Star-crossed ||tntduo

chap. 2. Your obedient Servent

Never has he ever thought silence can be this loud.

It was like poison to him. It was like honey to him.

"I see how this is. Little baby thinks he's so tough, huh?" Wilbur taunted, cooing as he playfully breathed on Quackity's face, knowing full well how much Quackity needed the oxygen in which he can access with ease. 

Quackity tried to shake his head, but the blurriness was already starting to edge his vision, and he could do nothing but let it happen, it all clear in his eyes.

Staring upon the reaction, the brown eyes of the taller figure's were as devoid of nothing as ever, and yet the hand that wrapped around his neck went loose. Mercy was a common thing among society. So was pity.

Despite Wilbur being aggressive, he still had enough sane to perceive the small movements that indicated Quackity's struggle against the lines of consciousness and unconsciousness.

Maybe Quackity imagined it. But physical interactions couldn't be imagined.

The taller figure took a step back. 

Or in other words, Wilbur let go of Quackity, him instantly breaking out of the uncomfortable position as he panted desperately for air, his lungs screaming from the insufferable pain.

"T-Thank y-you," Quackity wheezed through the pants, pain clawing at his throat. That's gonna leave a mark tomorrow.

Wilbur glared down. His expression indifferent. Only the ice-like anger was flaming clear in his once-warm chocolate eyes.

 Quackity pressed back his fear as he looked into Wilbur, longing for comfort--or maybe just searching for any kind of emotion in general through the empty void of his that were called eyes.

It was as if he was looking for a needle in a haybale.

"W-Wilbur?" Quackity whispered out of fear.

Wilbur's eyes snapped onto him. "Don't you fucking call me like you know me." He growled, shoving Quackity back against the cold walls. Pain seared through his back at the harsh impact.

This time Quackity struggled, unwilling to go through the torture all over again. Hands on wrists, arms squirming, it was long before Wilbur claimed his dominance completely. "Oh, so now you are finally struggling?" He sneered, words dripping with venom.

One knee between his thighs, Quackity could feel his weight going lighter against the pull of gravity. The taller figure was particularly lifting him up with his bare arms. His breath quickened under the pressuring aura of Wilbur's.

And it definitely did not help when Wilbur's face was inches away from his. Their nose tips particularly touching, their breath on each other.

Heaven or hell, it was merely a matter of perspective in the end.

"Well? Aren't you gonna keep struggling? Or is this still not enough for you?" He smirked, sipping in every one of his panicking heartbeat like sweet honey.

Like a child with toy, perhaps, just by a tiny bit, the taller figure found himself in amusement, entertained by Quackity's actions.

"N-no." Quackity denied, his voice quiet, and yet it was sincere, it was hypnotizing. He was hypnotized. "I can't taint the God with my sins." With hesitation, he then whispered. "But I can't control my desires either."

"I want your blessings on me.  I want the benevolent God to look at me too, and save me from my sins." He whispered, his breath on Wilbur's ears. "Please."

The taller figure blinked.

Taken back by the poetic confession, Wilbur's face backed away from his vision, the every-small details no longer clear in his eyes. 

He swear to god he saw the back of Wilbur's ears going red.

But reality slapped him out of his daydream, like always.

"You are fucking disgusting," Wilbur said, pulling a respectful distance between him and Quackity, his nose wrinkled up as if the shorter figure reeked of garbage, and his hands wiping on his pants as if he just touched something unholy.

Quackity's head drooped, as always. No matter how often Wilbur said it, the wall in his heart was never high enough to block off the dagger-like words of Wilbur's. His heart ached. 

Every since the start of high school, he'd set his eyes on Wilbur. And Wilbur knew it, but merely refused to acknowledge him.

Every since the start of high school, Wilbur had already realize his feelings for him, but chose to ignore it, like always.

Wilbur's companions would pick on Quackity. They'd tease him, they'd give him "friendly nudges" in hallways and staircases, they'd make fun of him. Of his appearance. Of his feelings.

And Wilbur would watch. Laugh. Or even join in with them.

Soon, Quackity found himself in a position where he was at the bottom of the food chain. A servant. An animal. A hopeless man in the mud, wishing upon a star-full sky, for a miracle.

It never came.

"S-sorry," Quackity apologized, his voice quiet. "Sorry." Again.

"If you are that sorry then get your disgusting ass out of my face," Wilbur growled, "And stop following me like a stalker." He added.

Quackity nodded, his head down, the scattered hair plastered onto his face, covering his expression as he walked, away from Wilbur.

It was long before he found himself on the ground, his muscles aching from the impact as Wilbur shoved him down the stairs with a scornful look. "I better not see you again."

Quackity could, and would do nothing other than nodding, scrambling to his feet, and running away.

He was truly fucking pathetic.