Devil's Tango (Quackbur)

Chapter 9

cw: sexual themes/references

At the police station

"Has anyone seen Davidson?" an officer asked. "He hasn't been back since he went to go investigate that murder."
"No," another officer replied, "he hasn't been back for a whole day."
"That's worrying, what's happened to him?" an inspector said.
"Hey, don't worry, he's probably just staying somewhere or something. Don't get your knickers in a twist, we all know how much you love Davidson," the officer said to the inspector, laughing harshly.
"Hey! I don't love him! We're just friends," the inspector said, getting defensive.

"Hm. Of course."
"Yes. Now, I'm gonna go investigate, cuz George showing up late is nothing like him, OK?" the inspector said, pulling on a green hoodie to look casual.
"Sure, but don't blame us when you get murdered," said one of the officers. He laughed.
"I won't."
A voice spoke from the corner- a normally quiet, reserved officer had spoken.
"Good luck, Clay."

———————————————————————

Quackity's POV

He was relaxing on the sofa, reading a book, Wilbur's arm wrapped around him, when there was a knock at the door.
"Oh shit. Do you think someone's come about George?" Quackity asked Wilbur.
"Hm. Not sure. Probably."
"Thanks, Mr Helpful," Quackity said with a chuckle, and got up to open the door.
He opened it, expecting a police uniform or even a brigade of officers coming to take him away, but no. There was just a man in a green hoodie.
His face was shadowed by the hood around him, so it was hard to see it, but a little of his dirty blond hair stuck out from underneath said hood.
It was only when he lifted the hood up that he recognised the man.

"Clay?"

"Oh! Uh. Hi, Alex," Clay said, clearly shocked as well. "I'm here to investigate the disappearance of George Davidson, and apparently the last place he went to was your house. So."
"What the hell are you doing in town? Coming back after all those years partying and being sickeningly straight and sickeningly perfect? Huh?!" Quackity spat.
"Uh, I haven't moved here, I was just transferred from the police station in the town over to investigate a poisoning, but I was also assigned Mr. Gamer's case after they ruled it murder," Clay said, scratching his neck awkwardly.
"Well, I don't care. Fuck off!"

"I'm sorry, Alex-"
"I go by Quackity now."
"Hm?"
"Quackity. I use the name Quackity now," he said annoyedly. "Which you'd have known if you'd paid any attention to me as a kid."
"How?"
"I'd always sign off as 'Quackity' and not Alex, how the hell did you not notice?" Quackity said, laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it all.
Clay frowned. "I thought that was an imaginary friend or something."
"Well you were wrong."
"Clearly."
Another silence.
"Can I come in?" Clay asked.

"Ugh. I fucking guess so," Quackity said as he grudgingly got out of the way of the entrance.
"Thanks," Clay said, smiling weakly.
Once they were inside, a stony-faced Quackity sat down on the sofa.
"So? What are you gonna do?" he asked expectantly.
"I just have to look around and take some samples and whatnot, I won't take long," Clay replied.
"Okay, Dream."
Clay winced at his nickname being used.
"Don't... don't call me that. I'm not religious any more. I'm sorry, I know you're a priest and all-"

"No."
Clay was confused. "No?"
"I'm not a priest any more. I quit a few days ago."
"Oh. Good for you, man!" Clay said, giving him the first real smile Quackity thought he'd ever seen on him. "So, are you an atheist now, or...?"
"Nah. I'm a Satanist."
Quackity stole a knowing glance at Wilbur, who winked. He fought hard not to blush.
"Really? Isn't that a little..."
"A little what?"
"I dunno... rushed?" Clay said.

"How?"
"Well, I mean, one day you're a heavily religious priest, and suddenly you're, like, everything religious people have been brought up to fear, and you're worshipping the exact deity that we were told is evil... That's all. No offence meant," Clay replied.
"I guess. Satan is pretty chill, to be honest," Quackity said, hoping to pass it off as a joke. Fortunately, Clay saw the joking side of it.
"Ha! Are you friends with him?" Clay said, laughing.

"Oh, yeah, we're boyfriends," Quackity said with a wink.
"Ha! That would be funny, wouldn't it? To be boyfriends with Satan," Clay said, mainly to himself.
He looked out of the window, deep in thought, and Wilbur saw this as the perfect time to place a small peck on Quackity's lips.
Quackity blushed and gave Wilbur the 'annoyed-but-not-really' look that he was so used to, and Wilbur grinned mischievously, gently biting down on Quackity's earlobe (a thing that he knew very well Quackity fucking loved).
Quackity barely stifled a small moan.
Instead, he made a small squeak.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Clay looked back at Quackity. "You alright?"
"Y-yeah," Quackity said. "All good."
He gave him a shaky thumbs up.
"Alright, um, I have to ask you some questions about George- I mean, Inspector Davidson," Clay said, a faint rosy tinge appearing on his cheeks. Perhaps Clay wasn't as straight as he'd let on to his parents.
"Uh, okay?"
"Where'd you last see him?"
"He left my house after he took some samples."
Lie.

"Hm."
Clay scribbled something down in his notebook before turning to Quackity again. "Alright, did he say anything about where he was going before he left?"
"He said he was going back to the station."
Lie.
Clay's face fell. "Alright."
He scribbled more in his notebook.
"Do you have any idea where he is, or what his intentions were when he left?" Clay asked.
"No."
Lie.
He's dead.

"Okay, I don't have many other questions, so... I'll be going, I guess."
Wilbur's hand crept up to Quackity's shirt, and Quackity had to pretend to not notice it.
He also had to pretend to not notice the small kisses being peppered around his neck.
"Alright... uhh, see you?"
Quackity let out a small gasp as Wilbur lightly bit down on his neck.
"Are you alright? You keep gasping and stuff," Clay said, laughing a little.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"Alright. Uh... also... I gotta tell you something," Clay said. "Just before I go."

"What is it?" Quackity asked. "Does it have anything to do with this investigation? Cuz if it does I'm gonna-"
"No, it's nothing to do with my job, don't worry," Clay said. "I, just..."
He sighed.
"You know how you're gay, right?"
"Yeah?" Quackity said, expecting an insult or a hateful comment.
"I've been thinking lately, and I think I might be bisexual?"

This took Quackity by surprise.
"Really?"
"Yeah, I mean, George was really close to me, and that's why I'm so... I dunno... protective of him? And that's why I've been trying to find out what's happened to him." Clay gave a weak smile. "Whether bad or good."
"Oh."
Quackity didn't know what to say, and of course Wilbur chose this moment to wrap his arms around Quackity's waist.
"Well, um... I'll see you around," Clay said, heading out.
"See ya."
Quackity waited until he heard the door close before he rounded on Wilbur.

"Couldn't keep it in your pants for three seconds, huh?" he asked, grinning.
"I want you," Wilbur said simply, placing his head on Quackity's shoulder.
"You're needy."
"You're attractive. And you're mine," Wilbur said, smiling.
"I'm yours," Quackity confirmed.
Wilbur's hands drifted down to Quackity's inner thigh.
Quackity grinned even wider.
The rain started to pour.

Schlatt's POV

He trudged along the damp pavements, kicking stones in his wake.
Damn, was he lonely. He'd made up the new-boyfriend thing to make Quackity jealous- he was, in fact, very single.
He walked with no real location in mind, he was just walking where his mind told him to go- which was usually weird places.

Before he knew it, he was passing Quackity's house, and- like any normal, non-stalker-ish person would- he took a peek into Quackity's window.
Most of it was covered by cheap curtains, but he could see a sliver of living room through it, and oh, what he saw was very interesting.
Very interesting.

Jealously and rage boiled up in the pit of his stomach as he continued watching.
He'd thought that Wilbur liked him, but no! Apparently Wilbur had sunk as low as liking Quackity.
Full of rage, Schlatt stormed off to his house with only one intention.

Get his gun.