HE CLINGS ONTO ME - BBH/QUACKITY

HE CLINGS ONTO ME

The door opened, earning a slight creak from the almost worn-out wood. Despite the sound of arrival, Bad still stared at the fire that whispers of burning wood and burn out worries.

"Darling, I'm home." Quackity mused, eyes heavy with red. Red of stress. Red of blood. And red of burdens.

Bad gave a soft hum in return; eyes falling down to the neglected book that rested on his lap. His fingers slid from the thin paper, getting a papercut from the sharp paper full of words. A story that Bad may not even remember after he closed the book. After he put it back on a shelf to forget it after weeks. Maybe he would have another reason to wake up.

Quackity sighed, kneeling down next to Bad as he rested his head on the other's lap. "Work was tough. I visited the prison again and went to work." he whispered, eyelids closing as he took in the sweet taste of domestic life.

"I'm sure you did great." Bad answered back, voice soft with safety. He found himself reaching out to pull the other's beanie; combing his raven hair that made Quackity sigh in relief.

The ravenette hummed, "I have to, anyway. I have no choice. The only thing that matters is the result. It's the only physical evidence of my hard work, Bad." Quackity then raised his head a little, chin now resting on his "lover's" lap.

"I promise that when the business is a success, we'll move to Las Nevadas - or not. We can renovate this cottage instead; change the wood and I'll buy you tons of books that you'll like." His eyes were focused on the other. Bad took this in as another experience.

He took mental notes about how red Quackity's eyes were despite showing the color of earthy tones and bluish grey. The lighter eye told a story about a fight that he lost. The scar that was evident on his pale skin.

He was red. A striking, bold color. A captivating hue that shows danger yet safety. It amazed Bad at how Quackity could balance two completely different descriptions. He was red like anger and revenge. But he was also red like confidence and passion.

"Anyway," Quackity wrapped his arms around Bad's waist, drowning in the moment further. "how would you feel if I told you I have a gift for you?"

"A gift?" Bad asked, tone bemused. A smile was creeping on his lips, however. He had to stop combing the other's hair that Quackity disliked. The lack of physical touch was becoming painful, too heavy in his chest. So he rubbed his cheek on the other's knee, an action similar to a cat's.

Quackity hummed, "Yes, I have it in my pocket." he had to pull away from the hug as he grabbed the gift from his slacks. A golden necklace with a shape of a heart. He placed the accessory on the other's palm, smiling.

"Open it."

And Bad did so. It was a picture of Quackity, one that he was happy in - a person that's without trouble and worry. One that was completely content in whatever he had possession of. At the other side was a text with a fancy font, saying beloved .

"Do you like it?" Quackity questioned with an excited tone. He then pulled something from his neck with his thumb. The same necklace that Bad held on. "I have one too. We're matching. Look," he opened the accessory and it was a photo of Bad, smiling too; the background was the flowery meadow that they visited before.

Bad stayed quiet, reminiscing about something that had been long gone. Quackity had been busy a lot. Sometimes he was obsessed with business and prison. Most of the time he was just tired. And those were the moments where he was neglecting Bad, which made him alone.

"Why?" Quackity's voice dropped to worry and a hint of panic. "Do you not like it? I'm sorry. Should I have picked a different gift?" his eyes sang with red. As in red as caution. They were like warning signs. Always making Bad pause to think, to follow the sign to safety.

Bad shook his head, leaning down to give the other a kiss on the forehead. "It's wonderful. I love it. Do you mind putting it on me?"

The question made Quackity grin like a child. "No, not at all. Here." he stood up and went behind Bad, slowly locking the necklace with his bandaged fingers.

Quackity looked back and admired his work. A soft smile tugged on his lips. He then gave a quick peck on Bad's head. The other hummed in agreement.

"Do you want to go to sleep?" Bad questioned as he finally set the book on the side table. His eyes then went to the clock, noting that it's already midnight. "You're usually asleep right now."

Quackity stared at him for a little while, lips in a slight frown but he shook his head. Taking hold of his lover's hand and caressing it with his thumb. A loving affection. Something domestic. Something that felt real.

"No, no," he muttered, "I don't think I want to sleep alone. I want to talk. Not about business or Las Nevadas. I'm... I'm tired, Bad."

"Okay then," a small fluttering feeling of surprise swarmed Bad's stomach. "What do you want to talk about?"

Quackity pulled him up from the chair, guiding him to the music record. The absent hand found its way to play a song. A melody started to play as the raven then guided him in the middle of the room.

"Anything," Quackity breathes, voice laced with tiredness, yet there was a hint of spark that he was being alive again. "anything is fine. As long as it's with you. Or maybe we can not talk at all, let's just dance instead."

Bad nods as he lets his husband take the lead.

Never thought I'd fall,
But now I hear love call,
I'm getting sentimental over you

Things you say and do,
Just thrill me through and through,
I'm getting sentimental over you.

I thought I was happy,
I could live without love
Now I must admit,
Love is all I'm thinking of

Won't you please be kind,
And just make up your mind
That you'll be sweet & gentle,
Be gentle with me
Because I'm sentimental over you

Bad watched his husband's eyes meet his. His eyelashes looked beautiful with the soft hues from the fire.

Quackity was red like fire. If Bad was too close to it, he would burn and disintegrate to nothing but ashes. But when there is this safe distance, when he makes sure that everything is okay, the fire gives off warmth and love.

Like Quackity.

He was red like blood, like a whisper of passion and love, but also a scream of danger. He reeks of anger and resentment, of grief and revenge. But he also gives off longing kisses and touch-starved hugs.

He was both of those things.

And Bad equally loved them all.