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Karl sleeps to his right. His more bro-ey fiance who Quackity knows largely only by name and reputation is sprawled facedown on his left.
It’s late in the morning. Hooking up with two people at the same time was exhausting. He wonders if he spread his attention evenly enough. He remembers Karl’s skin in his mouth, Sapnap’s arms holding them together, and the nagging sense that he could be doing more if he just found the right position.
Quackity has spent the morning distracted by vague daydreams, falling into a tailspin whenever he remembers one specific way Karl touched his skin, the specific way Sapnap's voice was as he said something. It's simple, lighthearted bliss. Both pairs of hands were so gentle on him, their mouths were soft— and so much sweeter than those of who Q’s used to kissing.
Look at you, the voice in his head croons cruelly, letting anyone shove tongues in your mouth now? Which stings more than he wishes. Quackity's euphoria takes a slight dip, ridiculously, as the paradox of this goes. One second he's resentful, the next he's glad to have the new territory under his belt. It may be shocking, but before last night, polyamory has been something he's conjured for the sole sake of innuendo, an alternative porn genre. Not even one he's ever been especially interested in, which serves to alleviate some of the resentment.
The worst is that he's currently having to reevaluate that interest. He feels more embarrassed about this than he does about the actual act of hooking up with two fucking people. Quackity realizes, stupidly, he doesn’t feel particularly embarrassed about that part at all. It feels like he's played right into the hands of some fucking trick by God.
Karl had been subliminally suggesting a threesome for months. After a few awkward conversations around party park, talking for a couple hours at a diner, Quackity came home with them, agreed to be crowded toward their unmade bed and pulled into it. Then they were kissing. Their shirts came off. Pressed against Karl, he felt Sapnap behind him.
“Is this okay?” Sapnap asked them. Quackity was asked so many times that night at some point he started asking too, in clumsy imitation. He just knows that when Karl leaned over him to kiss Sapnap, a switch was flipped. It set off fucking fireworks— a pleasant loss of balance and centre that came from seeing his closest friend kissing another person from an outside perspective. Later, Sapnap fucked Karl while he laid on top of Quackity, who sucked on Karl’s neck and got off to the secondhand everything.
After all the talk, the accusations, the act of actually whoring out should feel more like a horrible sin. It feels closer to epiphany, although that's not the right word. He feels new and light, napping in a queen-sized bed, crushed between two people who are engaged with each other. He’s a fucking idiot. He wants them to never come apart. Maybe the sex was never the problem, but that he's never been able to separate the two. He could fuck the whole server without an ounce of shame, if he could wake up without feeling this.
“Heya,” Karl nudges him with his knee. He lifts his head, hair falling away from his eyes, sounding lightly concerned. “Wassup, creep watching me sleep?”
“Nothing’s up,” Quackity hides his grin in his arm. “I’m fine.”
“Yeah you are, man,” Sapnap says, like they weren’t all just napping five goddamn seconds ago. “Your ass is literally so fat, it’s— ow! What the hell?”
Karl pulls his hand back from over Quackity and looks him over. “Hey. Is something wrong?”
“I’m fine,” Quackity repeats, breaking into wet laughter. “I’m— actually, I'm fucking great.” He's not confident he's fine, but the tears aren't from regret. This is the happiest he’s felt in— in a long fucking time.
Karl is looking at him like he’s crazy. Sapnap rolls over and drapes his limbs over him, distracting, and Quackity is grateful for the chance to change the topic.
“I think you got the wrong guy.” Quackity tells him.
“I don’t think I do,” Sapnap murmurs into his hair. “Wanna get married?”
“Hey hey, hold on. As friends?” Karl crawls closer. “You guys are getting married as friends?”
"...Maybe?"
“I didn’t even fucking say yes.” Quackity grumbles.
“Yeah dude, he literally didn’t even say yes?” Karl agrees as he worms his arms and legs between them like a skinny puzzle. “Because you would marry me, right Q?”
“As his friend?”
“Yeah, well maybe like— like friends with benefits?”
“Wait, what?” Sapnap says. “Wouldn’t marrying your friend kinda just defeat the entire point of that?”
“Why would it defeat the point?”
"Isn't um... isn't friends with benefits pretty much only fucking with zero strings attached? And marriage is kinda the definition of commitment? So then you’re just getting like, for real married.”
“Huh...” Karl says. Quackity covers his whole face with a pillow. It smells like sex and toothpaste. “I think that was your most romantic proposal yet, baby.”