Yes this is another drabble, listen, I just like posting random things that pop up into my head. But anyway, Im planning on having a 11th FOOS chapter hopefully on Christmas lol. And then shortly after I will have part two to "take my attention, that's something you're great at" if things go as planned oh, plus two request I am currently writing up. Enjoy :D
To say Wilbur is currently caught off guard is an understatement, it is simply lacking any description of the abundant amount of thoughts that spark through his body, poking his rather loud and beating chest, leaving him still, stuck, and unable to do anything but stare.
He shouldn't stare, the warning vaguely passes his mind, but unfortunately the sight he holds has his brain tripping over the strings that want to pull him closer because right in front of him, bathed in the morning sunlight and blessed with beauty, is Quackity.
And he has wings.
They are so painfully perfect in Wilbur's eyes his throat strains, a lump forming as he tries to look away from the busy man that has gotten him distracted.
He knows it goes against himself to stand here like some fan, gushing over the way Quackity's wings curl ever so slightly like a decorative shield full of warm yellow feathers that are outlined with shining gold thanks to the natural existence of the sun that generously pours gentle light through the two wide windows behind Quackity, the rays softness making Quackity's rigged scar and focused gaze seem sharper in contrast.
Quackity's eyes even flick over to meet Wilbur's for just a moment and he might as well have punched him in the gut as Wilbur's spine instantly straightens up and he snaps his head the other way, forced to avert his line of sight at a boring, mundanely white wall that cannot ever keep Wilbur's attention like Quackity and his gorgeous wings do.
He starts thinking about them again, even without seeing them and wonders if any of his yellow sweaters match the shades of Quackity's feathers. He does have quite the variety of yellow, surely one will match. Hopefully one will match so on the days he wears it (which, the number would increase no doubt) he will be reminded of graceful, powerful, lovely wings with pretty feathers that belong to Quackity, an admittedly rather attractive man that has been hogging more and more of the space in Wilbur's brain.
He doesn't even know when he turned back, but he can once more gaze upon Quackity, who sits silently at his desk to finish one single piece of paperwork before he invites Wilbur over to sit for the meeting the taller had requested.
Once more, Quackity catches him and right as he is about to look away and fail to be subtle, Quackity clears his throat, "I know you're staring."
The words take the air out of his lungs, leaving Wilbur with wobbly knees that make him thankful for the chair he's sitting in as he fidgets with a loose string on his shirt, gathering himself with a weak teeth baring grin and a laugh, "Well, I didn't know you had wings."
"That's because I didn't want you to know," Quackity says and Wilbur refuses to acknowledge the way Quackity avoids his gaze. But he fails at something once again, intently watching as Quackity quickly glares at him and his grip on his back fancy pen tightens.
Then, Wilbur's processing what he's said and tries to ignore both the warmth that rises in him, smoldering his chest with a cloud of thick smoke that floats up into his lungs just as his heart drops, He kept his wings from me is the reason Wilbur sinks but the fact he's finally seeing them now is the reason his voice comes out off, not as steady as he wants. "Why now?" He asks, not pleadingly, of course. Just out of reasonable and controlled curiosity.
Quackity stills, even if for only the shortest second, it's nearly missed, but not by Wilbur, never by Wilbur. Just as the moment came, it went and now Quackity is half-shrugging, flipping over a page of his work as he presses his lips into a thin line, then, "Because," is all he says and it's more than unfair.
It makes Wilbur grimace ever so slightly with a need for more than just a simple, dismissive and blunt "because", however, he remembers who he is and trust him, it's not some guy with a desperation for answers that has him mentally scrambling for ways to get them, never.
That's why Wilbur is no longer dying to know and he smiles tightly when Quackity says he's done, asking Wilbur to join him at his desk. Even if his interest never rests, both in Quackity's appearance and his words, the need to know what was meant to be in place rather than a "because" churning with a burning desire that also happens to think about the possibility of having those soft warm yellow feathers under his fingertips.
In the end, Quackity's left him wanting more than he ever has in a while, a single word and two wings imprinted in his mind for what might be an eternity.