Dream Team and Friends! (Oneshots/Smutshots)

[ Pool Table ] {TnT Duo- Angst/Smut}

⚠️ COVER ART IS NOT MINE! ⚠️

Context: Wilbur is visiting Las Nevadas when Quackity, his sex partner, challenges him to a game of pool. Things get a little spicy when Wilbur gets a bit too competitive and Quackity gets visited by unwanted memories.

Extra Info:
Wilbur- Switch
Quackity- Switch

— Wilbur's POV —

I leaned against the back of my seat, puffing at the cigarette that I held between my teeth. Resting my boots comfortably on the table, I smirked at the ravenette, adjusting my rounded glasses. He glanced away, grumbling.

"Feet off the table. You'll mess with the game."

"Aw, lighten up, Quacks." I grinned, my British accent sounding thick in the smoky air. "I'm just getting comfortable." I could see him send a small glare in my direction, then look back down to the task at hand. It was his turn, and this move would be a hard shot. I stretched back, glancing to the hazy ceiling. God, how good is it to see gray instead of black. I studied the ceiling for a moment, biting back a shiver at the memory of dark, shadowed tiles. I reached a hand in front of my face, tracing the stitches lacing down my hand, running through the bandages on my forearms and all along my body. I was alive again. I had to remind myself of that.

"Done staring at yourself?"

"Like you wouldn't." I glanced back down to Quackity, who had made his shot and managed to get one of his colored spheres in the hole. Not nearly enough, I noticed, as there were much more solid colors than striped. Seems like you haven't lost your touch, I thought with some pride. Taking a cue from the rack, I angled myself with ease, which the small man glowered at. I made a quite complex shot, scoring at least two in corner or side baskets on the table. I smirked smugly at Quackity, who just growled and turned away.

"What's wrong, baby?" I cooed, and he looked to me with a sharp gaze.

"Don't call me that. And I'm fine." I could obviously see his blush, and I smirked, leaning lower to the table. I knew this was one of his favorite positions, and that his mind was undoubtedly in the gutter. Maybe it was the drinks or the smoke, but good god did I want to kiss him right now. Feeling the stretch in my back after a few moments, I winked at him, then rose.

"Your turn, Quacks."

—Quackity's POV—

Rolling my eyes at Wilbur's stupid wink and his extremely se- annoying poses, I went back to the game. This was it. The final shot that could win it or lose it for me, and I happened to be a very competitive person. I knew Wilbur was too, however, so I made sure to make eye contact with him as I lined up the shot. He frowned, raising an eyebrow. I smirked, then went to steady my aim. In my concentration, however, I didn't notice Wilbur get up.

Just as I drew back the cue stick, I felt a finger gently trail up my spine, making me freeze. From what I could feel, Wilbur was pressed up against me, leaning over my body and almost pushing me into the cue.

"What's wrong, Quacks?" He asked, his voice low and gravelly with smoke. I could smell the cigarette on his breath as he blew a cloud over my head. "Can't make the shot?"

"Wilbur-"

"Ah ah ah. Focus, Q. You wouldn't want to lose the game, would you?" I felt his hands gently snake around my neck, joining together at my collarbone. We were now entangled effectively, and I let out a shaky breath. Suddenly, I felt a finger loop around the loose necklace that hung out of my shirt, and my breath caught. The rings jingled ever so gently, and my vision instantly swarmed with tears at the painful reminder. I pushed Wilbur away, and his grin vanished as the cue clattered to the floor.