#cquacknap

Quackity wakes slowly, a combination of light creeping into the room and the noise of stirring animals rousing him from pleasant dreams of nothing in particular. Mornings are warm, lazy in a way that leaves him feeling ready to start the day by the time he does finally roll out of bed. 

On this particular morning, he's woken up before his boyfriend, made obvious by the gentle snores he feels against his chest. Said boyfriend is a walking heated blanket, and they tend to sleep on top of the comforters when spring turns to summer. Quackity snuggles in closer, fully intending to drift back into dreamland, when one of their rowdiest chickens starts kicking up a fuss. 

They have what Quackity likes to affectionately call 'A Lazy Farm,' or the kind that doesn't require waking up before the sun or chores that take all day. Or even living too far from a city, as he still has a business to attend run. Some days. He's the boss, if he only wants to work two days a week who's going to stop him? And he makes more than enough to provide for the two of them and their wildly unproductive farm, so most mornings are like this. 

Until, of course, the roosters decide they want things their way. 

They could never agree on names for the chickens, or the horses, or the houseplants (they were equally as deserving), so every living thing had a hyphenated name- one chosen by Sapnap, and one by Quackity. And on the exceedingly rare occasions when they agreed on a name, they would still hyphenate. For example, the rooster that was determined to ruin their quiet morning and secure his spot in the oven was George-George. 

Quackity quietly curses whichever unfortunate hen had laid the egg that hatched that bastard, and prays to whatever god listens to nonbelievers that it won't wake his human pillow. 

"I'm going to turn that fucker into an omelet." Sapnap mumbles, breath warm where his face is pressed to the top of Quackity's head. 

"That's not how it works dumbass. Go back to sleep and you're only allowed to wake up when you remember how chickens work," He whispers into the golden air, wrapping his legs around one of Sapnap's and tightening his arms around his middle. 

Sapnap shifts in his hold, pressing the side of his face further into a pillow in a futile attempt to escape the noise. "Ok bird boy, go tell your cousin to shut his trap or I'll prove that I can make an omelet out of anything." He punctuates his statement with a gentle brush over the hair near Quackity's ears, where small tufts of yellow feathers grow. 

Quackity leans into the feeling, ignoring the comparison to a goddamn chicken (even if hybrids could be related to animals, he was a duck not a chicken, thank you very much), silently asking his partner to continue petting him.

They let the conversation drift off into the not-so-silent air, with George-George still crowing and rousing the rest of the animals with him. Sapnap happily complies with the request, careful fingers threading through long dark hair and contrastingly bright feathers, always so, so careful in his ministrations.

The world goes pleasantly dark as Quackity lets his blinks grow longer and longer, eventually falling into a light sleep to the repetitive motion and the small shivers of pleasure it sends through his limbs.

When he wakes again, it's to Sapnap attempting to escape the circle of his arms. 

"No," he grumbles, voice low and raspy from sleep. 

His hostage groans, but gives in quickly, wrapping his own arms around Quackity tightly enough that it's unclear who's holding who. He intentionally avoids putting too much pressure against delicate wings, and Quackity can't help but to smile into Sapnap's chest. 

"That's what I thought," he speaks again, feeling the way bare skin twitches as warm breath ghosts across it. 

"You only love me for my demonic warmth," Sapnap pouts back, his voice also rough from sleep.

"And your demonic attractive-ness," Quackity giggles, drawing in a sharp breath when Sapnap pinches his side, right beneath his ribs.

"Shut up," he says, switching to pokes as Quackity tries to squirm away from him without releasing his hold. 

They must look ridiculous then, shaking off the last dregs of sleep with a playful fight, pinshing and poking and tickling without releasing arms from waists or untangling their legs. It's a tribute to the truth that underpins their relationship; the way they fit together and never want to let go but will always be the first to tease or prod the other, until they may as well be the only two people left in the universe. Caught in the orbit of warm mornings, a planet and its moon forever moving in tandem.

It's only when Sapnap manages to catch his hands that Quackity takes action, moving so he's finally face to face with his lover.

Sapnap's eyes are gorgeous in the morning light. Quackity has tried to describe them before, in an attempt to annoy George (the man, not the chicken), although there was always a touch too much fondness in his voice for even George to be mad at him. He would pretend, say it was gross to hear anyone be all lovey-dovey about Sapnap, but Quackity new George was happy for them.

His eyes were dark, black in the way the night sky is. And like the aurora borealis on northern nights, flashes of red were prominent in them when one looked hard enough, or the sun hit just right, or if he was in the midst of a fun battle. Quackity could look into them forever and find new things to wax poetic about, but he hadn't moved from his favorite spot (as close to Sapnap's chest as possible, tied closely with his lap) for only his eyes.

They breath each other in for a moment, before Quackity darts his eyes to plush lips like a teenager hoping for their first kiss. Sapnap gets an evil little grin to his face, knowing he's about to have more ammunition for their ever-ongoing argument about the merits of kissing with morning breath. Quackity will argue his side, it's gross, until he dies, but he can never resist when Sapnap is right there, and he doesn't want to wait until after they've brushed their teeth or whatever.

He leans in first, and Sapnap lets him come, not moving at all. Quackity bites at his lower lip in protest, and they both giggle before their mouths fully meet. The angle is bad, they both can't stop breaking away to laugh, and the cursed morning breath is ever present, but Quackity thinks this might be the best kiss of his life. How could it not be, if Sapnap's the one he's kissing? You can't expect him to think any is worse than the last. 

The kiss is lazy and simple as the sun fully crests over the horizon. When George-George let's out a particularly ludicrous cry, they both break apart to laugh, warmth spilling into the warm air and warm morning and Quackity thinks he doesn't need any other words ever again. Everything can just be warm for the rest of eternity and he'll be happy. 

Of course, it's then that Sapnap leaves him. Yes, cruelly, unjustly, leaving him to die and succumb to the cold. He slips out of bed before Quackity even has a chance to react, fully awake as he makes a beeline for the bathroom. He sighs, left alone in the fading heat of the bed, his source lost to the world.

He gives Sapnap a few minutes alone, before the urge to be close wins over, and Quackity follows. The bathroom door is only lightly closed, falling open with a gentle push. Sapnap stands at the sink, brushing his teeth. He smiles into the mirror as Quackity rewraps his arms around his waist, pushing his face into his back. The gentle motion of his muscles through the rhythmic movements of brushing are nice, and Quackity accepts his own tooth brush when Sapnap offers it.

They stand, pressed close together, in their small bathroom on the farm they bought with the money Quackity had earned through long nights of studying in school and stressful meetings and convincing men in suits that he wasn't just some dumb kid. This was theirs, for as long as they wanted it. 

Eventually, they leave the bathroom, hands linked, breaths much more pleasant. The kitchen is downstairs, and neither lets go even as they have to turn awkwardly to maneuver through the narrow stairwell. 

They have eggs for breakfast, Sapnap cooking and Quackity happy as a clam, pressed to his back. The eggs are all from their farm, and none have chicken in them, even as Sapnap shakes whatever he's holding threateningly in the direction of the chicken coop every time George-George makes a sound. 

They eat quietly, neither committing fully to sitting down, instead electing to stay pressed side to side, leaning against the counter. Quackity likes his eggs runny, which Sapnap says is a crime against humanity, and then they'll argue the ethics of Quackity even eating eggs in the first place. Quackity wins their arguments most of the time, putting his law school training to good use. Sapnap wins sometimes, usually by saying something so ridiculous Quackity has no choice but to kiss his stupid face.

"Thanks for breakfast hot cakes," he says, pressing a kiss to the side of Sapnap's face.

"That one sucks," Sapnap replies, finishing the last of his eggs.

"Why do you hate all the ones with puns," Quackity whines, the ongoing pet name struggle rearing its head.

"They're too easy," he says in response, moving from Quackity's side to place his own dish in the sink.

Quackity follows, rinsing both their plates as Sapnap stays close. "Well you always cheat." he jabs his elbow into Sapnap's side to emphasize his words, reaching for a towel to dry the now clean dishes.

"What are you talking about darlin'? I would never cheat!" Sapnap leans in close to his ear, letting his country drawl loose on the name. 

Quackity flicks water at him, then pats his own cheeks with damp hands to chase the inevitable blush away. He doesn't even know where Sapnap got that stupid accent, neither of his dads sounds anything like it. It's so not fair.

"Fuck you! Fuck you, I hate you, I'm putting George-George in your pillows tommorrow!" Quackity waves the towel around dramatically, hands now dry. Sapnap is just out of reach, holding on to a chair from how hard he's laughing. 

Quackity continues swearing at him as he cleans the pan used to make the eggs, explaining with as many expletives as possible his plan to replace Sapnap with the rooster and to let the bastard destroy everything he loves.

Sapnap watches him with the sappiest expression the whole time, and Quackity ignores how it makes the blush return to his cheeks as he focuses on scrubbing every crumb off the metal surface and thinking of every English swear he knows. 

He saves the Spanish for the chickens.

When he's finally done, both with his long-winded threats and the dishes, Sapnap has moved and stands close behind him. He hasnt't realized, too caught up in intentionally ignoring him, and jumps slightly when he takes up the position Quackity had had on him all morning. 

"Don't you dare-" he starts, relaxing in the hold even as he protests.

Sapnap cuts him off, moving them both so they're face to face again. "Think of the animals sweetheart, we can put our differences aside for them, can't we?"

And the combination of the accent and his eyes so close is more than enough to break Quackity. He pulls his dumb boyfriend into another kiss, this one deeper than the first.

Sapnap, curse him, doesn't let him get away with the distraction for long, pulling away after a few moments and pulling their hands together.