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Being revived was fun.
Of course it was different, getting used to being able to eat and breathe and feel, but it was the most liberated he had ever felt in his entire lifetime. Feeling the wind in his hair, the dirt crunch beneath his boots and blood rush through his veins, actually feeling— it made every year spent in deprivation worth it.
Of course, it wasn’t just the physical aspects he missed. Yes, it played a huge part in it, but being alive was more than just materialistic things.
That day he had spoken with Quackity, he had remembered how much he missed feeling a connection with someone. How much he missed a challenge. Sure, he had been wrong and had ultimately failed in his goal, but he found an obstacle. Something worth fighting for, or whatever.
The banter had ignited that feeling, that rush of adrenaline that he had been deprived of for so long.
However, as much as he wanted to work on furthering his progress, he needed food. He couldn’t really get anything done if he didn’t even have the energy to sprint around freely.
Tommy had supplied him with a stone axe and a bow with plenty of arrows in a chest at the borders of their own getaway, and Wilbur was well aware of how easy it would be to hunt with those materials alone. While he acknowledged he wasn’t necessarily the best at combat, he excelled with a bow. So, naturally, the obvious thing to do was to take the bow and shoot some animals down for some easy food.
That being said.
Wilbur didn’t like doing things easy. During their little tour around Las Nevada’s, Quackity had made the amateur mistake of showing him where their resources were stocked, and Wilbur had a great memory.
So sneaking into the grounds when no one was around proved to be a successful task.
Was he disappointed that it wasn’t as challenging as he thought it was going to be? Maybe. Was he still happy with the stacks of food, wood and iron he had received though? Of course.
Making the cross between sand and grass, he hummed a low tune to none other than himself, he carried the new inventory back to his own marked territory, kicking the chest he had set in place open without thought, working his way around placing the rewards he had snatched securely inside.
“You sneaky little shit.”
Wilbur paused, haltering in his actions but not tensing at the new voice. A small smile formed on his face, familiar excitement pooling in his gut at the situation he had found himself in.
Piling the last of the resources inside the chest, he kicked it back shut and finally turned around, facing the source of the intrusion. “Nice to see you too, Quackity.”
“It isn’t nice to see shit,” The man in question scoffed, shifting his weight and putting his hand on his hip. “What the hell, man? I leave my land for ten minutes and— and you steal from it?”
“All things considered, you should’ve kept a better eye on your things. Besides, you were the one who showed me where all the food was, is it really my fault for taking advantage of that?”
“Yes! It’s my shit! Can you see why I didn’t let you stay now? Because you do things like— like this!” Quackity yelled, stepping forward. Wilbur looked down, meeting his pointed gaze, satisfied grin still plastered on his face. Their height difference was something he had taken note of on their first reunion, but it was still something he admired.
Wilbur shrugged. “Only after you turned me down.” He was well aware of the irony of the situation, of him stealing materials after promising he was different, but it was still fun nonetheless. “Besides, is it really my fault that you couldn’t keep things in your country safe and secure?”
Quackity frowned, narrowing his eyes incredulously. “Awfully strong words coming from the guy who got ran out of his own country.”
“Ouch.” Wilbur cocked his head, looking the shorter man up and down briefly. “Well, as much as I have to admit I love our little banter, you’re on my property, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave now.”
“You really need to be put in your place.”
Before he could even respond, Wilbur felt a sharp yank to his shirt collar, and was harshly slammed into the tree, causing him to cough in surprise. “What the fuck—?”
He opened his eyes and was met with a smug look staring back at him, and he could see Quackity’s face in more detail. The scar that traced his skin, and his eye that seemed paler than the other, and a single brow arched in confidence. “You know, Wil, for someone your size, you’re pretty easy to pin down.”
Wilbur blinked, processing their position and scoffed. “I wouldn’t necessarily calling this pinning me down. It’s technically pinning me sideways, since my back is against the tree and—”
“Do you ever shut your mouth?”
A small smile made its way up the brunette’s face as he tilted his head. “No, but you could be the first to make me.”
“What, you want me to kiss you or something?” Quackity huffed, looking the other man up and down briefly. “You’re hot, I’ll give you that, but… I don’t kiss people who steal from me.”
“Maybe I could steal a kiss from you, then.”
“Give me my stuff back, Wilbur.”
“If you give me a kiss, I’ll consider it.”
And then it hit. Or, more specifically, Quackity did.
It was a solid punch, straight to the center of Wilbur’s face, and it was enough to knock his head to the side.
Wilbur stayed like that for a few tense moments, reveling in the raw shock that overcame him. Sure, he was acting a bit uncalled for, but did he really think he was going to get hit this early on? Well, not exactly, but he still thought he deserved it.
He grinned, looking up through his eyelashes to peer back at Quackity challengingly. “So the big man has guts. Who knew?”
“Enough bullshit, Wilbur. Give me back my stuff and I’ll leave you alone,” The casino owner growled, not returning the amusement. “I’m not in the mood for your cocky ass right now.”
“Aww, but if I recall back in our Pogtopia days, you loved it when I got all cocky with you—”
Another hit. This time enough for Wilbur to recognize the familiar taste of iron in his mouth, rolling his tongue across the roof of his mouth, smearing it with blood. It felt awful, and it hurt.
And he liked it.
It had been so long since he had felt something, really felt something like this. Sure, it wasn’t exactly the nicest feeling someone could revel in, but it was something. It was enough. It was exciting, thrilling, and he needed more.
“I don’t want to hear it right now. Like I said, I’m not in the mood for your back and forth, okay? So just cut the shit and give me mine.”
“Or what? You’re gonna hit me again with your pathetic excuse of a right hook?”
Wilbur grunted as Quackity’s fist connected with his cheek, swirling the blood inside his mouth around, forcing him to swallow it down roughly. It burned his throat, but god if he didn’t want more of it.
“Yes.”
“Point taken.”
His voice was gravely, rasped with dryness and something raw that he couldn’t explain.
Quackity’s frown deepened, shoving the other man against the tree with unbridled aggression by his collar once again. “Come on. You have a pretty face, Wil, now don’t make me ruin it. Give me. My stuff.”
“It’s in the chest, nothing’s stopping you from taking it, Q.”
“I know damn well where it is, but I want you to give it to me. You took it from me, I want you to give it back. Don’t make me haul your ass over there.”
Wilbur huffed a laugh through his nose, a smug-filled smirk growing across his lips. “Is that a threat or a promise, baby?”
Quackity shot him a glare and grabbed his throat, pinning him further against the tree to the point he knew the wood was digging into his back. “It’s a threat, and one I won’t hesitate on going through with.”
“Dirty talk, I like it.”
Apparently, Quackity didn’t like that.
Before he could process it, he was being hoisted up, and then roughly slammed onto the ground beneath them with a dull thud.
Wilbur groaned, reaching a hand to rub at his head where it had collided with the floor before he felt a presence on his lower body. His eyes widened as he looked up, being met with the view of Quackity straddling his lap. Before he could react, Quackity slapped his face, hard.
And Wilbur keened. His mouth lolled open, eyes wide and glazed as he stared at the floor, hair fortunately covering his dazed expression.
“Why aren’t you fighting back, huh?” He heard, somewhere between the constant ringing in his ears. “I know you’re more than capable. Hell, you’re like, almost a whole foot taller than me. What’s wrong with you, Wil? Don’t tell me I really messed you up that badly with just a few punches…”
Wilbur just stayed in that position, taking in ragged and clipped breaths with shaky mirth. He didn’t know how many hearts he was on, but he knew it couldn’t be much, but given the fact Quackity didn’t use any weapon, it couldn’t have been more than half his health, so he couldn’t be bothered with any genuine concern.
Quackity clicked his tongue in disappointment at the lack of a response, raking his eyes across Wilbur’s body. He was trembling.
“Are you…” He paused, taking in the other’s face again. Flushed red cheeks, glistening eyes with the fragile beginnings of what he assumed to be tears, and dilated pupils that finally looked at him through fluttery lashes and curls of hair. “Are you getting off on this?”
Wilbur couldn’t respond, not in that moment. He could only whine, taking in his bottom lip between his teeth.
“You sick fuck,” Quackity said, though his expression didn’t entail disgust. In fact, it bordered on amusement, maybe something more, but Wilbur pegged it as wishful thinking. “Of course you are. You always seemed like the type to be a secretly perverted bastard underneath all those morals and principles.”
Wilbur whimpered, and he could feel the same, thick blood building up in his throat again, soothing the dryness.
“Pathetic.”
Quackity stood up, and for a moment, Wilbur thought to complain. To protest, to beg him to stay, because honestly, it wasn’t like he had much dignity left at this point, but it didn’t seem like the former planed on leaving anytime soon.
“You’re shaking. You just got beaten up and you’re trembling like a kicked little puppy.”
Wilbur watched in laced confusion, eyes following Quackity’s leg as it lifted, hovering just above his —
Oh.
“You should really be taken down a peg.”
With that, Quackity guided the tip of his boot towards Wilbur’s crotch, applying the tiniest bit of pressure.
Wilbur whined, throwing his head back against the ground behind him. “God.”
“No no, he isn’t here right now. Right now, you should be praying to me. Say it, Wilbur. Say my name.”
And Wilbur only whimpered again, softly, lips trembling as he finally felt something where it actually counted, pleasure, sick, sick pleasure that sent bolts of electricity up his spine.
Displeased, Quackity pressed down half of his boot between his legs, without warning and without gentleness. “Say my name, Wilbur.”
“Quackity! Fuck, fuck, please, fuck,” Wilbur moaned, arching his back above the grass. “Please, I need this, need it, need you so bad…”
“You’re pathetic.” Quackity kneaded the tip and sole of his shoe interchangeably against Wilbur’s crotch, watching each and every little reaction. How he screwed his eyes shut, how the flush he had adorned spread to beneath his collarbones and disappeared under his sweater, and how he took his perfectly puffy pink bottom lip in between perfectly white teeth to stifle his moans. “Yet… almost adorable.”
Wilbur groaned, lolling his head back as he thrusted his hips against Quackity’s boot, eyes shining with tears that threatened to spill at any given moment. “Please… ‘m fuckin’… fuck, Q, I’m close, I’m so… fuck…” He gasped, clawing at the grass beside him. It was so much, so much, and he was so close.
And then it stopped.
His eyes fluttered open, confusion and disappointment filling his gaze. “W- Why did you—?”
Quackity shook his head, cutting off his ramblings as he lowered himself back onto Wilbur’s lap.
“What are you—?”
“You really should shut up sometimes.”
Wilbur opened his mouth to inquire more, but the only noise that came out was a high pitched moan as Quackity rolled his hips against his own, causing a friction that was so relieving in so many ways. The latter smirked, repeating the action to gain another flustered and surprised reaction. “You’re so much more tolerable when you’re not acting like a little shit, Wilbur.”
The man in question simply stared up at him with flushed cheeks and wide eyes, stunned and yet amazed at the turn of flow.
Quackity chuckled quietly, grinding his hips down against Wilbur’s obvious clothed erection, which was prodding into his own through the fabric of their pants. It was going by so fast, and yet he didn’t want any of the momentum they had built up to stop. And Wilbur was aware he probably looked ridiculous, blood dripping down his mouth and a black eye and yet shaking with want and need from the very person who did all of this to him.
He slowly reached to grab onto Quackity, but his advances were quickly halted as a pair of hands grabbed his own, setting them down by his sides again. He frowned, looking for an explanation, but Quackity merely shook his head with an almost infuriatingly innocent smile.
“Who said you could touch me?”
Wilbur groaned, rolling his eyes and reaching again, only for his wrists to be grabbed with more intent, and a sharper gaze.
“Come on, Wil. You wanna be a good boy, don’t you?” At that, Wilbur felt his cheeks grow warm, or at least, warmer, quickly averting his gaze.
“Oh, you like that? You like being a good boy, Wil? Wanna be a good boy for me?” Quackity cooed, almost teasingly, voice sweet like honey but dripping with something far less sweet. Wilbur only nodded, but it was enough of a response for him. “Good boy,” He hummed in satisfaction, guiding his hands back onto the grass without resistance.
Wilbur didn’t have time to protest, as Quackity took the opportunity to grind down in just the perfect angle again, drawing out a needy whine from the back of Wilbur’s throat. “Fuck, Quackity…” He drawled out, trying to ignore the urge to hold onto the other’s hips tightly and rut against him like a bitch in heat just to get off.
“Hm…” Quackity looked down at the man beneath him, lips curled in amusement. He continued to grind gently down onto Wilbur, slowly bringing his hands down to his waist, grabbing hold onto his hips, pressing their clothed hard-ons together as he reveled in the whiny noises and pitchy moans the brunette let out. “Look at you. Mere days of being alive and the first thing you do is act like a whore for the first person who treats you like shit.”
Wilbur gasped, frantically rolling his hips upwards to get more, to feel more, the harsh words acting as fuel to the growing fire in his abdomen that was close to bursting into flames. “Mm, close, fuck, Q, please…”
“Yeah? I’m sure you are. You’re acting so desperate, like a fucking dog. Pathetic, really. I’m sure the whole server would take kindly to finding out you’re not as tough as you look, hm? Nothing but a needy little slut.” Quackity bit his own lip, grazing his fingertips beneath the skin underneath Wilbur’s sweater, tentatively sliding his hands up the older man’s sides, ghosting his skin with the least amount of pressure possible.
Wilbur melted at the soft touches, despite not being nearly enough for him. They were so light, so teasing, so Quackity. He wanted, needed more of it, he was so sensitive and so close. “Quackity…” He shivered, shame coursing through his veins only serving as more adrenaline that wanted to be let out.
“Go on. Let go for me, Wil, and make sure to let everyone know who made you come.”
“Quackity…!” Wilbur gasped as he rutted up against Quackity again, the fabric of their jeans rubbing against his sensitive cock that finally came, staining the inside of his pants with himself, Quackity following shortly after with a soft, satisfied moan. Wilbur groaned, left panting, chest heaving with every shaky breath he took.
Quackity let out a breathy laugh, looking down at the ruined man underneath him. “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” He asked, not waiting for a reply before continuing. “Would’ve loved to fuck you, but… maybe we’ll save that for another time.”
The shorter slowly stood back up, legs trembling slightly from the oversensitivity. Wilbur blinked hazily, his gaze following after him. “Where are you going?”
“Back to Las Nevada’s, obviously. I’ve got a business to run, but don’t worry, I’ll be back for you again,” Quackity responded airily, dusting his top off casually. “Oh, and Wil?”
“… Yeah?”
“You can keep the food and shit. You’ll need it more than me if you want to keep up with me.”