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Quackity grimaced as he turned in the mirror, straining his head around to look at the state of his wings in the reflection. It had been weeks since his last proper preening. With everything that had happened on the island, he'd just sort of…lost track. It was always such a hassle to do on his own anyway, and if he was being honest with himself, he probably would have let them be for another week. That was if it wasn't for how much pain they were causing now.
Damaged feathers were twisted together with new emerging pins, all tangled and tight. As he tried to stretch his wings out a little farther for a better look, Quackity let out a small yelp at another spike of pain.
"You dying in there?" A gruff voice called faintly from down the stairs, though it didn’t sound all that concerned.
Quackity didn’t bother replying, reaching around now to try and slide his fingers into the plumes. His hands were clumsy, though, and he struggled to follow the reversed reflection of his movements. Finally, he latched onto an older feather, gripping it carefully to slide out of the mess. He winced a little as it came loose, a dull throb now pulsing where it had once sat.
This was all wrong. He could barely reach the older feathers with this angle, and still, he wouldn’t be able to grab the new pins at all to roll them loose. He let out a huff at his reflection, anger beginning to take over what before had only been mild frustration, when Schlatt finally appeared in the doorway.
“God, you look a mess.” Schlatt sneered, but his tone was light.
“Wow, thanks, man.” Quackity turned to see him better, untwisting his arm from where he’d been trying to reach for another feather.
“What happened to you?” Schlatt crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame, “You were so put together last time we went out. All neat and tidy.”
Quackity scoffed, and then, mimicking the other man, eased back on the dresser behind him, “Schlatt, that was two weeks ago.”
“Really?" He grimaced, "Shit. We need to get out of this goddamned house more.”
“I do.” Quality protested, momentarily forgetting his previous task, “You just like to hide from everyone.”
“Yeah, I like to. Doesn’t mean I get to. There’s always somebody coming over here trying to knock down my door or blow up my yard.”
“Okay, Mr. Grumpy pants,” Quackity drawled, smirking. He moved to walk over to where Schlatt stood, only to recoil as he tried to close his wings and they curled uncomfortably into his back. Quackity froze where he stood, trying to compose himself as he winced at the pain.
“Fuck, are you actually hurt?” Schlatt asked, moving tentatively to meet him in the middle of the room. His hands hovered slightly at his sides, as if he wanted to move them, to touch Quackity, but he couldn’t quite complete the action.
“It’s just my wings. I should have gotten to them sooner. Now it's just a bigger mess. And I can’t fucking reach—“ Quackity tried again, straining his arm around his back, fingers inching towards another damaged feather he knew was there.
Schlatt finally moved, hand reaching up to catch Quackity’s before he could strain himself further. “Woah, slow your roll, you’re gonna actually hurt yourself, man. And then what’ll I do with myself?”
“Oh shut up. Just leave me alone, I need to finish this.” Quackity tried to pull his arm back away, but Schlatt held strong, giving him a knowing glare. Quackity sighed, letting his shoulders drop. “You don’t even know what you're doing.” He protested.
Schlatt shook his head and unclasped him slowly. “Calm down, idiot. Just let me take a look. Can’t be that bad.” His hands moved again, reaching for Quackity’s shoulders now to carefully turn him around. Quackity tried not to find annoyance in how easily he complied with the man’s direction.
He stiffened as he felt sturdy fingers cross gently over the small covert feathers at the top of his wings, only to relax as Schlatt made a quiet tutting noise. His shoulders dropped slightly, and he let himself sink into where he was standing as Schlatt’s hands slowly moved lower.
“Does this hurt?” His tone was uncharacteristically soft, just over a whisper.
“No. Just surprised me. I didn’t know you could be so gentle.” Quackity tried to tease, but his voice was still tired, and it came out sounding more genuine than he’d intended.
Schlatt was silent for a moment before he finally spoke again. ”Just tell me how to do this shit, and speak up if it hurts, I don't wanna make it worse.”
Quackity nodded in response as Schlatt ran his fingers a little lower, reaching his secondaries.
“The ones that are kinda ragged or bent are old and damaged. They need to be pulled out.” Quackity suppressed a shiver as thick fingers dug deeper into his wing, though they remained gentle, “Some of them don’t lie flat and just need to be untwisted, you can kinda feel it with your hand like—” Quackity jolted as a feather untwisted. It was nothing like how he’d been struggling before; this time, it was just a little shock that quickly melted into a warm feeling of rightness.
“Like that?” Schlatt’s fingers stilled, awaiting Quackity’s confirmation.
“Yeah…” Quackity trailed off, a warm buzz beginning to wash over his mind as he tried to respond, “Yeah, just like that.”
Schlatt chuckled at his syrupy tone, and just like that, his fingers resumed, working with more confidence now. Feathers slowly drifted to the ground as he worked in silence, carefully plucking through, only pausing when Quackity would jolt or hum. Slowly, he moved outwards, into the larger primary feathers.
He’d gotten a handle on the routine, pulling broken feathers and flipping the displaced ones with quick, nimble fingers. He only waited a second for Quackity to jolt or shiver before continuing. It was nice at first, his certainty, his confidence, but slowly it grew, overwhelming. The hum in his brain had turned into one loud sound, a chant for more, more, more. He needed to be enveloped in this moment, the warmth of the room, the softness of Schlatt’s hands, the ecstasy-like feeling that trembled through him in waves. He was only barely containing himself as his body ached to chirp and vibrate, to melt into the softness surrounding him.
Quackity gasped louder as another primary was set back into place, and before he could even process the feeling, he realized he was falling. His knees had buckled, maybe a response to the stimulation or a lapse in his consciousness, and he could no longer keep himself standing. He didn’t fall for long, though, as just as quickly as he’d stumbled, two arms were slipped under his armpits, an alarmed shout coming from the man behind him.
“Shit! What the fuck happened?”
“I—I don’t know.” Quackity stumbled over his words; his mouth felt cottony and strange as he tried to speak, “It just feels…good.”
Schlatt scoffed and readjusted his hold, lifting Quackity to his feet.
“How about you sit down,” He nodded towards the bed, “Then at least if you fall over again I don’t have to worry about you cracking your skull open.”
“You’d catch me.” Quackity drawled, but he moved towards the bed as directed, Schlatt’s hands still hovering cautiously around him. “You don’t want to admit it, but you're always looking for me when I’m around.” He wasn’t sure where the ramble had come from, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Finally sitting down on the edge of the bed, he continued. “You try to act so mean and tough, but you’re just a big softy. We all know it, we just pretend for your sake.”
Schlatt sat down beside him quickly, jostling Quackity as he spoke, “Christ, if I start touching your wings again, will you shut up?”
“Mayb—“ Quackity couldn’t even finish the word as Schlatt’s fingers dove back between his feathers, resuming his careful motions like nothing had happened. Quackity shivered at the feeling before he let himself relax into it, shoulders slumping and a small hum rumbling in the back of his throat. It was intoxicating, the satisfaction that seemed to ooze all the way through him with every little adjustment.
Schlatt seemed to be closer now than when they were standing, and he swore he could just barely feel the man’s breath puffing softly against his neck as he worked. He’d gone silent again, seemingly hyper-focused on his task. He had noticed that about Schlatt a long time ago, that when he really wanted to accomplish something, he would keep going until it was done; no interruptions were permitted. Of course, when somebody did eventually disturb him, more likely than not, himself or Katie, Schlatt would throw a big overdramatic fit.
His eyes were just starting to drift shut when Schlatt’s hands stilled. He blinked back into wakefullness, alert and curious, and turned with an inquisitive glare to question the man behind him.
“Why’d you stop?”
“I’m done with this wing. Jesus, just let me stretch my fingers for a second.”
Quackity tilted his head, stretching out the wing to see that it was, in fact, done. It was almost perfect, a few feathers were still a bit rumpled, but they looked mostly back to normal. He relished in the satisfaction the sight brought him before turning a coy smile Schlatt’s way, “Oh yeah,” He snarked, “I know your not used to manual labor.”
“What the fuck do you think you're talking about. Have you seen this damn island? Who do you think did all this? Matter of fact—“
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Quackity cut him off, giggling at the outburst, “Calm down, big guy.”
“Big guy?” Schlatt looked at him incredulously
“Yeah,” Quackity raised a finger, poking Schlatt’s chest as he emphasized the words, “Big. Guy.”
“Oh, I’ll show you a fucking big guy.” Schlatt smirked, and Quackity yelped as he was quickly manhandled, strong hands clasping around his waist to flip him over onto the bed. He landed on his stomach with a bounce into the soft sheets, screeching as Schlatt grabbed him again, pulling Quackity’s arm behind his back to restrain him.
“You’re—“ Quackity panted, through his words, the air knocked out of him from being thrown around, “you’re avoiding the task at hand.” He twitched the other messy wing, where it was squished between his arm and back.
“Oh you’re just a piece of fucking work.” Schlatt scoffed, but his grip softened, letting go of his hold.
Quackity turned, straining to look at the man behind him. His legs were straddled over Quackity’s hips, and he was just starting to realize how compromising their position was. Smirking, he batted his eyelashes, raising his voice an octave, “Please? I can’t do it without your help.”
Quackity’s grin only stretched wider as he watched a faint blush spread over Schlatt’s cheeks.
“Christ.” Schlatt pulled back, resetting himself, and he rested his hands back on Quackity’s hips to stabilize himself. He dug his thumbs in, squeezing lightly, and Quackity couldn’t help the satisfied shiver that ran up his spine in response.
Schlatt moved more contemplatively this time, running his hands slowly up Quackity’s back, working teasingly towards the base of his wing. He let out an irritated whine at the tease, but as Schlatt’s fingers buried back into his rumpled feathers, the sound instead morphed into a sharp squawk. Quackity would have covered his mouth if he could move his hands, but he was frozen. Schlatt had stopped as well, quiet, only the sound of their breathing filling the room.
“Did you just chirp?”
“Shut up.”
“I didn’t know you chirp.”
“Shut up, man.” His hand was moving again now, slower, fingers shifting gently against his feathers, not yet pulling or twisting anything, as if he was just petting Quackity. It took him a moment to realize he was trying to acclimate Quackity’s nerves to the feeling. Warmth spread through his cheeks, and he buried his face back into the sheets with a huff.
“It's cute,” Schlatt mumbled, finally righting a feather back into place. Another little squawk passed through Quackity’s lips at the feeling, and he tried not to cringe at the sound. He heard shuffling sounds as Schlatt adjusted behind him, feeling as his legs moved subtly, hands still working slowly through his wing with precision.
Slowly, Schlatt leaned down, until his lips were inches away from Quackity’s ear. He seemed to wait a moment where he was crouched, hovering until the right moment finally hit, and he displaced another primary, causing Quackity to shudder.
“Does that feel good, Q?” Schlatt whispered into the shell of his ear. The words rolled through him as he shuddered again. Quackity opened his mouth to respond, only for another warbled chirp to echo out instead.
“Use your words, Baby,” Schlatt responded, and Quackity swore he could hear the smirk in his voice.
“Fuck you…oh my god. Fu—“ Quackity gasped through the word as Schlatt’s fingers worked faster, not allowing him to catch a breath. “—ck. Fuck you.”
“We’re almost done,” Schlatt tutted, “Can you hold out a little longer?”
It took Quackity a moment before he processed the man’s innuendo. “Oh, I fucking hate you,” he gasped, reaching out a hand to grip tightly at the sheets as Schlatt drove his fingers deeper. He’d realized at a certain point that it didn’t hurt anymore. Maybe it was the wash of pleasure taking over him, or maybe it was the way Schlatt’s hands were still so careful despite the way he kept teasing Quackity.
As soon as Schlatt finally pulled back, signaling with a small pat between his wings that his work was done, Quackity was up and moving. He twisted, lurching up to grasp at the man above him, hands scrambling for purchase wherever they could reach. Fingers digging into soft skin and starched linen, he pulled himself the rest of the way up from the bed. Schlatt yelped in surprise at the sudden attack, leaning back to try and regain his balance. Quackity was still moving, anchoring his knees between Schlatt’s as his hands finally latched onto his face.
“Woah, man. What’s going on with you?” Schlatt gasped out, still taken aback by Quackity’s abrupt change in demeanor.
Quackity didn’t respond, humming something contentedly as he moved in closer, just inches from Schlatt’s face, still grasped in his hands. His fingers twitched, rubbing at the man’s sideburns absentmindedly, before he closed the distance, pressing a brief, chaste kiss to Schlatt’s lips.
“Oh,” Schlatt blinked a few times before a small smirk returned to his lips, “That was nice.”
Quackity only hummed again, pressing another quick peck to Schlatt’s lips. And then another. And gradually he moved, lips targeting the dip of his chin, the curve of his cheek, the furrow of his brow. They were all just as quick as the first kiss, small touches peppered softly over his skin. At one point, another small chirp echoed from the back of his throat, a low trill that pressed itself into the stubble on Schlatt's cheek.
Closing his eyes slowly, Schlatt moved his hands up, curling them casually around Quackity’s back, almost possessively. Quackity jerked at the movement, shifting closer, until his thighs were slipping over Schlatt’s instead of between, halfway settled in his lap. Schlatt curled his arms tighter in response, dipping his head to rest it in the crook of Quackity’s neck. This position limited Quackity’s movement, and he gave up on his wandering to return to Schlatt’s lips, opening his mouth slightly as he deepened the kiss.
As Schlatt’s hands dug tighter into his hips, Quackity moved his own upwards, threading his fingers through the long curls at the base of his neck. It had grown out a bit since they’d first crashed upon the island, Quackity thought he might not have even bothered trimming it in the last few months. Tugging a little on the locks, Quackity rolled his hips, and Schlatt let another deep hum murmur into the side of his throat.
Quackity’s fingers kept moving, abandoning Schlatt’s hair in pursuit of a different goal, rising upwards until they hit the solid keratin of horn. Schlatt had only complained to him about his horns once or twice, how, when he was younger, he’d never known how to take care of them, and one time it had gotten so bad they’d nearly grown into his eye.
Now Quackity looked at the manicured, polished horns and thought back to his own once-unkempt wings. Maybe he could get used to this kind of routine. And maybe it was something that didn’t just benefit himself. Quackity had begun to move his fingers again, massaging lightly at the base of the horns, soft, simple movements. He wasn’t really thinking about what he was doing until the bed shook beneath him and a loud thump echoed through the room. Quackity’s hands froze, and he looked down at the man below him.
Schlatt’s face was still buried in his neck but his breathing was faster, panting at a quick familiar pace. Looking down further, Quackity spotted the source of the jostle and the noise, Schlatt’s leg, which was kicked out slightly to the side. He’d kicked his leg, like a real honest-to-god goat.
“Schlatt—“
“Shut the fuck up and keep going.” Schlatt’s voice cut him off, muffled and low but undoubtedly serious.
Quackity smiled, shutting his mouth, and slowly sank his hands back into the man’s hair. He started more carefully this time, rubbing his fingertips lightly around the base until Schlatt grumbled and jostled him again, and Quackity laughed, hands curling tighter around the horns. He stroked softly, alternating between pulling at locks of hair and scratching behind Schlatt’s delicate ears, another motion that had the hum turn closer to a low moan.
An idea began to dawn on Quackity, an occurrence that usually never ended well for any party involved, but he ignored the warning of foresight, following his intuition. He pulled a hand out of Schlatt’s hair, abandoning his scalp to trail slowly down the back of his neck. The man shivered in response but didn’t pull away.
Carefully, Quackity moved his hand lower, sliding gently down Schlatt’s shoulder, then past his back, until his fingertips were just barely grazing the top of his slacks. Pulling lightly, he started to untuck the white dress shirt that had been messily shoved in that morning, and it was only then that Schlatt began to stir from his hazy state.
“What’re you doing?” He mumbled into Quackity’s neck, lolling his head to the side as if he could try to peer around.
Quackity didn’t respond, pulling aside the untucked shirt and slipping two fingers under Schlatt’s waistband without warning.
“Fuck, man!” Schlatt cursed loudly, breaking out of his passive daze. He bristled for a moment longer before he seemed to calm down slightly, voice mellowing as a small grin crept across his cheeks. “Shit, you ever heard of warning a guy?”
“Where is it?” Quackity mumbled, fingers grazing against the soft cotton of his boxers.
“My cock’s on the other side idiot.”
“No, not that.” He shook his head, “I know you tuck it back most of the time.” Quackity’s words felt loose and syrupy in his mouth, “I just…just wanna—“
Quackity paused as his fingers finally trailed across the soft patch of fur at the base of Schlatt’s back. He sucked in a breath, deep and thready, and continued, fingertips petting gently at the tail. He jumped as Schlatt shook underneath him, and he realized the man had kicked out his leg again.
“Q, what are you doing?” Schlatt was trying to keep his words steady, but his voice wavered at the end, right in time with another flick of Quackity’s fingers.
Quackity finally looked up, staring blankly into Schlatt’s incredulous gaze. “You started this. I’m just finishing it.” He pulled back then, snickering at the almost imperceptible whine that spilled from Schlatt’s lips, and brought his hands forward to the man’s belt. Schlatt beat him to it, batting his hands away to undo the buckle himself, and before Quality knew it, he was shuffling out of his slacks.
They’d become untangled somewhere in the process, and now Schlatt sat before him in just his boxers and half-open, severely wrinkled, dress shirt. He couldn’t quite remember himself unbuttoning the shirt, but ignored the thought, leaning in to press another deep kiss to the man's mouth. With one hand holding himself up on the bed, he snaked the other around Schlatt’s back, fingers lacing under the elastic waistband. He moved quicker this time, pulling down the edge of the underwear, as he leaned in further, chest brushing up against Schlatt’s. He felt the man’s gasp just as he heard it, and peering over Schlatt’s shoulder watched as his fluffy tail popped out from his boxers. Smirking into the warm skin beneath him, he brought his hand back up, fingers toying softly with the tail. It twitched in response, wagging back and forth for a split second, and Schlatt let out another whining moan.
Quackity barely noticed that Schlatt's hands had begun to move up his hips, or that his leg had slid very carefully between his thighs. He didn’t even register when those hands curled lightly under his arms, too focused on reaching for the tail again. He flicked it once more, giggling at how it twitched, just before he was thrown into the air.
Or rather, he was flipped, he realized as he landed on the bed with a soft thump and a high pitch shriek. He heaved, a hollow drop sinking in his stomach as he still recovered from the air being knocked out of him. A weight settled on his hips, and he looked up, watching Schlatt’s face glare down at him. His expression didn’t match the rest of his appearance, flushed skin, a sheen of sweat across his brow, and dark, blown-out pupils.
“You are such a fucking asshole.” Schlatt was smiling again. Quackity thought he might be trying to make it look cruel, but he’d known him too long. It was impossible not to see through the act.
“You love it.” He shot back because he was right.
Schlatt only shook his head, leaning down to hook a finger in the waistband of Quackity’s pants and silenced him with one more kiss.