Star-crossed ||tntduo

Chap. 12. You look good with these red blindfolds(And let me lend you my sight)

Recommendation of checking the trigger warnings at the bottom of the summary/description of the overall story is advised before proceeding into the chapter. 

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The car stopped. It was a red light.

The gaze that shifted in the rearview mirror,  its full attention on the shorter figure, Quackity couldn't help but to keep his own eyes focused on the world outside the window, the reflection of a nervous figure glaring back at him.

Gaze too intense, he was afraid of the heat that could possibly burn through him.

"Alex," Wilbur called, aware of the shorter figure's uncomfortableness. "I'm not going to do anything." 

And Quackity could only return with a mere nod, his gaze staying afar. The taller figure inhaled. 

Habits could be hard to wreck, and Wilbur knew it better than anyone.

You just gotta hit the same spot over and over again until it falls.

So rather, the taller figure complained, a starter for a conversation, a bottle of water fed to the newly planted seed. "Can you pass me some food, I'm hungry." 

With a slow turn that anyone could mistaken for sulking, the shorter figure opened the cardboard box, the chicken nuggets between the tip of his fingers, and he offered it to Wilbur. The taller figure smiled. Quackity kept his gaze on the plastic bag.

What was a game if there weren't two players?

Wilbur drew his cards on the table.

Quackity was not expecting the taller figure to eat directly from his hands. He flinched at the sudden contact of skin. 

Two gazes met the other. The shorter figure's ears reddened.

That's when you should pull your hands away, Quackity's brain would whisper, that's when you should ask him to drive you home, his head would say.

But when the taller figure ran his tongue on his fingers, his hot breath against his skin, when Wilbur "accidentally" nipped his skin, the action ever-so gentle, what was love? What was erotica?

The softness between the skins, the wetness that reflected the vivid, dashing lights of the city, and Quackity could only head in face red, heat gathering. He shifted his legs. Wilbur caught that reaction. He smiled.

"Are you hard yet?" The taller figure asked, his tone casual, his voice light as if he did not just blurt these words, but rather a regular convo.

The shorter figure coughed. "Pardon?"

Wilbur also caught that reaction, and, oh, he sipped it in with open arms. 

The blood that rushed through Quackity's head in the form of heat, one wave after another, he was beautiful under the vast vibrants of city lights. The taller figure might as well be high on adrenaline, eyes light with innocence, dark in the corners.

"I mean your legs, since you know, the food is heavy, and it's on your legs, so it can stop the blood flow in your veins, and your legs might feel heavy, hard, or numb. However you call it." Wilbur explained, shrugging. 

"Or...did you think I was implying to something else?"

Quackity shook his head, his words mute for what else might could slip out of his lips unwanted.

Almost with disappointment, Wilbur turned his gaze back to the road. The green light flashed in front of the shorter figure's face.

That was, until the car took an unusual turn down into a much quieter road, the wheels stopping on the side of the street.