Conjugal Visitation

self-reflection

When Quackity left the cell, he almost couldn't keep the shit-eating grin off his face. As it was, he was having enough trouble hiding his stained clothing and the marks on his neck from Sam.

To Dream's glee, Quackity left the cell without armor, his shirt held together by the two buttons that had survived Dream's onslaught. At least the shirt was white, so the suspicious stains where Dream had forced him to use it as a cum rag weren't too noticeable. And thank god he hadn't been wearing black pants today. Then there was his neck. At least he could blame the hickeys and bite marks on Karl and Sapnap, Quackity thought as he rode the platform away from the cell. If Sam noticed the state of his clothes, though, he didn't have an excuse. His face felt flushed -- heat from the lava, he told himself.

He stepped down from the platform with confidence, as though daring Sam to question his disheveled appearance. Sam didn't even look at him before flipping the lever down and watching the lava fall. Quackity eyed him surreptitiously. His expression was hazy and distracted, and he seemed almost as disheveled as Quackity himself. His hair was messy, as though he'd run his fingers through it. Some of it stuck to his forehead, damp with sweat. That could be just because of heat, but the crease in Sam's forehead and the slight stoop to his shoulders made Quackity ask, "You good, Sam?"

Sam immediately straightened up, squaring his shoulders and smoothing out his face into the neutral expression Quackity was used to seeing on him as Warden. Quackity didn't know why he bothered doing that when they were alone; it just made it obvious he was concealing something. "I'm fine," Sam said. For the first time, he seemed to really see Quackity. He cocked his head ever so slightly to one side, his eyes lingering on the side of Quackity's neck. "Why?"

"Nothing." The heat in Quackity's cheeks intensified. He put on his armor, which hid most of Dream's damage. He could practically feel the bruises on his neck pulsing like strobe lights. "Thanks for helping me with Dream earlier."

Sam looked away. "No problem."

He walked away from Quackity without another word. Quackity tailed behind, feeling a little guilty. Not for the first time, he debated telling Sam that his visits to Dream were more...social than he'd led Sam to believe. Sam might be relieved to know Dream wasn't being tormented daily.

Or he might be furious. As with most lies, the longer it went on, the angrier Sam would be when the truth came out. Whether because Quackity had lied or because Sam believed Dream deserved torture, the result would be the same. It would probably mean the end of his visits. If anything, Quackity was surprised they'd gotten away with it for this long. Maybe if he could convince Sam that conjugal visits had made the prisoner more well-behaved...

It wasn't a call Quackity could make alone, though. Dream was the one who'd suffer the consequences, and he'd vehemently rejected the idea on the few occasions Quackity had brought it up. The deception was part of the turn-on for him -- Dream loved the fact that he was pulling one over on his jailer. Quackity couldn't begrudge him that tiny bit of power.

Besides, Sam hated Dream, especially after finding the diary. Dream was well aware that the revive book was the only reason he'd been allowed to live, and there was no way he'd risk his life. Quackity didn't want to put Dream in any actual danger.

Whatever, Quackity thought. If Sam was so squeamish, he could have put a stop to the "torture" weeks ago. He was the only one who could access the prison.

"Here," Sam said. "You can go through the portal now."

Quackity nodded. Sam ran a distracted hand through his hair. "By the way," Sam said, "I took care of Ponk. I got him to give me back the old key cards, and destroyed them."