Chapter Text
His boyfriend gripped his thighs.
‘Don’t touch me there,’ he thought. He said nothing even though his skin was crawling.
“You’re hot,” was murmured, he could barely hear it.
His throat felt stuffed with cotton. ‘Don’t say that.’ “You’re sexy.” He replied.
He heard a grunt. He felt disgusting.
“Can I kiss you?” His boyfriend looked at him, making that same stupid face that he always does when he wants something. It’s like his face is melting, like his features are smushing down. Kind of like a pug. It’s usually cute, but it just feels wrong.
“No.. sorry.” He wanted to cry. He didn’t want to. ‘I don't want to kiss him. I don't want him to be my first-’
A deep sigh, disappointed.
He immediately felt guilty. “I’m sorry,” he said again. He turned his head to glance at the show they were watching, supposed to be watching, when he felt him kissing his neck.
Ice trickled down his spine. ‘Stop, stop, stop- I don’t want to kiss you- I don’t like this-‘
He could tell his boyfriend hadn’t shaved, aside from all the other discomfort he could feel the scratch of his face scrubbing against his skin.
He tried not to pull a face.
His boyfriend moved up, now pressing kisses against his face.
He couldn’t breathe.
Stop it.
Closer and closer, he was kissing to his mouth.
A hand slid up and traced the hem of his shirt collar, before dragging up to hold his jaw. It wasn’t forceful, but the pressure was definitely there. He felt closed in from the action alone, options were limited and he couldn’t think because his boyfriend was getting closer, only a few spaces away from his mouth.
His heartbeat rang in his ears, pounding and saying “ get away, leave, stop this ”
He tucked his face into his boyfriend's shirt, face hot and eyes watering.
Another sigh. “So close this time.”
He didn’t respond. Shame was nesting in his ribs, adding to the weight that was already on top of him. He can't say he minded that part, it was comforting.
Well, it would be if his boyfriend wasn’t on top of him, kissing and groping his body.
Finally his boyfriend's attention shifts back to what they were watching, some slasher movie. Neither of them were fans of horror, not really, but for some reason they agreed on this gorefest of a film.
“All the blood is unnecessary,” Quackity said. “Its just for shock factor. Satyr play stuff. Doesn’t add anything to it, or even make the movie scarier.”
A rhythmic tapping against his back. “I guess you’re right. Its kinda dumb.” Schlatt said.
They fell into silence again, watching. The movie wasn’t even scary. It was probably only rated R for language.
Things were fine again, he wasn’t trying to do anything, and they were just sitting and watching. They laughed at some scenes, egging on the antagonist to kill the kids, pointing out some dumb scenes. And things were fine.
Until one of the characters gets into a fight with her father, who is implied to be sexually abusing her. And she gets backed into a corner. And then her father is on top of her. And then he's grabbing her.
And then Quackity turns around, hugging into Schlatt, squeezing his eyes shut.
He laughed. “You’re not scared of anything else, but you’re scared of that?”
He can't breathe. He just laughs slightly and closes his eyes tighter. He tried not to focus on the weight pressing on top of him.
After a minute or two, Schlatt says, “It's over now.”
He takes a deep breath, bracing himself, and turns around. It’s true, the characters were now in a different setting, looking through what seemed to be some kind of tunnel.
They shifted positions, and they were more spooning than laying on top of one another now. Schlatt grimaced. “This thing was not made for two people.”
“Its made for sitting, not laying.” He traced the bottom of Schlatt’s shirt, following the folds.
Schlatts hands roamed upward again, tracing Quackity’s jaw. It seemed pretty absentminded until he used his thumb to push back his lip, showing his teeth. His finger scrubbed over a few of them.
Quackity eyed him in a ‘what are you doing’ manner, but remained silent despite his discomfort. Schlatt seemed intent on something, tracing his gums and the seams between the teeth. Finally fed up, Quackity opened his mouth and bit his finger down to his knuckle before letting go.
Schlatt admired him, looking amused.
“Weirdo.” Quackity mumbled.
Attention turned back onto the movie, now displaying the characters getting separated in a house, he tried to put it out of his mind.
‘I don’t want to kiss him. He’ll have to get over it for now.’
But it seems like he didn’t. Once more, their positions shifted, Schlatts leg coming around, hips hovering over Quackity’s, until he was essentially being straddled.
He looked up at him, skin starting to crawl again. He felt nauseous.
And again, as Schlatt laid on top of him, he grabbed his face. Unwittingly, he blushed.
A hand slipped under his body, almost like a half hug, and he tried not to lift his hips to meet Schlatts. It was embarrassing, uncomfortable, and all around not appreciated.
‘I don't want to kiss him.’ he frantically thought. ‘Should I-?’
His thoughts were interrupted with Schlatt putting his hand up his shirt. “You’re cute,” he said, and it sounded like a growl.
Quackity made a squeak noise. “Mhm-”
Schlatt leaned down, and he held his breath. ‘At this rate I should kiss him just to get him off my back,’ he thought.
Instead of going down for a kiss, as expected, he felt his neck being bit.
His body stiffened, incredibly noticeably. “What are you doing, people are gonna see that-”
“Loosen up, if you won't kiss me then what else am I supposed to do,” he complained.
‘Watch the movie?’ Quackity thought incredulously. ‘Like a normal person?’
Schlatt continued to bite down, and he resisted the urge to squirm in discomfort. ‘People like this stuff? Its gross-’
He tried to keep focus on the movie. He tried to ignore Schlatts hand slipping up his shirt, his hips pressing against Quackity’s, the almost painful biting on his neck.
“Look,” he said, willing tears away. “They made it out.”
Schlatt paused and watched the ending fade to the credits. He reached for his phone, which was sat on a chair next to them. “Oh. I have to go. It's past curfew.”
Schlatt would leave and Quackity would be alone again. When he stood he already missed the pressure.
He clicked off of the movie, contemplating. ‘I should kiss him.’
Grabbing his wallet, he turned around. “Alright, I gotta dip. We gonna watch another movie next Tuesday?”
Quackity stared at the TV, silent.
“Hello?”
He spun around, hugging him tightly.
Hands pet through his hair. “So, next Tuesday?”
“Kiss me,” he blurted.
“What?” Somehow he had the audacity to look surprised, even though he had been begging for it all night.
“Kiss me before I can overthink.” Quackity said, panicked. He was holding onto Schlatts arms like his life depended on it, like Schlatt would pull away at any second.
But he didn’t. He grinned and grabbed his face once more.
And Quackity felt sick.
He leaned in, using his other hand to grab his back.
Quackitys stomach tensed.
He pressed their lips together, Schlatts hand moving to the back of his head, so he was practically hunched over him.
Quackity was bending backwards with the force he was being held at, like he was the victim of a vampire sucking the life out of him. And he very well might be, because his head was fuzzy, and he could feel himself getting weaker. The fact that Schlatt hadn’t shaved became prominent again, as his face was quickly itchy from the little pricks of pain. When they pulled apart, he had to resist the urge to fall backwards out of sheer dizziness.
Schlatt grinned again, hand falling to his shoulder. “It wasn’t that bad, now was it?”
Quickly, he said, “no, it wasn’t,” but his voice sounded far away. He knew he was lying.
They traipsed to the door and said their goodbyes, hugging one last time. Quackity shut and locked the door behind him, immediately rushing to the bathroom despite his mothers calls. Once the bathroom door shut, he slid down it, still feeling slightly dazed.
“I kissed him,” he whispered, curling in on himself. Tears burned his face, dripping down as he tried to be silent. “I didn’t want to kiss him,” he whimpered. No one was there. No one was seeing this. It’s normal to kiss your boyfriend in high school. It’s what normal couples do. They are physically affectionate with each other.
And isn’t that what Quackity wants? He wants a physically affectionate partner, someone to cuddle and to hold his hand. He wanted this, he told himself.
“Why would I have asked if I didn’t want it?” he compromised with himself, wiping his tears.
He set his phone face down on the bathroom counter and ran a hot shower, scrubbing at the places he still felt hands. He even scrubbed at his face, trying to get rid of the prickling sensation Schlatts scruff had left behind. He didn’t cry in the shower. It was water.
It was water.
And it was just a kiss. He’s fine.