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It's ridiculous.
It's completely ridiculous and Wilbur knows it. Still, he knew from the moment the words tumbled out of his mouth that they'd be doing it. Quackity couldn't seem to say no to him, after all.
And here he was, tugging on a trenchcoat he got for cheap at a thrift shop and fluffing up the white streak he'd added to his hair. He feels ridiculous, despite this being his idea, but it isn't his own outfit that he's interested in, rather Quackity's.
A spike of humiliation shoots through him at the memory of him practically begging for Quackity to put on that stupid white button-up and talk to him like his character- like he hates him- but he's always gotten off on humiliation, so maybe this is a win-win.
As he prepares to step into his office, however, anxiety coils around all his nerve endings, filling him with what can only be described as fear. What if Quackity thought the suggestion was merely a joke, or finds it weird halfway through, or finds it weird now, before they've even begun? Wilbur doesn't want to screw up what they've built with this niche kink of his. Still, he knows that if he doesn't walk through that door, he'll never be able to recover from the shame of backing down. He's dug this grave; it's time to lay in it.
Wilbur pushes open the door and his jaw drops.
Quackity looks about the way he expected him to: simple white shirt, black suspenders, beanie, the works. What Wilbur hadn't expected was the makeup. A long, terrifyingly realistic scar runs down the side of his face, crossing right through his eye, a pale colored contact replacing the usual deep brown Wilbur had familiarized himself with. And, perched low on his nose is a pair of wire-rimmed red sunglasses. Christ, Wilbur is down bad for how sexy he thinks Quackity looks in them.
But what really makes heat rise to his face is that expression Quackity wears- one of cold, yet collected resentment- and his posture- his feet crossed at the ankles, propped up on Wilbur's desk like he owns it. And Wilbur supposes that in the case of this scenario they're currently in, Quackity does own it. He is the perfect picture of his character, and it makes Wilbur weak in the knees.
Fucking hell, Quackity is going to destroy him.
For a second, he's frozen in the doorway, mouth opening and closing yet refusing to form words. And God, that's a thought; he's never been rendered this speechless in his life. Thankfully, Quackity doesn't wait for him to find his bearings.
"Sit, Wilbur."
Quackity gestures to the chair on the opposite side of where he's sat. He waits. When Wilbur's feet refuse to move, his mind still reeling from the sight before him, his literary foil snaps his fingers with impatience.
"I'm not asking."
Fuck.
Wilbur's so shaken up by a few words that it's downright embarrassing. He briefly worries about ruining the scene, but then a thought crosses his mind. This is okay. He can use this. After all, would his character really sit down upon being told to?
Absolutely fucking not.
"I'm quite comfortable where I am, actually," Wilbur tests, slipping easily into the right mindset, letting a teasing grin etch itself into his features. Quackity reacts accordingly with an annoyed scoff.
"Fine. I don't want you here, anyway. In fact, it'd be easier if you just left."
It's a challenge as much as it's an invitation. Wilbur welcomes both with open arms, immediately rushing over and unceremoniously flopping onto the chair. He rests his elbows on the desk, uncomfortably close to where Quackity's feet lie, simply to be a nuisance.
"In that case, maybe I will stay a while," Wilbur decides, smiling in a way that he knows would infuriate the character before him. Quackity seems to know it too, as his scowl only deepens and he sweeps his feet off the desk, as if Wilbur's proximity alone would disease him. This is good. Wilbur likes being treated like something filthy.
"Let's just get this over with," Quackity huffs in annoyance. "Last I checked, Wilbur, you're not supposed to be here."
Ah, a classic: Wilbur being in places he's not supposed to be. Simple, yet effective. Easy to follow. Wilbur knows where the scene is going immediately. Before he can say anything on the matter, however, Quackity beats him to it.
"This is my territory, Soot," Quackity seethes, and Wilbur tries to pretend his head isn't spinning from the venomous way he says his fake last name. "I've told you time and time again that you're not welcome here, and yet here you are, slinking through my country like a street rat, bothering my staff, and most of all, bothering me. I've got more important shit to deal with than you."
Wilbur merely sighs, letting most of Quackity's grievances fly right over his head, and flutters his eyelashes a bit. "Ah, but you wouldn't really rid of me, would you? You like the attention; I can tell."
"I don't like anything you have to offer me," Quackity argues, firm but with some underlying weakness that tells Wilbur he's heading in the right direction. He takes a moment to process just how effortless this is. They bounce off each other so easily in-game, and it appears it's no different when the cameras are off. Wilbur finds it kind of hot, and at this point he doesn't even bother asking himself why.
"Is that so, Quackity?" Wilbur decides to push. It's what his character would do, after all. "You really don't like my sweet, undivided attention? You don't like my eyes on you and that sexy little shirt that I know you unbutton more whenever I'm around? You don't like my lips singing the praises of the work you've done for this lovely- and I mean, truly lovely- little city?"
Anger decorates Quackity's features accordingly at that last statement, which Wilbur had, in fact, worded to sound patronizing. It's not enough to spark anything exciting- not yet at least- and Wilbur knows he just needs one more good push for everything to go sideways.
"Hey now, don't get defensive! I mean it. It's lovely. And who knows, maybe one day it'll be nice enough to earn itself a visit from your ever-so-evasive fiancés-"
Quackity's hand grips the collar of his shirt and yanks him forward, and despite the painful pressure of his ribs against the edge of the desk, Wilbur can't help the way his cock twitches with interest in his skinny jeans. He knows he's nailed it, and the cat-like grin on his face only grows.
"Don't."
That's all Quackity says, but it's dangerous. It's so dangerous, in fact, that the sudden aggression makes Wilbur short-circuit for a moment, and he breaks.
"Alex-"
Whoops.
Wilbur tries to jump back in, but he falters again, and at this point he's spiraling. "Fuck, sorry, I-"
Fuck. He never messes up like this on-stream. He's embarrassed, and not in the way that gets him off. Fuck, he was doing so well-
Luckily, Quackity catches him before he completely falls, hooking a finger under his chin and dragging him back up to meet his gaze. He raises an eyebrow, and that action alone makes Wilbur's heart race. God, he's too hot for his own good.
"I never told you that you could call me by my first name."
Nice save.
Wilbur exhales a laugh, his anxiety dissipating like smoke. "Didn't know I needed your permission, Q."
And Quackity slams him into the desk.
"Fuck-"
That's all Wilbur can manage, his chest pressed flat against the desk and aching, all air that was in his lungs a mere second ago miraculously missing. Quackity lets go of him, but he's too out-of-breath to move. He feels like he's dying, and he both loves and hates how much that turns him on.
"Here's how this is gonna work, Soot," Quackity says, circling him until Wilbur can no longer see him. He feels a pair of hands dig painfully into his hips and he winces. "You're gonna lay there and look pretty, I'm gonna rail you into next week, and if I'm feeling generous, I might let you cum. How's that sound?"
Fuck, that's the best thing Wilbur's heard all day.
Instead of saying that, he let's out a strangled laugh. "Seems like you want me around after all, Quackity."
"Seems like you're the only one around here I'm willing to destroy."
And Wilbur lets himself give in. He turns his head to the side, just enough to catch Quackity glaring at him in his peripheral, and taunts him.
"Yeah? Then do it." A crazed grin finds Wilbur's lips. "Fucking destroy me."
Quackity, never being one for the dramatics, pushes his trenchcoat up to his waist and shoves his jeans and boxers down his legs with no flair whatsoever, letting out a humored scoff as he thumbs the precum beading at the tip of his cock. Wilbur whines at the touch and tries to buck into his hand, but Quackity is already pulling away. "That's just fucking pathetic. I've barely done a thing and you're a wreck."
Wilbur doesn't have half the mind to respond. He really is a wreck, isn't he?
Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Quackity fish a small bottle of lube from his pocket and sighs in relief at the fact that they'll be using it. Just because Quackity's character's a crazy bitch doesn't mean the real Quackity (somewhere underneath those suspenders and sunglasses) would ever dare to go in dry. Wilbur does, however, laugh at the ridiculous amount he pours on his fingers. Quackity does tend to forget how much bigger Wilbur is than him when he's bent over like this.
Quackity takes notice of the giggle and responds by shoving the first finger in, and Wilbur yelps.
"You bastard- fuck!" Wilbur curses, and he almost hates Quackity for real when he adds the second finger much too soon. "S-slow down- wait!"
Quackity takes slight pity on him, easing the second in slowly, but his words are still sharp. "Laugh again, bitch. See what happens."
And Wilbur wants to test him so badly, but he refrains. There's better to come and he doesn't want to distract Quackity from getting to the main event.
"This is why you're here, isn't it?" Quackity leans down, whispering the words low in Wilbur's ear and making him shiver. "This is why you sneak into places you're not supposed to be. This is why you pester me all fucking day. You've just been waiting for me to snap."
At that final word, Quackity jabs those two fingers further than he dared before, hitting Wilbur's prostate head-on, and the poor bastard can't even begin to bite back the moan that spills from his lips. His hips snap forward into nothing and he whimpers as Quackity bites the shell of his ear, not at all gentle. It's a new feeling; they've never fucked like this before (in terms of roughness), so it's all a new feeling. It's all so overwhelming in the best way possible.
Wilbur doesn't even process that a third finger has entered him before they all pull out, leaving him with uncomfortable emptiness.
He's feeling empty in more ways than one, though, and when he feels Quackity's cock press against him, he objects.
"Wait."
Quackity pulls back. "What?"
He says it with bite, but far underneath the false hatred, Wilbur can sense Quackity's worry that he's gone too far, that it's not fun anymore, that he's done something terribly wrong.
That's not it, though.
Wilbur is a bit embarrassed to say it aloud, but ultimately decides fuck it. He's the one who suggested this scene; he should have no problem requesting to change it a bit.
"Wanna see you," Wilbur slurs out, already beginning to feel dizzy and delirious with pleasure and they haven't even properly fucked yet.
Fuck it. He has no shame. If he wants to openly stare at Quackity in those sexy little glasses with that sexy little scar, he's gonna fucking express it.
Quackity flips him over with no argument, no struggle.
"Can't get enough of me, huh, Soot?"
And the words don't match the tone at all. No, Quackity's voice is laced with far too much endearment now as he looks Wilbur in the eyes, and Wilbur can tell by the twitch of his lips that he's trying like hell not to smile, and it's fucking cute. He's reminded through the haze of the scene that he fucking loves this man, and given that Quackity agreed to this silly little thing, he loves him just as much.
Wilbur's never felt more alive than in this moment.
By the time Quackity's hips are flush with Wilbur's, they're both smiling and sighing with contentment, and it's soft. It's too soft, and the scene is indefinitely over when Quackity fucks Wilbur too sweetly to be realistic to either of their characters, but Wilbur finds he doesn't particularly mind. He'd gotten what he wanted from it, after all, and even though the threat of holding Wilbur's orgasm from him is also long gone, he still feels as if he's been edged for eras. Quackity does that to him.
"Thank you-" Wilbur gasps, whining when he rolls his hips forward to meet Quackity's. "Thank you for entertaining me."
"Of course, mi amor," Quackity responds, hardly a whisper, but Wilbur hears him loud and clear. "You're a weirdo...but I liked this, too."
Quackity speeds up, letting out a soft moan at the new pace, and listens to Wilbur's whimpers go up an octave when he wraps a hand around his neglected cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. And fuck, Wilbur's never gotten this close this fast in his life.
"Close- please- I'm so close-"
"So pretty," Quackity praises, his breathing labored as he also nears his breaking point. "C'mon, Will. Cum for me."
Wilbur wouldn't have been able to deny him if he tried. With a high-pitched wail, he spills over Quackity's hand, clenching around his cock. The sudden tightness sends Quackity over the edge as well, and he pulls out to release in his already-soiled hand.
Their lips press against each other in a surprisingly chaste manner as they ride out their highs, Quackity eventually breaking the kiss and collapsing on Wilbur's chest.
"Will-" Quackity mumbles, exhausted, unable to protest Wilbur taking advantage of the proximity to suck a purple mark into his neck. "Was- was it good?"
Wilbur detaches his lips from Quackity's skin to pull him backwards to eye level. "Good? That was amazing."
At that moment, Quackity's sunglasses slip from his nose and hit Wilbur in the forehead. Wilbur bursts into delirious giggles, which Quackity follows up with a sharp laugh of his own, gently setting the glasses beside his head and standing, dragging Wilbur up with him.
"Let's take a shower, you fucking weirdo."
Wilbur leans into the comforting arm around his waist and let's himself be dragged to the bathroom, leaning tiredly against the sink as Quackity runs the shower. Despite the calm atmosphere that's taken them over, however, he simply can't deny himself one last quip.
"You look hot with the scar, by the way."
He can practically hear Quackity's smirk.
"I know."