across the street. A truck passes down the empty road but doesn’t slow or stop. He relaxes again, shifting on the hard metal.

“You always this wired?” Pyro leans against the wall next to him, sliding down until he’s sitting. “No one at home to peg?”

He wants to joke, to laugh. But he tenses anyway. “No.”

He can hear the eyebrow sliding up his face. “Really? No one’s waiting for Roulette to come home?”

A quick glance out of the corner of his eye confirms that Pyro’s grin is predatory, the kind of sincereness you find in alleys. They pin him in place, bright and teasing. A dream, perhaps, one where you’ve seen it again and again and now it’s more like a nightmare.

“Like I’ve got time for that.” He says honestly. He’d need someone with a schedule just as hectic as his. “Besides, aren’t you two already at it?” He’s seen the news, seen the clips of them against walls when they should be on patrol, leaning against each other in interviews.

Dio laughs quietly. “So?”

He shifts on the floor. So indeed.)

But most of all, he accepts that he can’t touch them.

(“You know,” Dio says with blood dripping off his fingers. “We’re thinking about… expanding.”

He pauses, an unconscious criminal beneath him. What a gilded invitation, but his hands are stained with wine. He can’t take it. So instead of playing, he turns away.

“What, you trying to recruit me? Fat fucking chance I’m turning into another soldier.”

“That’s not what he meant.” Pyro tries to explain, but Quackity knows better than to entertain temptation. If he doesn’t shut this down, he’ll end up exactly where he’s been running from. Just with a different mask.

He sighs. “I know.” With one last nudge at the body, he vanishes into the night.)

“What do you mean you didn’t get him?” Quackity snarls. It was one, stupid man, and they’re failing now? The one time he plans in advance? The one time he actually trusts them to get a job done?

He shouldn’t have put his faith in them for a moment. Useless heroes.

Pyro snorts. “It’s more complicated than that, sweetie.”

Quackity sees red. The serrated hunting knife, the one thing he lets himself keep is familiar and warm in his grip as he draws it from its hidden sheath. Pyro’s cockiness is coming to bite him in the ass— he’s close enough for Quackity to press the rusted point into his throat. “Don’t. Call me that.”

Instantly, the grin is gone. Slow enough that Quackity can count the seconds, he raises his arms. “Sorry.” He says quietly, a rasp in his voice as he tries not to move his Adam’s apple. He fails, and a bead of blood trickles down to the black neckline of his costume.

“Why does it matter that we didn’t get him today?” Dio asks, equally quiet. He’s to Quackity’s left, although he’s been frozen since the knife came out. “You didn’t mention a time limit.”

He grits his teeth. No, he didn’t, because he couldn’t explain it. What was he supposed to say? ‘You have to get this guy today. Why? Oh. I don’t know.’

“I couldn’t,” He settles on, prickling that he has to reveal even that much. Keeping this a secret has kept him safe, and sane. “I can’t. But we needed that guy today. I had something set up in advance, but now he’s meeting—” The thread slips away into the box, and Quackity mentally curses. “He’s gonna snitch tonight. The plan’s ruined.”

Pyro frowns but keeps his eye on the blade. Quackity doesn’t blame him. He’s too wound up to say if he could stay his hand. Or even keep it steady at this rate. Instead, Dio speaks up again. “We— we did learn he was meeting someone tonight, at a bar. He mentioned going early, to enjoy the—“ His nose wrinkles. “…company. We could catch him then.”

It— it could work, but the complications in— but it would be worth it if it worked. “We’d need to go without masks.” He points out. With a blink, he remembers to lower the knife. Funnily enough, Pyro doesn’t move.

“That’s fine, we’ll just text on the phones.” Dio shrugs, noticeably more relaxed now. “I mean, there’s always the possibility we run into each other, but we won’t recognise you, and you won’t recognise us.”

“You can’t get distracted.” Quackity looks Pyro in the eye. “Target first.” He knows what kind of man he is.

“You really think so little of me?” He scoffs, leaning in. Quackity tightens his grip on the knife but doesn’t move. “Don’t worry, I’m perfectly capable of staying focused.”

He sighs. “If you insist. Where is this place anyway?”

This is not a bar. This is a strip club disguised as a bar.

Figures their target would be somewhere like this. He has a reputation of sorts despite his age, which isn’t helped by his stack of dollar bills and the people he’s bribed to silence. Schlatt enabled him for a long time, but tonight he’s going to jail. One thing heroes are useful for.

He sighs, eyes scanning the crowd. When coming into this place, he’d automatically sat at the bar. It was good he did because now he has the best view of the target. As he leans against the bar, nursing his drink he can clearly see the man in the middle of the throng, sitting on a couch with several women on either side of him. And now the bar is full— not a free seat in sight.

The plan, they’d agreed over text, is that whoever spots him leaving for the meeting will take him down quietly, leaving him somewhere out of the way for collection later that night. It means they all need to watch him carefully, lest he slips away and makes the meeting.

A stranger comes up to the bar, completely unremarkable. Quackity doesn’t even look at her.

“Hey pretty. You look—“

With a large swallow of his drink (he can’t remember what it is, it doesn’t matter, it’s strong, and it’s too fruity for something Schlatt would have liked), he cuts her off. “Not interested.”

She frowns but thankfully moves away. He sighs, taking another sip of his drink glaring out at the target. This is the fifth time that’s happened.

He knows he looks much better than he usually does tonight— he had to dress up, or else he’d stick out like a sore thumb. So, he dragged out some of the stuff Eret made him get. A navy, silk button up with tiny pinpricks of gold that look like stars. It’s tucked tightly into his high-waisted black pants, and mostly unbuttoned. It feels strange, vulnerable, but he’s almost the most dressed here. He’s got a few pieces of jewellery on, the things that don’t make him want to vomit— a couple of thick, silver rings, a necklace, and his snakebites.

He hasn’t put those in for a while, but now they’re back, he realises he misses them. They clack soothingly against his teeth, a nice memory.

He’s also not wearing his contact. His milky eye, along with the scar that goes with it, is bared to the world unapologetically. His other scars, usually covered by his mask, his beanie and his clothes are also prominent. The thin slices around his neck. The jagged lines down his chest.

He thought it would put people off, but apparently not.

It’s only been an hour, and the meeting isn’t for another four. Hopefully, the man goes to take a piss or something before that, so Quackity can get the fuck out of here. He’s exposed, bored, and exhausted. Not to mention the headache he has with the pounding music.

But no, the world has it out for him, because someone breaks from the crowd, and Quackity actively has to stop his jaw dropping.

It’s a pair of men, both stunning. The first is full of that cocky swagger that makes Quackity drunk if he lets it, with a lopsided grin, black hair and dark eyes. His pants are tight and low waisted, a thick belt keeping them on his body. His shirt is black mesh, completely see-through which allows Quackity a perfect view of the muscles on this man. Damn.

His companion is almost worse. Instead of the confidence to make his knees weak, this one makes Quackity drool. Soft brown hair tops wide, doe-like eyes. His grin is natural and infectious. His loose shirt reveals nothing but thin wrists and a long neck, which in turn show the gold glittering there. Several fine necklaces, rings and bracelets that make him seem like a Greek god.

Fuck. Quackity might be the one who needs to focus.

He drags his eyes away for the pair back to the man. He can’t have them, not right now. Maybe he could find them after. The target hasn’t moved. Quackity is pretty sure he’s got a hand up a lady’s skirt.

Disgusting. He takes a swig of his drink, relishing the burn. Head in the game. He’ll take this guy out and stuff him in a closet somewhere, and then he can play. Then he can play.

Doesn’t mean he can’t pout now.

Someone slides into the space next to him, and he sighs, glaring harder. Why can’t these people take the fucking hint? Surely he looks like he’d kill someone.

“Not having a good time?” A rough voice catches his attention. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a death glare that bad.”

Slowly, Quackity turns. Of course. It’s the hottie, the man with black hair and the sly grin and— a septum piercing. A gold septum piercing. God, it’s like someone read his mind. “You could say that.” He finds himself saying, unable to quite look in his eyes. He should send him away, but— he just can’t resist.

He can multitask, right?

“That’s a shame.” Hums another voice, softer, higher, and Quackity almost breaks his neck with the speed he looks over. Sure enough, the brunet is here now too, staring right at him with those wide, brown eyes like caramel. “No one catch your eye?” And he winks. Winks.

Automatically, his eyes lock back on the target, but he can feel the spots on either side of his head where they’re looking. “Well.” He sighs. “No one single.” It’s a question in disguise— you always have to be careful when they come in twos.

“I have never understood how couples stay monogamous.” The brunet hums idly. “It just seems… too little.”

“‘Sides,” The taller breathes, and Quackity’s ear tingles when he leans in. “We like to have some fun anyway.” The words pass over his neck and he represses the urge to shudder. He waits a good second before moving away, but only by a few inches.

“You come here to have fun then?” He checks, lazily watching the man shift.

“Well. If that’s what you’re offering. Maybe something more…” He trails off, voice pouring down his ear.

He wets his lips, but before he can respond the other steals his focus. “Can we have your name, gorgeous? We’d like to keep you company.” A thin, pale hand settles on his thigh, pretty lips smiling at him.

He breathes it all in like cigarette smoke. “Only if I can have yours.”

“Deal.” The darker one growls, almost in his ear, an arm bracing on the bar behind them. “I’m Sapnap. That’s Karl.”

“Quackity.” He says easily. It’s so easy when he’s like this, waiting to be a mess between them. Almost mocking, he offers a hand. “Pleasure.”

Instantly his hand is met with rough warm palms. “Trust me, the pleasure’s all ours, baby. God, you’re stunning. Do you know that? Breathtaking.” Dark eyes shine through eyelashes as he dips his head to press his lips to Quackity’s hand.

The target. Fuck. Still raping girls. He doesn’t care.

“You are, you know.” Karl’s hand trails up his arm and over his shoulders, resting there while his face slides in. “I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you.”

It’s not ‘pretty’, but his eyelids flutter anyway. God, does he have to ruin everything?

“Handsome.” Soft lips gently kiss his jawline. “Incredible.” Another just behind his ear. “Perfect.” He hisses, before slowly coming to kiss just next to his eye. The good one.

His breath hitches, just slightly, and he can feel the happy hum they give him. By habit, he worries his snakebites with his teeth. With the vulnerability comes the stroke of boldness, the confidence. “You’re one to talk. Both of you, god. Either you’re going to ruin me, or I’m going to ruin you.”

Sapnap tips his head back, a mix between a groan and a laugh rumbling in his chest. The dark scruff on his chin gleams. “Fuck. Already ruined, baby. God, can’t wait to see what you look like, shit!” He turns away for a second, seemingly collecting himself.

He takes the moment to check the crowd, and yup, he’s getting up, leaving the women on the couch. Shit, shit, he has to go now, but like this? God, okay, how is going to— Hnnn, they’re so hot, just has to do this first but will they stay? Wait for him? Well. Maybe.

“I’ve gotta—“ He laughs, breathy, intoxicated by their presence. This is so ridiculous. Will he even be able to fight?

(He can fight with his arm broken. He can fight blackout drunk. He can fight blind. He can fight through immense pain. He can fight when he can barely walk. He had to.)

“I’ve gotta go see a man about a horse, or whatever.” He breathes, slamming down his drink. Whatever it is, it’s not meant to go down in one, but the burn is almost enough to get him back in the game.

Legs sling over his, and then Karl’s sitting on his lap, hands braced on what is essentially Quackity’s bare chest. He ignores (but doesn’t) the way his hands wander. “You coming back? We’d hate to leave without your number, hottie.” He winks again, and Quackity can’t help the little confident smirk.

“‘Course. You think I’m leaving here alone with this?” He glances at his pants, which in this position are noticeably tented. “And anyway, I want your numbers too.” Bravely, he slides his hand into Karl’s hair, just behind his ear. The man grins, blushing slightly.

“Fine by me.” He giggles and god damn it, Quackity is gone. He has to go beat someone up, he has to go now, but one of the hottest men he’s ever seen is sitting in his lap.

Sapnap laughs, but it’s strained. “You two are so hot together, so fucking sexy, go meet your horse before I— fuck, go, hurry up—“

Karl slips off him, and Quackity goes to disappear in the crowd, but hands pull him back and lips are smashing against his, and then he’s pushed away, a glimpse of Karl’s wet lips all he gets before the crowd swallows him whole.

Fuck him. This was not how this was supposed to go.

The target slips into a side door and Quackity stumbles his way over, still feeling his lips tingle, running his tongue over his snakebites. Did Karl like them? God, Quackity just wants to slam him into the wall, watch the bruises bloom on his skin.

He reaches the door and as surreptitiously as possible slips inside. It’s a short hallway with a few branching doors, the music muffled by the wall. The door at the end of the hallway is ajar, and Quackity makes his footsteps silent, creeps to peak in the gap.

It’s dimly lit, a small meeting room with low couches and a round table. The target’s the only one there, setting an ashtray in the centre of the table while he paces, muttering. Perfect.

It takes three strikes. One punch to the head, one to the gut, and when he’s doubled over, two hands to throw his head into the table. The noise is a drop in the ocean compared to the music, and so Quackity lets all the swears he wants fall from his mouth as he drags the body down the hall and into what seems like a storage room, full of dusty crates. Good. No one comes in here.

He grabs his ‘work’ phone and snaps a picture of the man tied up and gagged (with strips he tore from the weird curtain things in the meeting room) along with which room he’s in.

Your click and collect is ready to pick up he sends hurriedly, before slipping back into the bar proper. The noise is like a wall of sound, but it’s easy to tune out. Automatically his head turns to the bar, and to his surprise the two men are still there, murmuring to each other as they lean close, neither having taken his seat.

Grinning, tongue swiping at his snakebites, he shoulders his way back through the crowd. He knows when they see him because Karl can’t stop staring and Sapnap has to turn away, fist hitting the bar.

When he gets close enough to be heard, Sapnap lunges forward. “You’re— that’s blood, isn’t it?” Hands grab him by the shoulders, big and hot and heavy, before moving to swipe at something on his cheek.

Oh. Shit. He forgot about the blood. He got blood on his nice shirt.

Fuck. Sapnap and Karl think he’s hurt.

He grabs Sapnap’s wrist, looking the man in the eye. “It’s not mine.”

“That’s not— fuck,” He hisses, eyes trailing down the splatters. “What were you doing?”

When a drop rolls down to his lips, the tip of his tongue automatically comes out to snatch it up. Iron floods his mouth. Dark eyes snap up to follow the movement. “Told you. Had to see a man about a horse.”

Karl grabs his arm, tugging him towards the exit. “That’s— fuck, that’s hot, Sapnap, that’s so— nnng, come on, I wanna take him home—“

“What— my drink—“ He tries to protest, but that’s quickly silenced when Sapnap leans in to lick the blood off his cheek, a stained wolfish grin that sends blood straight to his dick.

“Paid. We didn’t want to wait.” He walks forward, forcing Quackity to move towards the exit, Karl happily helping him along. “Jesus christ, that is hot, you’re gonna break me, fuuuuuck—“

“How are we getting there,” Quackity asks when they stumble outside, the air biting after the stifling heat of the bar, “Taxi? Car?”

“Taxi, we figured we’d be—“ He huffs a laugh, a heavy hand finding Quackity’s collarbone and sliding down. “—drunk. But god, this is better. Jesus, the universe really did us a solid, huh, you’re so fucking stunning, bet I could come just looking at you—“

“I’ll call it.” Karl giggles, a phone in his hand. “Won’t be long.”

Sure enough, the yellow car pulls up in only a few minutes and they all pile in. He’d be worried about how he’s getting home but with the way Karl insists it's a five-minute drive, he’ll be okay to walk. Probably.

The drive is torture. All squished hip to hip in the backseat, with Quackity in the middle somehow. He can hear them breathing, hear all the filthy things they’re whispering in his ears. Breathing is getting hard, thinking is getting hard. All the blood in his body is rushing between his pants and it shows. He isn’t even embarrassed, he’s just horny.

Finally, the taxi stops, and with shaking hands Karl pays. Then they’re on the street, then someone’s pushing him against a door that’s opening. The air is cold, air-conditioned but he’s burning up, stumbling from one body to the other.

He gets a spinning glimpse of marble floors and a chandelier, thinking shit, they’re rich before there’s an elevator and warm, thick arms hoist him up by the thighs. His back hits the wall, legs twisting to curl around Sapnap’s waist. His back arches as hands move up, up, up, over the curve of his ass, along his spine, up his neck before resting between his head and the wall.

“Anyone ever tell you how flawless you are?” Sapnap rumbles, eyes blatantly savouring every inch of Quackity that’s exposed, lingering unsubtly on the droplets of blood. “Shit, want you every day, want you right where I can see you, fucking shit—“ He tips his head back, groaning.

He wants— he wants to lick that. Bite it. Fuck. So he does. Leans right in, grinding his hips against Sapnap’s, and drags his tongue from the man’s collar bones to just under his ear, his snakebites pushing into skin.

With another groan, he’s pulled off the wall and entirely onto Sapnap who holds him with ease. Quackity grabs his shoulders, feeling the muscles under the mesh shift and flex. How’d he manage to score this?

Delicate hands slide onto his jaw and his head turns to see Karl’s stardust eyes before he’s leaning in and their mouths explode onto each other. Immediately Quackity pushes his tongue forward, savouring the little whimper Karl makes as he licks the back of his teeth.

God, he’s missed doing shit like this. Missed the addictive heat, the racing of his heart. It’s been a long time since he's done this and wanted it.

The elevator dings and Karl makes to pull away but Quackity chases him, keeping them locked together with their tongues as Sapnap carries him into a hallway. Finally, he breaks off, gasping for breath as he hears Karl doing the same.

“Fuck, that’s so hot,” Sapnap breathes into his ear as he leans forward into the man to keep his balance. He smiles, hunger and blazing heat rolling through him in waves. “You’re gorgeous, fit so well, baby. So perfect. Been looking everywhere for you, our third, just right, you are, just perfect for us.”

The praise is like a drug, and Quackity gasps every time he hits. Sapnap must notice because he doesn’t let up, keeps the supply steady as he leads him to a door, pins him against the wall while Karl unlocks it.

Like this, Quackity can see his face, his dark, piercing eyes as they dart all over his face, like he’s committing it to memory. “Couldn’t have asked for better, Jesus, it’s like god made you just for us.” He breathes, licking his snakebites one by one.

“Religious?” Quackity has the sense to ask before he’s moaning into a kiss. Both lips part easily and then their tongues clash, fiery and hot and it isn’t long before Sapnap wins, exploring his mouth as if it was his own.

When they break apart, there’s a chain of saliva connecting them. Sapnap flicks it into his mouth with no hesitation. “Fuck no. You?”

He grins sharply, dipping his head a little so he can look up at him through his eyelashes. “Does it look like I worship anything but dick?”

“God, how do you—“ He laughs, pulling Quackity off the wall while Karl closes the door behind them, running his hands along Quackity’s back, tugging at his shirt. “You know just what to say, don’t you. Fucking perfect, I’m telling you.”

Taking the hint, Quackity uses one hand to sling off his shirt, laughing drunkenly when he spots the little bloody stains on his skin. “Guess the fabric was a bit too thin.” He tries to say, but it comes out as a whine when Sapnap digs his fingers (so big and so warm) into the meat of his ass.

As he arches forward into Sapnap’s body, Karl comes up behind him, running fingers down his bare sides, dipping under the line of his pants. “Not thin enough.” And his breath leaves him as a tongue laps the faint red spots. When he’s done, licking his lips as he stares into Quackity’s eyes, he can see the red staining his teeth.

There’s a bit more shuffling, more whispers and growls and shivers, and then he’s tossed on the bed, still wearing pants, with Sapnap looming over him while Karl sits next to him, kissing his jaw.

As he tilts his head, giving Karl better access (which he uses to its full potential, god, that man is magic), Sapnap pauses, dark eyes burning down on them. He looks like a fallen angel, fire burning in his eyes as shadows contour his face and his body, the mesh long gone now. Someone should paint this.

“You gonna fuck me ‘till I scream big boy, or am I coming up there?” He shoots, finally giving in and letting himself fall against the bed, blinking in surprise at the silky sheets and comfortable mattress. Oh. Right. Rich. Fuck, he’s gone and got himself a pair of millionaires, hasn’t he? Better than villains, he supposes.

A rough laugh, and then two weights on either side of Quackity’s hips— Sapnap’s knees. “What, you’re a brat?” He arches an eyebrow, one hand bracing on the bed while the other pulls down Quackity’s fly.

“Switch—” He corrects, cutting off when Karl leans over to kiss him again. It’s like they’re doing everything in their power to make him a mess, which— yeah, that’s exactly what they’re doing. It’s even worse now that they’re so close to that mind-numbing pleasure Quackity knows is coming (if the bulge in Sapnap's pants is anything to go by, and through experience, he knows it is).

Karl disappears and before he can complain Sapnap is leaning over him, hands undoing his belt and tossing it to the side. He can hear the buckle hitting the carpeted floor. “‘Course. You’re gonna get the night of your life, promise baby.” He nudges Quackity’s head to the side with his nose, sucking hickeys down the column of his neck. With each one, he chokes back a moan. “Safeword?”

“Just colours,” He gasps. He used to have something obscure, but— (no, he’s not thinking about him now) he didn’t use it, and strangers were far more likely to know the traffic light system than anything else. Sure enough, Sapnap nods, grins, and then in one move swipes the pants right off of Quackity.

“Tonight is all about you,” Sapnap purrs, hands sliding up Quackity’s thighs to rest at his hips. There, his fingers brush over scars and his thumbs rub circles. “Gonna make you feel so good baby, you’ll never want anyone else.”

“Too late,” He groans, hips jerkily rolling forward on instinct. Before he can gain an inch, Sapnap’s hands are bruising, keeping him in place. He groans again, fingers sinking into the deliciously expensive sheets. “You’re— fuck, no one ever like you, just— fucking assholes—“ He blurts, his filter gone in the fire, and he can’t bring himself to care.

Not even when Sapnap’s grip eases a bit, when eyes flash above him. How can he, when Karl’s back and taking Sapnap’s place over him, those pretty lips in a confident smirk as his hands settle on his thighs. “What he said. Tonight’s all about you.” And with that, he yanks his boxers down. Quackity swears he can see Karl’s pupils dilate.

“Fuck—“ He manages to say as a warm hand cards roughly through his hair. “So pretty,” He breathes, locking eyes with Karl. With one final little smirk, Karl dips down, bypassing his aching cock and—

“Fucking—” He cries out, throwing his head back into Sapnap’s hand as Karl’s tongue slips straight past the ring of muscle and inside him. His back arches off the bed, and distantly he can hear Sapnap chuckle.

“That’s it, baby, just let go, we’ve got you.” Fingers tug almost idly at his hair while Karl does something— swirls, he’s swirling his tongue and Quackity can feel every fucking twitch and god fucking damn it, he wants someone to touch him but he's enjoying the torture far too much to ask. With every little thrust or twist of Karl’s tongue, fire ripples up Quackity’s spine, and soon enough his whole body is flush, his cock hard, aching more than ever before and even dripping precum.

“Knew you’d look good, but fuck, holy shit, you’re even better than I’d imagined baby, how do you do it? Breathtaking, everywhere I look. Just wanna lick all those beautiful scars, wanna see what my mouth could do to you, the fucking pretty little marks I’d leave. Anyone else would have to see what I did to you, know they could never be enough.”

“Not gunna—“ He tries, but then Karl pushes his tongue even deeper than before and all the breath is being punched out of him. He might be whining but he can’t hear himself anymore. The world has narrowed to the sinfully wet tongue in his ass and the filthy voice in his ears.

The hand in his hair tightens. “No? You’re gonna be good for us? Not gonna let anyone else have you?” His free hand finds Quackity’s where it's twisting the sheets in a death grip, calloused fingers sliding over his own, rough and hot and heavy. “That’s a good boy.” He leans over, hot breath spilling down Quackity’s skin as he tongues at one of the heavier scars, raised and angry on his chest.

At the same time, Karl curls his tongue, and Quackity’s leg spasms with the wave of pleasure. Although Karl’s hands are smaller than Sapnap’s, they’re no less strong as they hold his legs open, his tight grip sure to leave brilliant purple marks.

His attention is brought sharply back to his chest when teeth latch onto his nipple, rolling it between canines while fingers do the same to his other. He moans as Sapnap tugs them both at the same time, before pulling off to see the damage. “Mmmnnn. God, you bruise so easy.” And just like that he descends onto his body, moving his teeth to every inch he can reach, and god, he’s going to be looking at these marks in the mirror for days.

And then he’s forced to focus back on Karl, who’s managed to latch his lips, those fucking gorgeous pink lips around his hole, and before he can process that, which, holy fucking shit it’s never been this good, he sucks.

Lightning snaps through his body, a soundless cry as his eyes roll back in his head. Fuuuuck, he’s good. He gulps down air like he’s drowning because he is, his head pushed under the tide of pleasure and heat and hunger and fucking shit Karl’s slipping in a finger, slow and easy, and he might cum from this alone, Jesus, before Sapnap gets anywhere near him.

He’s done several rounds before.

Fucking stop it, he tells himself before he’s choking on a moan, Sapnap’s teeth nipping at another scar, this one on the V of muscles leading into his groin (perks of being a vigilante, he guesses. He gets a few muscles here and there). “What’s got you frowning now, sweetheart?” He says huskily, lips brushing against his skin. Quackity jumps as Karl slips in another finger, this one already slicked. When did he get lube?

“Shit, nothing, I swear—“ He tries to push himself up, to apologise for real, but that fucking hand pushes him back down by his collar bone, fingers sliding up to rest on his neck. He doesn’t squeeze, barely even places it there but Quackity swallows anyway.

Sapnap hums and Quackity holds his breath. “It’s okay baby, shhh, relax. We’ve got you, we ain’t gonna hurt you. Unless you want us to.” Eyes as deep as the ocean nail him to the bed, and Quackity swallows again. He— maybe not tonight.

The hesitation must show in his eyes, because Sapnap leans down for another kiss, laughing when Quackity jolts. Karl’s searching now, his fingers twisting and bending. He hisses out a curse between deep, sloppy kisses, each leaving him hungrier than the last.

And then Karl’s crooking his fingers just like that and a strangled mix of a shout and a while punches out of his throat, unbidden and completely by surprise. He manages to cut himself off by biting his lip, but then fingers latch onto his jaw, forcing it open.

“Uh-uh, none of that sweetheart. I paid good money for sound-proof walls, I wanna hear everything.” Sapnap growls, one hand flicking his nipple while the other tenses on this throat. Again, there’s not even a hint that he’ll squeeze, but that base level of fear is still there, the constant pump of adrenaline that keeps him close to the edge, that makes his heart pound and his spine shiver in anticipation. “You’re gonna be good for us? Gonna be loud?”

He moans, nodding as much as he can in the man’s grip, squirming on Karl’s still fingers. There’s a chuckle, and then a movement he can’t see, and then Karl’s moving again, pressing into the same spot hard.

He shouts for real this time, the surprise no less as white pleasure cracks up his body. He’s so fucking close, any minute now, please please he just needs it a little bit more.

“Good boy,” Sapnap purrs, and then he’s gone, and Karl’s hand is sliding out of his ass, there’s a click, foil tearing, more shuffling as Karl appears over his face, his mouth dripping and his hair tousled.

“Hi.” He breathes as Quackity feels Sapnap adjusting his weight, one hand resting on his knee. Starlight eyes are wide and his cheeks are flush and has Quackity ever seen anything so beautiful? So breathtaking? He wants this, wants this all the time, wants to see this under him, squirming, crying, begging. Wants to take care of him. Fuck. He’s falling hard. Tomorrow will be hell.

But tomorrow is tomorrow, and Quackity is tonight. “Hi.” He says back, pushing up on his elbows to suck him into a kiss, relishing how his snakebites move and push against soft flesh. Again, he pushes his tongue into Karl’s mouth, savouring the taste of him on those puffy lips. God, how is it possible that two men can be so fucking sexy?

Sapnap taps his leg, and Quackity’s head falls back on the bed. Looking down he sees Sapnap completely naked, one hand on his leg with the other on his angry dick, stroking lube down the shaft. He looks-- Fuck, there are no words. Straight from one of his nightmares, or maybe a dream, with those blazing eyes and dark smile, tongue running across teeth as he lines himself up. Muscles shifting and moving scars he didn’t notice before, a couple of lines slashed across his thighs and his chest, not nearly as much as Quackity has but enough that his dick twitches.

He has to stop looking when he starts pushing in. His eyes slip close, his back arching up as a long whine drags from his chest, needy and breathless. He wants this, so much, come on, come on, please please please—

He hisses through his teeth at the burn as he keeps going inch by inch until finally, finally (he’s so big, god, has he had someone bigger? He can’t think of anyone) he bottoms out, balls flush with his ass. They both groan in tandem, and then Karl belatedly at the sight of them.

He’s so blissfully full. He can feel his walls rippling along Sapnap’s length, tight and so fucking good. The stretch disappears quickly and Quackity is left panting on his back, hands gripping Karl’s arms, desperate for an anchor for what’s to come.

There’s a moment of respite, presumably for Quackity to adjust (never mind the fact that he’s done it with no prep and no stopping before), before Sapnap almost slams his hands on either side of Quackity’s torso, his head just about even with his pecs, and grins something fierce.

“Are you gonna—“ He dares to speak, but then Sapnap draws out and thrusts back in. The next noise he makes is a broken shout, something like a name, and then Sapnap does it again, and again, and again, pounding in ruthlessly. Before long Quackity’s mouth doesn’t bother closing, rather letting whatever noises wanna come out fall like rain off his tongue.

He’s getting faster too, and somehow harder, thrusting deeper than Quackity fucking thought was possible. He’s definitely never had someone this big. Even if they were awful, he would have remembered. Nope, Sapnap is a first for his body and it shows, with his constant stream of moans and whines, the way his fists clench so hard his nails are digging into Karl’s skin, how he can’t breathe.

And then the bastard shifts, adjusts his angle. And Quackity sees the universe.

Stars burst into creation with every brutal thrust to his prostate, and it's a fucking miracle he hasn’t come yet but god dammit he’s so fucking close.

“Please, please, I wanna, please, give me everything, please please—“ He hears begging, and faintly he knows it’s him but he couldn’t give less of a shit, concerned only with the hammering force Sapnap is giving him, nailing him firmly to the bed and he isn’t complaining, holy shit is he going to be able to walk tomorrow?

The image of him limping down the street, two sets of dark eyes watching his every move is what pushes him over the edge. Creation itself pours down his spine like thunder, his back lifts off the bed, someone screams and this is the best he’s had in his fucking life, holy fucking shit—

When he blinks back into reality, he’s still on the bed, with someone kissing softly along his throat. After a moment, a warm cloth swipes gently over his stomach. He’s too fucked out to even twitch.

“You back?” Karl whispers, a giggle behind the words. Lazily, Quackity blinks. Fuck. Did he pass out? “We’re just getting the worst of it off, and then we’ll sleep, okay?” He finishes the question with a chaste kiss to his cheek, which Quackity turns into.

It feels like he’s moving through treacle. Nothing responds when he wants it to.

(Distantly he knows that if something were to happen right now, he’d be able to get up and fight with the adrenaline. He’d have to make it quick before it wore off, but he could do it)

(He tells himself to shut up.)

With a low hum, he tries to lift his hand to run it through Sapnap’s hair as he leans over, but even just taking it off the bed is a struggle. With a huff, the man takes pity on him, lifting his hand up to rest along his jaw, which Quackity caresses with his thumb.

“’m coming, baby, don’t you worry.” He rumbles quietly, pulling away. Despite the warning, Quackity whines softly. He wants— Well.

Karl giggles for real this time. “I know. He’ll be back, come on, let’s get under the covers.” And then soft hands tug him upright, and he has just enough energy to drag himself under the covers before his muscles give out. He hasn’t been this tired in ages. Given his sleep schedule, it’s probably a good thing.

He fades in and out but he feels when Sapnap comes back because the bed dips, and then a delightfully warm body slides in behind him, an arm thrown casually around his hips. Karl shuffles in closer, pressing one last kiss to his jaw before his eyes flutter closed, letting Quackity tangle their legs together. As the rhythm of breathing begins, Quackity slips into something like sleep.

A hand on his chest, pinning him to the wall as the other reaches between his teeth, down, down, down, catching on his heart and yanking it back up. Hands dripping with his blood cackle, the shot disappearing down a throat before the glass is smashed against the wall.

That’s my drink.

His breath caught in his chest, Quackity surges upright or tries to, but there’s a weight over his hips and his legs are caught—

Leave, he has to leave, he can’t— no, no, if he sees him now, he’s dead, he’ll—

Something shifts behind him and every muscle in his body tenses. He’s here, god, he found you, you’re fucking dead, you better take it or no one will find your body—

“Baby?” Someone rumbles, familiar and not Schlatt—

Not Schlatt.

He takes a shuddering breath and pretends he’s fine. God, this is why he leaves, early, before this can happen. He should have known the nightmare would come when he was most relaxed. It always has. He focuses on un-tensing his body, helped by the shimmering eyes in front of him, and the hand on his stomach softly moving up and down, up and down. He’s okay. It’s not Schlatt.

“Nightmare?” Karl breathes into the darkness. “We get them sometimes too.”

Relief crashes through his system. At least he’s not a freak, now. He doesn’t think he could handle being tossed on the street right now. Although he’s sure they wouldn’t do that (why? Why is he sure these strangers care more about him than a man he knew for years?), he can’t quite dissolve the bitter taste on his tongue.

“Sorry.” He whispers because he has to. “I didn’t— I can go—“ He tries to roll upward but makes it less than an inch before Sapnap’s arms drag him back down.

“’S fine. Like he said, we get them too.” The words tickle the back of his neck, and he almost shivers.

Movement in front of him steals his attention, Karl shuffling forward to press his lips against Quackity’s nose. “Go back to sleep. We’ve got you.”

He almost doesn’t think it’s possible to fall back into sleep wound up like this, but he can feel Sapnap breathing against his back, slow and steady. Karl’s fingers trail over his arm, loose patterns that fade up into the air. It’s almost a song, and while Quackity’s always thrived in silence this seems like the exception.

The next time he wakes, he’s decidedly more tired. This isn’t strange; after all, he barely gets three hours a night, his state of exhaustion never rises above brain-dead. At least three cups of coffee are needed when he wakes (which isn’t always morning) to get himself in motion.

The other thing that isn’t a surprise, is that he’s alone in the bed. Lazily, he stretches, feeling the twinge and the pull of tense muscles. Shit, he’s going to have a hard time getting over this one, isn’t he? The bruises— fuck, they’re all over him. His thighs, his hips, his stomach, his chest. He’s sure they’re on his neck too.

Fuck. Maybe he’ll take a few pictures when he gets home. For a rainy day.

With a low groan, he rolls over, forcing himself to sit up. Luckily, if they’re not in bed with him it usually means they’re out for work or whatever, so he can take his time to get his ass out of here. Which is good, because judging from the response his body has given him so far, this is going to take a while.

It takes a few minutes, but finally, he manages to stand upright, grab his underwear (from completely the other side of the room) and slip his pants and shirt on haphazardly. He’s lucky he doesn’t have far to walk (from memory).

Wincing, he hobbles to the doorway. Damn, Sapnap got him good last night. He can barely walk.

In the late morning sun (a glance at the clock tells him that, oh shit, it’s almost ten forty) the rooms looks lavish. The carpet is grey but thick enough that Quackity’s toes sink into it. The bed is big enough to swim in and just as soft, with two small dressers made of dark wood on either side.

He looks up and his jaw drops. Is that a mini-chandelier? In the bedroom? He will never understand some people.

The hallway is almost worse, with gleaming wooden floors and random paintings that just look rich, abstract and impressionist, reds and blacks against bold grey canvases, swirling green and pink and blue and yellow and really every colour under the sun but it works. It all works.

He picks a door at random (not at random: there’s a door opposite him and to his left, probably more bedrooms or a bathroom, a gap, and then a couple more doors. The window from the bedroom was on the outside of the building, which means the door on the opposite side of the hallway is his ticket out of here) and slips through, tasting silence once more. It’s different when it’s not his apartment, but it’s still familiar.

And then he hears the sizzle of a frying pan. Whoops.

The room he’s entered is an open plan kitchen and dining room, with some sofas around a TV for a living room. Reds and greys and a couple of blues are splashed across the spaces almost artfully. Karl, shirtless, is leaning over the stove, with what smells to be eggs cooking.

Awkwardly, Quackity shuffles forward, clearing his throat. “Morning. Sorry, I’ll be gone, just show me the—“

Instantly the man turns around, eyes wide. “What? I didn’t think you’d be able to walk.”

“Well.” He grimaces playfully. “That’s debatable.” Oh god, what is he doing? He needs to leave. With a sigh, he shifts. “Anyway, which way’s the door?”

“Nope.” Karl grins at Quackity’s blink. “We’re having breakfast. And if you’re in pain, you should sit down. We’ve got some simple stuff if you want it, but nothing super effective. Sorry.” He says sheepishly, briefly turning back to the eggs.

“…You don’t want to get on with your day?” Quackity asks, hesitant. It’s not like this is the first time this has happened, it’s just… rare. And usually a sign of a longer relationship.

Oh fuck, please, part of him begs. Anything to see them again.

The frying pan is slid off the element. “Honey, you are our day. As long as there’s nothing on your end, we’re calling in sick.”

“What?” He stumbles forward in disbelief. “No, don’t do that for me. Go to work, shit, if I’m keeping you I’ll leave—“

“No, no.” He waves away. “It’s nothing. Our work gives paid leave like it’s dirt, you wouldn’t believe. And we want to. It’s not every day we get the chance to know someone like you better.” He bats his eyes like he knows exactly what it does to him. “And you should really sit down.” He adds, frowning at Quackity’s hand which is braced against the wall.

Reluctantly, he sinks into a chair at the dining table. He swallows his complaints about them missing work— it’s only one day, they’re rich, it’s not like him, it’s not like that, they’ll be okay— and says instead, “Someone like me?”

Karl hums. “Someone perfect. Someone who fits so wonderfully.” He walks around the island counter with the pan and a plate, setting the latter down before smoothly sliding the eggs on top. They’re perfectly done, and Quackity’s mouth waters. He’s famished.

“Someone we’ve been waiting for a while to meet.” Karl continues, kissing his temple. Quackity’s insides jump at the hope that they want this on a more permanent basis.

He swallows. “You eating with me?”

“We both are, Sap’s just in the shower.” He explains. Sure enough, he comes back with two more plates and goes back to the stove to crack more eggs. “You want a drink?”

Suddenly, Quackity is aware that he’s very thirsty. “Fuck yes. Water. Do you have ice?”

“‘Course.” Karl nods, like that isn’t something Quackity has to manage in his daily life, “How much?

“If it doesn’t give me hypothermia, then what’s the point?” He mutters, mostly to himself, but Karl clearly hears him as he grins, canines on display.

“Copy that. One glass of pure ice coming right up.”

True to his word, the glass Quackity gets is certainly more ice than water, but as he sips what little liquid is there right now, instant relief floods his body. The headache he didn’t even know was there vanishes and all his little aches seem that much more manageable.

“Coffee too?” Karl pipes up innocently, and Quackity has to resist the urge to groan.

“Yes.”

He laughs, and Quackity drinks in the sound as much as he does his water.

The door opens, and Quackity’s head snaps up before he forces his heart to calm. It’s only Sapnap, with his hair damp and his shirt unbuttoned. “Huh. Either I didn’t do my job last night or you are stubborn.” He chuckles, running his fingers along Quackity’s shoulders as he passes by. “You look good, though.” With my marks all over you.

“It's stubbornness.” He assures. “I’m known for it.”

A thick eyebrow arches, kissing Karl on the cheek as he pours himself a cup of coffee from the freshly brewed pot. “Good to know. Not that we’re any better.”

He stares at his eggs, wetting his lips. He has to say something. He can’t...

“You’re too gorgeous to be frowning,” Karl says, fingers brushing against his jaw. Quackity starts, mentally cursing. He should have heard him come over.

Karl frowns softly down at him, and before he can voice something Quackity opens his mouth. “I don’t— What is this? Thanks for the sex, or see you again?” He props his head on his fist, watching their reactions closely.

Sapnap laughs, and Karl’s frown disappears. “The second one. For sure. I don’t know about you, but I want to get to know you.”

“So friends with benefits?” He clarifies.

Sapnap comes around the counter to join them, sinking into the chair opposite him. “We were hoping for the whole package. Boyfriends. Or at least friends. But if you want something casual, that’s totally fine. We’d make it work.”

This time, Quackity raises his eyebrows. “We’ve known each other for literally one night.”

“So?” Karl shrugs, leaning over the table. “You’re interesting. We’re attracted to you, and I hope you’re attracted to us. Let’s see where this goes.”

“Fuck.” He looks back at his eggs. “Never done it this quick.”

“I’m not hearing a no…” Sapnap jokes, winking.

With a roll of his eyes, Quackity smirks. “I’m all in. I just don’t know where to start.”

“How about your number?”