A Game For Two

I'M SUPPOSED TO GIVE THIS CHAPTER A NAME EVEN THOUGH IT'S A ONESHOT?

Wilbur lets out a grunt as his back hits the wall. Quackity sure doesn't like going easy, huh?

They were sparring. He thought he was doing a good job of defending against the other, but Quackity managed to throw him off guard, somehow. By sheer luck. Or by... Whatever.

It didn't exactly matter. Because either way, Wilbur was pinned, and either way, he lost.

"Not half bad," Wilbur says. He half-heartedly tries to squirm out of the position he's in. Quackity's grip only tightens on his wrist. "What, you won't even let me go?"

"Just want to make sure this is a complete win," Quackity responds casually, although there's some sort of glint behind his eyes.

Okay. That's not weird at all. "Well, you won." It's a little difficult to say so out loud, to admit that he's been bested, but Wilbur doesn't make it a big deal. He tries to move again. Quackity still doesn't budge, doesn't even loosen his grip. "What the hell else do you want?"

Quackity grins. "A prize," he drawls, "for my hard-earned win."

"A prize, huh?" Wilbur doesn't really remember when their sparring matches had started including prizes. Maybe he was just out of the loop. "Since when does the winner get those?"

"Since I said do." He can practically feel the exasperation rolling off Quackity in waves. "Does it matter?"

Wilbur shrugs. Or, considering that both of his hands are still stuck to the wall, does something akin to a shrug. "Guess not. You wanna tell me what you have in mind, then?"

"Hmm." And just like that, Quackity's annoyance is gone, instead replaced with his strange aura from earlier. Wilbur's not sure which one he preferred more. "Do I want to?" He moves in slightly closer. Wilbur wouldn't have even noticed if they weren't already inches apart.

"You'll sort of have to," Wilbur grits out through his teeth. There's another layer of sweat forming on his forehead, and this one's not from fighting. "Otherwise I can't really give you what you want, because I don't know what that is." (He has a hunch.) "See the problem?"

Instead of replying, Quackity just looks him up and down, with the eyes of someone who's starving and just got a full plate placed neatly in front of them.

(Yeah, alright, that pretty much confirms his hunch.)

Wilbur tries to not let the embarrassment show, to stop the blush from spreading to his cheeks, but he must've failed in some way, because Quackity does it again, this time slower. His gaze stops in several places, like he's taking in every detail of a famous painting.

He's doing it deliberately, Wilbur realizes. To mess with me. What an asshole.

And immediately after that realization comes another one.

He... doesn't know how Quackity doing that makes him feel.

What Wilbur does know is this: he's tired after hours of fighting, he wants to go home, and, to be perfectly honest, he's had enough of whatever this is.

Then again, he's not against having some fun.

"Am I that distracting?"

Quackity blinks, as if he didn't expect for Wilbur to mess with him in return—which raises some questions, since he was the one who first started it— but that's fine. That's good, even. Wilbur can work with that.

After all, this is a game for two.

And Wilbur's never liked losing.

"Nothing to say?" His hands move to grip Quackity's shirt collar. Wilbur ignores how cold they feel, ignores how they shake slightly, and tugs. "I'm so distracting that I leave you speechless?"

Quackity, still taken aback, loses his footing for a moment. He makes sure to steady himself rather quickly after that, and soon the surprise disappears from his face. It shifts into something else. "You sure are." Something more... intimate. More open. "Do you know how hard it is to fight you and stay concentrated?"

They're much, much closer than they were before, and there's no way for Wilbur to not feel Quackity's hot breath on his face. In fact, it's all he can focus on, and it kind of drives him insane. But he can't back off,
not now, not when he's already gone too far. "I'm not trying to distract you with my handsome aura on purpose," Wilbur says, smirking to hide his nerves. (At least, he hopes that's enough to hide them.) "That'd be pretty dirty of me."

"I wouldn't be surprised. If you were doing it on purpose, I mean." Quackity's hand, previously holding down Wilbur's right wrist, is on his chin now. It's... strangely gentle, in contrast to the way Quackity had hit him a few times today. That was anything but gentle. "You do tend to play dirty a lot."

"Flattering," Wilbur deadpans. "I just do what I can against you, since you don't seem to hold back." For no reason at all, Wilbur's side throbs from when Quackity had kicked it earlier. He can deal with that later.

"It's just something I've noticed," Quackity says simply. His nonchalance is kind of ruined by the way he glances at Wilbur's mouth.

Alright, then. He was really doing this. "You know, I can do much dirtier than cheap fighting tricks."

"Really?" Quackity almost sounds eager at that, but then he pauses, thinks, and the next time he speaks, his voice is low and dangerous. "Prove it, then."

Wilbur knows a challenge when he sees one. He forces himself to take a deep breath, fully aware that Quackity can feel that, and lets his eyes slide shut.

This is it.

He leans in.

And punches Quackity right in the face.

Quackity barely has any time to react. He has no time at all. All he can do is let out a pained, startled noise as he falls to the mat with a thud.

"Just a friendly tip: you shouldn't let go of your enemy so that you can cradle their face oh-so-lovingly," Wilbur teases. From his place on the floor Quackity manages to glare daggers at him, despite a bruise already forming on his cheek. "No, really, I'm not sure what was going through your head there."

"What the hell was that for?!" Quackity shouts, though it holds less anger in it than it does... shock? Betrayal? Wilbur will also deal with that later.

"Sorry, it was just so good of an opening that I couldn't stop myself." Quackity still won't stop drilling a hole in his head. "And, I mean, you did say I fight dirty."

"Oh my God," Quackity hisses, dragging a hand down his face. He hisses again when he accidentally touches the bruise. "You're fucking insufferable. Get out of my sight so I don't have to see your stupid face anymore."

His friend doesn't sound mad with him, he just sounds... tired. Which means Wilbur can make fun of him just a little bit more. "Aw, but you weren't able to look away from me before! What changed?"

Quackity's eyes widen, and he groans as his face turns red. Wilbur fails at suppressing a giggle. "Leave."

"You know, maybe next time you'll get a complete, one hundred percent win—"

"Get lost, Wilbur!"

He's looking forward to next time.