Work Text:
“F-fuck…Mmmm…Aw fuck, Deedubyah…” Launchpad’s sighs were breathy and eager, tickling against Drake’s neck.
D-damn, LP’s hot when he swears. This was the only thought Drake—also known as the fearless crimefighter Darkwing Duck—had swirling in his otherwise cunning mind.
But hey!! Who could blame him? How could Drake possibly be able to focus when his silly, yet annoyingly attractive sidekick and friend was cursing like this?
On top of—well, Launchpad being on top of him, topping him. As in, the big sexy oaf giving Drake a hearty helping of what probably was some of the best dick around. Fat, long, and he seemed to know how to use it…S-so, how could anybody expect the Masked Mallard to focus?
It turned out Launchpad was much better in bed than he was in a plane. Compared to the crash-happy pilot’s typically harrowing barrel rolls, LP was rolling his hips infinitely smoother, silkily slipping in and pulling out, gliding with a slick, strong rhythm that had the bed rocking merrily. Drake’s bed—a lonely piece of furniture that Launchpad had probably seen a thousand times in passing but had never been invited into. Not like, uh…this. Not until now.
Drake’s feathers buzzed hot with pleasure as Launchpad hummed against his mouth, kissing him between sighs, gently but with an insistence that had Drake’s nerves firing. The proverbial floodgates had opened. It was certainly wet enough, judging by the telltale slippery smacking of—Oh, GOD, LP felt so good inside him—what would he say this was? This wasn’t what he’d call ‘making love’—something vaguely bland he’d last done with Mor—
No. This wasn’t about her.
This wasn’t deep! At least, not mentally, Drake thought, his eyes crossing with satisfaction. No, this was about him getting a good, dirty dicking, and God damn was it delicious. It had been years—felt like decades—since Drake had gotten it this good. Then again, he’d spent a long time trying to stifle this—ooh! proclivity for penile penetration. Like a mantra, Drake reminded himself: that stint in college was a phase. And this—Aah! this is nothing more than a momentary lapse. I’m only attracted to women!
But—
“Fuuuuck…” Rolling above him, his pilot interrupted him with more of his soft, breathy swearing, his speed steady and deliberate, with the sharp squeaks of Drake's mattress punctuating each sweaty thrust. The coarse word, coming again and again from the good ol’ boy’s usually pristine beak, had Drake’s feathers fluffing up in waves of excitement. Once “fuck” began to accompany each juicy smack of LP’s solid hips, in his lustful haze Drake started to think maybe Launchpad was just being literal, narrating his life like Drake enjoyed doing on many occasions.
Ooh, LP better not steal my bit, Drake thought indignantly, his cheeks flaming as his sidekick’s cock rolled in and out, wet and steady as the Calisota tide. I’m the one with the dramatic soliloquys! But as St. Canard’s premiere superhero, Drake had never monologued quite like THIS before:
“Aaand Darkwing Duck, our Dashing Duck Detective, professes the pleasures of being positively plowed…”
If ONLY he could say that right now. Drake didn’t—couldn’t—alliterate aloud; he didn’t quite have the wherewithal at the moment.
But LP summed it up with that unbelievably sexy, low-pitched growl he was purring in his hero’s ear: “Fuuck, Deedubyah…” And indeed, fucking Deedubyah he was.
Drake moaned in a way he couldn’t remember doing since his college days, back when he was a bit more experimental. LP’s rhythmic pumping between Drake’s splayed thighs wasn’t unlike a couple jock hookups he’d had all those years ago. Drooling, Drake wondered if Launchpad had any sweatpants like they’d had, some of those soft cotton ones that would pool languidly around their ankles as they drilled him good over the side of a secondhand sofa. Oh, memories…
“A-aah! Ahhh…Ahhnnnggg…” Drake sighed, hoping he didn’t sound too desperate, adding to his sidekick’s sultry sighs and the squeaks of the mattress muttering beneath their bodies. The longer the dick stroke, the deeper the bed seemed to groan, but never loud enough to mask Drake’s needy cries.
But hey! Could you blame him? He couldn’t hold them back, not when his sidekick, far from his everyday dopey deeds he’d do outside this context—like crashing any and every plane he piloted—was proving himself a professional by pinpointing Drake’s prostate with precision.
Enough alliteration, Drake chastised himself, panting softly in pleasure. Not every moment needs drama. His sidekick was dipping his hips in such a way that rubbed Drake’s insides in juust the right way. Drake whined softly against LP’s mouth, his cock throbbing harder with each of LP’s slick slides over his sweet spot.
Ohhh…shit. S-so his sidekick could fuck. Drake’s body flushed deeper and deeper as this realization (and LP's cock—holy damn it was so long and juicy thick—) sank ALLLL the way in.
Should—"OH!” Drake cried.
—they have—“Aaaahh, GOD!” He panted.
—done this—"Mmm, ohhh, t-that’s it…Ah!” Launchpad kissed him hard again on the fuck-in and Drake's mind went fuzzy.
—sooner?
Well, if the enthusiastic sounds of that sloppy wet dicking were anything to go by, then the answer was a resounding FUCK YES.
LP was a damn good screw all right, bouncing Drake better than the best of those bygone college booty calls, alternately pounding in deep then pulling back and giving Drake juuuust the tip, where Drake saw flashes of his sidekick’s foreskin sliding up and down, glistening wet and rosy as it fucked in and out of his ass with a messy smack smack smack. Mesmerized by the look and the feel of Launchpad shallowly fucking in and then diving deep, Drake sighed blissfully from all these sublime sensations, his own cock bobbing hot and hard on his belly, slick and starting to shine.
Swearing and sighing, LP and his big blabbering beak prevented the possibility of a good, hot, quiet fuck. With each long, fat pull of his thick dick, LP was raising quite the ruckus in that admittedly sexy, dopey drawl of his. But all this noise wasn’t the kind of thing Drake had ever heard from his pilot before.
Nothing like, "Aww gee, we're outta pickles again, Deedubyah,” as Launchpad smiled down at him, standing in front of their ransacked fridge, as if the big lug had nothing to do with how empty it was. Or, “Heh heh, howd’ja like that crash landin’, Deedubyah,” accompanied by a roguish wink and a distant explosion. No, that kind of mundane utterance Drake was more than used to.
And yes, on very SELDOM occasion, those silly exchanges made him flush at his idiotic but handsome sidekick, compelling Drake to consider for a brief, wild second, H-had the big dummy been flirting with him? But all of that was nothing compared to finding out about this unexpected, foulmouthed and quietly gruff side to his affable sidekick, and it was making Drake hotter than hell.
As they rocked together, his sexy pilot was swearing in pleasure, the unfamiliarity of his obscenities making Drake’s ears burn almost as hot as his ass cheeks as they slapped wetly and enthusiastically around his sidekick’s shaft. Slurp Slurp Sluuurp…
Ohhh, d-damn, this is different, Drake thought. A small voice added, This could be something I could get used to.
"Aww F-FUCK, Drake..." his pilot growled, a little louder now, his fluffy forelock bouncing just as heartily as he was bouncing between Drake’s legs. Even though he was panting, sounding more and more like he was close to climax, Launchpad kept turning his attention back to Drake, kissing his ruffled cheek here and giving him a teasing tongue kiss there, all the while slipping Drake's wet eager lower cheeks a whole HELL of a lot of dick.
“Fuuuck,” LP drawled again, his voice husky and slow, sounding like a purr in Drake’s ear. His hips were anything but slow. Drake’s hole fluttered as it was stuffed then emptied—fast, wet, and hot.
Did Drake turn him on this much?
Cum-err-come to think of it, Launchpad didn’t seem too surprised when earlier that day, Drake had finally taken the plunge and suggested that he and LP get in a good screw, at least once. For science, or whatever!
Blushing furiously as soon as he managed to blurt it out, Drake could only hear the thudding of his heart, going a mile a minute. Holy shit. He couldn’t believe he’d actually asked Launchpad! But he couldn’t let LP think it mattered all that much. Because it didn’t, Drake tried to reassure himself, just in case.
“You know, j-just for the hell of it,” Drake had added flippantly, as if he hadn’t secretly imagined his sidekick fucking him silly half a million times before. But that was fantasy, and this was—Oh. So. Real.
It seemed Drake hadn’t needed to hedge his bet—upon his lewd invitation, Launchpad’s expression instantly went hungry. And for the first time ever, it wasn’t a craving for the conventional kind of snack.
Launchpad promptly turned off the TV and pinned Drake down against the couch cushions with such an exciting brashness it made Drake’s head spin.
Drake felt a certain irritating kind of vulnerability whenever he was belly-up fighting villains, but at that moment, laying submissively on his back under LP’s warm shadow, it felt blissful and right. He let his legs fall gently open, thinking this couch had never felt more comfortable.
Launchpad had moved closer, slower and more deliberate now, stroking Drake’s arms and chest with a tenderness that felt almost shy. Their beaks brushed once or twice in a way that could still be seen as accidental, right in that last pulse-quickening microsecond before a rigorous make-out. Then their eyes met again, Drake’s breath caught, and Launchpad closed the distance at last. After two or three firm presses of his mouth to Drake’s, his big sidekick was already slipping him tongue, nibbling at him a bit and oh fuck—was that a growl?
Oh G-God. An exhilarating heat descended on Drake’s nether feathers as he thought indignantly, Dammit, where was all this dominant energy when they had villains to vanquish? Between hungry kisses, Drake could feel Launchpad poking him with not-so innocent rubs between their groins. Drake always went bottomless, so at least one potential barrier was gone between him and what felt like a very thick, swollen cock rubbing his front through LP’s baggy pilot pants.
They kissed and moved against each other for quite a while, getting a taste of each other. Drake’s erection slipped out from beneath his feathers as his sidekick’s pants front developed a prominent wet spot at the tip, making the fabric almost transparent. One peek at that had Drake in another dimension. Big…fat…and it looked like he wasn’t cut either…A hot bead of slick dribbled down Drake’s erection in excitement.
Drake groaned needily against LP’s mouth. “L-Launchpad…we…I…UPSTAIRS, please!” Drake tried to scoot off the couch and head towards the stairs, but instead, Launchpad simply scooped Drake up in his arms as he carried him upstairs, cuddling him to his chest like he sometimes did when they were fighting crime. Drake’s heart surged wildly at the intimacy, and then so did his cock when he happened to get another long glimpse at that conspicuous bulge waiting for him between Launchpad’s legs.
Ohhh, shit. Maybe I’ve bitten off more than I can chew. Drake thought, gulping. Then he narrowed his eyes in determination. No. Hell no. No way I’m passing up dick like that. After all, Darkwing was known for being daring and dangerous, he had assured himself. And Drake really, really needed a good fuck. And that's all it would be. Right?
And now here they were, finally doing the deed. It was a Friday night and Gos was sleeping over at a friend's house. Despite a thorough—quadruple and quintuple checked—patrol, there had been no bungling baddies to bust, and now he and LP were alone back at home, the tension hanging over them like a thick fog.
Finally taking it a step further hadn’t seemed like it would be too hard—they'd woken up many a time cuddled a little too intimately on the couch after falling asleep to LP’s stupid Pelican's Island show. In a way, they’d technically slept together, and that pestering little thought alone made Drake’s cheeks burn.
And then there were the times when Launchpad would barge into Drake's master bathroom with something important to tell him, but instantly forget whatever it was as soon as he saw Drake standing there naked and surprised. Usually this would happen while Drake was clutching his aftershave (don't ask how it works on a duck) or about to slip on his very cute and NOT ugly, GOSALYN—Drake chided his daughter in his head—silk heart boxers.
LP would always apologize when these impromptu barge-ins happened, but it didn’t escape the dashing detective that his sidekick's face reddened every time. The shy flush in Launchpad’s cheeks made something curl in Drake’s belly and he’d usually have to clear his throat. Ahem! Back to normal, nothing to see here.
"Heh, s-sorry Deedubyah," his blushy pilot would say with a chuckle, but one time Drake happened to catch Launchpad’s eyes when he said it, and holy fucking Toledo. For an instant, just a brief instant, the dark flash of those eyes- it was clear as day LP wanted him. Wanted him BAD. But the big idiot never said anything.
Of course, Drake had let the tense moment slide too, settling to the back of his mind. Such images were only to be —involuntarily, mind you!—conjured later on a lustful, lonely night, interspersed with the fading memories of his erstwhile girlfriend. Perhaps Drake should have known better about this annoyingly persistent mutual attraction to LP, what with the living together, taking care of each other, and raising a daughter together. Oh, and that one frantic make-out session they had in Duck Vegas. But we all know the rules of that place.
This was the two of them going all the way though, and not just some celebratory shenanigans under neon lights, involving tongue and a lot of groping that they both deliberately didn't mention later. As his err, little…what should he call this?—date with LP started to heat up, Drake thought maybe he'd landed in that obnoxious Nodoff’s Dream World again, although the thought of that just made his heart ache at the memories.
He and Morgana, for all their trying, hadn't worked out. There was an awkwardness they just couldn’t shake. Of course, in some way he'd love her still, but there had been something crucial missing. Something big. A possibility he hadn’t considered, one perhaps he’d willfully repressed.
Mmm, God this felt good. LP was giving him an expert demonstration of how good he could thrust those narrow, eager hips of his. Drake and Morgana had fought a lot, but on the other hand, he couldn’t lie and say he never fought with LP, too. Yet…somehow, it was different with his sidekick. His buddy. His…could he call him his l-lover?
“Aww, s-shit, Deedubyah,” LP drawled in Drake's ear, hot against the hero’s fluffed cheek feathers. He was making his pilot see stars too. Well, of course he was irresistible! He was Darkwing Duck after all, St. Canard’s most mysterious, sexy and eligible bachelor.
"I'm—damn…boutta—cum…” Launchpad’s pace became erratic till he started pumping slow, as if he had a limit to the amounts he could dip all the way in and slide nearly to the point of slipping out where Drake's hole, greedily squeezing, was tugging needily at his foreskin, making him wetter and wetter.
Drake moaned, sometimes in deep tones that one might think were Negaduck's ragged, lustful cries. “G-give it to me,” he gasped, and LP kissed him deep, and did as his hero asked. Drake's hand found its way between his legs, and he started jerking his wet cock in time to the smacks between his cheeks. It was slippery and sensitive, slick with the perfect balance of wetness and friction to bring him quickly to climax, but Launchpad’s precise pumps were sure to bring him there even faster.
“Aah!!” Drake whined as LP gave him shallow little fucks, teasing his sweet spot. Then Launchpad moved his giant hand, sliding it between Drake’s legs. Drake let his own hand fall away, gasping and crying as his pilot started stroking him, building momentum slowly. He didn’t have to go slow, but he probably knew that if he went any faster, Drake would be cumming his brains out.
"Mmm, ya like that, don’tcha...ya sound like yer gonna cum…" LP whispered, his words sounding more like a statement than a question. Maybe it was his handsome pilot proving he had the ability to see the future, because all LP had to do was do about 10 rapid-fire dips--rubbing him just right and just deep enough.
A couple shiver-inducing rubs from that huge uncut cock and Drake was done. LP knew how to use those 3 yards of dick, it was certain. And Drake had to acknowledge that. He did so by crying out his name. Launchpad met him in the middle, cutting him off with another heavy kiss. Drake moaned into his mouth, Launchpad's name melting between their tongues. Overindulged with an assful of his sidekick's fat cock, a mouthful of his big tongue, and the blissful sensations of his gorgeous pilot’s large, sure hand gripping and teasing his cock as expertly as if it were his own, Drake erupted. Mouth, cock and hole were full—Aaahh, he cried, his nerves firing all at once –filled. Fulfilled. The trifuck-err, fecta.
God, is this what a good hot fuck feels like? Him and Morgana had—but not like—
"AAAAH!!” He screamed in ecstasy as LP slid across his sweet spot, rubbing and thumping it. Drake tried to delay his orgasm for as long as possible, but it was no use. His sidekick’s shallow, bouncy dips, juicy and loud, had Drake cumming in seconds. His seed shot hot and thick, coating his belly and chest, and soon dotted LP's chest as they rolled together. Heart beating fast, sweat rolling down his brow, Drake lamented not letting his sidekick screw him a hell of a lot earlier.
LP never slowed his pace as Drake cried out the remainder of his hot and sticky satisfaction. Then Launchpad pulled off his mouth, muttering "fuck" again like he did earlier tonight, when Drake heard him say it for the first time. It sounded even hotter now, somehow.
Maybe that was because Drake realized that LP was cumming too. And compared to before when he was giving little fast thrusts that had Drake seeing big juicy fat stars, now his sidekick was fucking him long and deep, making sure to fill Drake's belly, spreading deeper and thicker with each stuff and thrust of cock in his ass. Drake became aware of his tail, wagging away. It was like his body was telling him, Maybe this isn’t a lapse or a phase. I was—I am—attracted to both, and I want this dumb hunk of a man so bad it hurts.
Maybe LP could feel exactly how bad, Drake thought as he clenched his insides hot and tight around his sidekick, imagining for a lustful second how many times he could ride LP tonight before he’d milk his sidekick dry. After all, LP had just given him the biggest, loudest, dirtiest orgasm than he'd had since college, so Drake felt like he should return the favor and completely drain his balls. He squeezed his hole around his sidekick’s twitching shaft as it started to spurt. Oooh, Drake bit his lip as a lewd warmth flooded inside him. He loved this feeling, and he couldn’t deny he wanted to have it again. With LP.
There were more lustful curses from his sidekick’s mouth, groaned in ecstasy. Drake’s cheeks burned at Launchpad’s orgasmic cries—another unfamiliar sound that Drake wanted to hear more of. T-this is what LP sounds like when he’s cumming…
Launchpad slapped hard in and out of Drake as he climaxed, the cum squishing out with each fuck into Drake’s ass. Drake’s sheets, sliding silkily under his bottom this whole time, slurped up his sidekick's spend. Any other time Drake might have cared about keeping his bed nice and clean, but right now, he was fine with messes, since his big idiot had so thoroughly made a mess of him.
"Mmm, you’re so hot, Deedubyah," LP whispered against Drake’s skin, and though he was still dripping from having already come, Drake felt his cock tingle and stiffen at the praise. LP brushed his lips against Drake's, and the thrusts between his legs slowed down as his sidekick’s climax tapered. He finally pulled out, rubbing his juicy tip one last good time against Drake's sweet spot. What a fucking tease.
Drake really, really wanted a Round Two, and that surprised him. That hadn’t often happened with previous partners. He’d clammed up and felt awkward. But it was different with LP—something about his sidekick somehow melted away his anxiety. Made Drake want the big idiot on top of him on a regular basis.
“Aahh,” he started to whine, and Launchpad gently put a big finger to his beak. “W-whaa?” Drake stammered. How DARE he—
“Shhh,” LP said, winking down at Drake and the indignation melted instantly. The pilot’s face was flushed and a bit sweaty, and so handsome Drake’s belly did a couple wild flips.
"It's gettin’ real late, Deedubyah. We oughtta sleep,” he murmured, gazing at Drake, who wished they wouldn’t. He softly lifted Drake's chin, but instead of going for a standard good night kiss like Drake thought, his pilot nuzzled his neck, and started kissing his feathers. He even nipped him a little, the big bastard.
Drake couldn’t hide the renewed lust in his voice as he pulled away from yet another kiss. "A-are you gonna fuck me some more or are we gonna sleep, LP?"
"Let’s sleep, Deedubyah," LP said, with a sexy flash of his usually kind eyes. With just a look this idiot could make anybody wet, Drake scowled, his face reddening. But he wanted it to be him from now on.
“I had a real good time. Better’n I ever dreamed. An’ believe me, I sure did dream…” Launchpad trailed off, and Drake could swear he could feel the big guy blushing too.
“Ya know, if yer game again, how bout I give ya somethin' good to look forward to?” Their beaks met, met again, and again for good measure. In other words, a big fat, ‘Yes Please’ from the both of them. Drake hoped they’d have another crime-free night again soon.
After a few more sloppy kisses, they collapsed together on Drake's silky sheets. Drake realized there was more than enough room for LP to sleep with him whenever. He had a king-sized bed, after all, so it was plenty big enough to hold a king-sized sidekick. Somehow, he didn’t think Launchpad would ever be returning to that dusty side room. Drake couldn’t complain, perhaps he could use it for storage.
Beside him, Drake could hear Launchpad’s even breathing as he drifted off to dreamland. He sounded content. Well, he should be grateful for finally getting to bed his longtime crush! Drake inwardly scoffed at his sidekick, but knew he was really talking about himself.
He snuggled comfortably against LP's big frame. His sidekick’s warmth filled him inside and out. Why hadn't he seen it before? The potential. The chemistry. LP's adoration of him, though he always told himself he expected—no, demanded it—surprised and encouraged him, like it had when he'd first learned of his number one fan. The only one in the world who thought Drake was cool, deeply cool, was this big, handsome, wonderful idiot.
From that first encounter in Launchpad’s hangar, Drake hadn't really thought that goofy pilot would end up in his BED, now did he? Surely not. But the clues were there from the beginning, weren’t they, detective?
The tips of his cheeks burned as he nestled deeper into LP's chest feathers. Drake Mallard was pretty good at lying to himself.
I’m sorry, Morgana. He wished he’d realized it sooner to spare them both some heartache. But this had been a mystery the Duck Detective needed more time to solve.
Needed time to allow himself to solve.