Chapter Text
Launchpad McQuack stared up at his bedroom ceiling. It was nighttime, the city was peaceful for once, and he really should sleep. But somehow, he couldn’t.
He’d had a lot on his mind these days, which wasn’t usually the case. But Launchpad had noticed that lately, his idol hero, Darkwing Duck—civilian name Drake Mallard—was acting kinda funny around him. Not funny “haha,” either— the way he was acting didn’t feel like a joke. But maybe Launchpad was misinterpreting something. It wouldn’t be the first time, as Drake liked to point out. Maybe the whole thing was just Launchpad’s imagination. Surely Drake would dismiss it as such if Launchpad summoned the courage to ask him.
All Launchpad knew was that it’d been a few months since he’d started piloting, sidekicking, and living with Darkwing, and something between them had changed, because Drake’s behavior lately didn’t make a whole lot of sense to him. It was like that bizarre situation when two things that can’t be true at the same time but somehow are. Drake would know what the word was. It left him utterly confused. Confusion was part of his daily life, but what made this whole situation more of a big deal was the fact that their interactions often left Launchpad feeling...
Uh…how to put this…?
Aww gee, should he even think this about his hero, boss and friend?
...
…Horny.
Drake made him hornier than he could even describe.
Even now, alone in his room in the dark, this thought had him blushing. Hoo boy. Launchpad hoped Drake didn’t have some sort of superhero gadget that could read his thoughts, because then he’d be in big trouble. He figured Drake might not appreciate the, uh, affection.
But he couldn’t help it! Launchpad had never met anyone before with this same kind of odd, contradictory energy which had him both scratching his head in confusion and hopelessly turned on. He didn’t understand it. It felt like jumping into a pool that was deeper than he thought. It freaked him out a little but it had him sopping wet.
He didn’t know why Drake was acting this way, or what it meant. Why did his words and his actions not quite match up? The way he spoke was pretty much the same as it always had been—Drake always had a sharp tongue on him, even from the first day they met. Even when he said something insulting, Launchpad found him fascinating. Drake was witty, sarcastic, and said fancy words like no one’s business. Launchpad wasn’t known for any of those things, so it was fun to hear Drake talk. And boy, could Drake talk. Launchpad could listen to him all day, though. And sometimes he did.
And yeah, sure, sometimes DW was kinda rude, but he sounded so good saying anything. Launchpad loved to listen to his voice, even when Drake was scolding him. It was commanding and confident. And cool.
Hey, Drake might approve just now, since Launchpad did some of that pretty language thing he liked. Al, ally-ter..ation? Or whatever he said that was.
Nah, whatever had changed wasn’t in his words, since Drake wasn’t speaking to him any sweeter. It was more his body language that was saying something a hell of a lot different these days, but Launchpad didn’t know which one he should respond to. It was so damn confusing, and it was getting harder and harder for him to ignore. Especially the last few days, the tension had been at fever pitch.
~~~~~~~~
Like the other morning.
Launchpad had been a dutiful sidekick and friend and brought Drake some coffee. It was 11:58, so he supposed it still “technically” was morning, but Drake slept pretty late, especially after a caper. Drake earned it though, because last night, they’d put the entire Fearsome Five back in the slammer. He could celebrate by sleeping in. His eyelashes were still fluttering as he tried to shake off sleep, muttering into his pillow. Launchpad smiled and sat down at the end of the bed, ready to offer the coffee when Drake was ready. Drake wasn’t super tall, let's say, so even when he stretched out, he’d never fill this king-sized bed. He must have liked the space.
Drake stirred as soon as Launchpad sat down and propped himself up against the pillows much quicker than Launchpad expected. Drake’s oversized nightshirt had gone askew, his bare shoulder peeking out the collar. His feathers looked soft.
“I’m capable of getting my own coffee, LP,” he said, with a note of irritation. He still reached for the cup, though.
“Oh I know, Deedubyah,” Launchpad said cheerfully, handing over the cup, “I just like to take care of ya when I can.” He said it in a matter-of-fact kind of way, but it must have annoyed Drake, who rudely snatched the mug and promptly turned away from him.
“You can hardly take care of yourself, and you say stuff like that.” Drake muttered, his beak now deep in the coffee cup. “You were sleeping in a junky old hangar six months ago.” His cheek feathers looked kinda red, at least from here where Launchpad was sitting. Maybe the coffee was too hot. The flush gave Drake’s feathers a youthful glow.
“Don’t knock it til ya try it. Hammock sleepin’ ain’t bad.”
“Long-term?” Drake set his coffee down on the side table and crossed his arms. He looked ready for a debate, one of his favorite pastimes. Launchpad couldn't help but grin at that determined look. “Color me unconvinced. Spinal alignment is key, LP. Lay down there and tell me your back doesn’t feel at least a thousand times better.”
Shrugging, Launchpad plopped down on the mattress. His jacket must've ridden up a little, because he could feel Drake’s comforter directly pressing against the feathers on his back. It was a really nice mattress. Felt like he was on a cloud, which was perfect for a pilot. It was making him sleepy.
“You’re right, it does feel pretty damn good.” He chuckled, stretching out his arms wide like he was going to make a snow angel in Drake’s fluffy comforter. Drake was a meticulous kind of guy, though, and probably didn’t want him to mess up his bed, so he just laid there still, smiling up at Drake. He was glad Drake could fully rest on something nice like this.
His heart skipped when he briefly saw that Drake was smiling at him, too. Were his cheeks always pink like this? Launchpad was also surprised to find that Drake’s eyes were green. He hadn’t been close enough before to tell that Drake was so colorful.
Then Launchpad blinked and now Drake was scowling at him like normal. He must have hallucinated that smile. The odd rosiness of his face hadn’t disappeared, though.
“Of course it does! I sure wouldn’t be able to fight crime night after night sleeping in a hammock! Any hero worth their salt knows the importance of a good mattress. Soft but sturdy, solid and…ahem, s-soundless…”
But Launchpad was losing focus. Why was Drake’s face so red? It made Launchpad’s stomach roil like he had eaten a sandwich that had turned iffy.
“I, uh, should maybe think about changin’ mine,” Launchpad said awkwardly, sitting up, his back rigid as a board, not really thinking about their conversation much anymore. It had dawned on him that he’d spent a little bit too long hanging out with Drake while he was still in bed. A kinda special place he might not want Launchpad to get too cozy in.
Drake hadn’t even had time to get out of those rumpled pj’s yet. The nightshirt was so big, it was hanging off his shoulder, like a loose boyfriend top. One of his thighs was peeking out from under the hem and the edge of the comforter. Launchpad had noticed them before. DW had nice legs.
Drake pushed the comforter down, like he meant to get up too, but he didn’t seem to be in a hurry. “Hmmph, a duck as prodigious as you needs a much bigger bed than that miserable matchbox you somehow sleep in.”
It sounded like more of Drake’s typical grumbling, but Launchpad’s attention was elsewhere. Drake’s pajamas conveniently pooled between his legs, emphasizing the attractive feathers on the tops of his thighs. It was mesmerizing in the early afternoon sun, and Launchpad couldn’t help but admire it. Looked warm and oh so soft. Squeezable. Biteable.
Oh…kay, I gotta get out of here, Launchpad thought, heat rising to his cheeks as he quickly sprang off the bed. Drake had a strange expression on his face, which only had Launchpad’s stomach clenching harder. He could feel his pulse piping hot down south, too. If he didn’t excuse himself, he’d have a big problem. Not a brag, just a fact.
“I, uh, oh! I just remembered, I should probably, uh…change the, uh…oil, in the Ratcatcher!” Launchpad offered lamely. He should be doing sidekick stuff, not whatever this was. It felt heavy and dangerous, and not the kind of danger they usually found themselves in. Drake wasn’t interested in him, or else he’d say so! Launchpad needed to keep a respectful and platonic distance, no matter how much he wanted to do otherwise.
Drake looked annoyed, which only confirmed that Launchpad had overstayed his welcome. “How considerate.” There was a husky timbre to his voice. “I don’t need company to clothe myself, anyway. So, scram! Shoo!”
Grimacing, Launchpad obeyed, but he glanced Drake’s way one more time before he left the room.
Big mistake.
Drake was glaring daggers at him, face flushed, tail inexplicably wagging against his pillows, the comforter bunched up around his shapely legs. Launchpad caught his eyes for just a microsecond, and it was like getting struck by lightning. Angry, horny lightning. The pulse between his legs became a thick, steady throb.
W-what did it mean? W-was Drake glad Launchpad was leaving, or not?
Flabbergasted, with all his blood divided between his face and his nethers, Launchpad didn’t know what to do, so he gulped and fled to the garage. It was safer and less confusing there.
But even as he gave the Ratcatcher an oil change it didn’t technically need, he found his mind wandering back to that pretty pair of shoulders and creamy thighs that Drake didn’t make much of an effort to hide from him. But Drake surely wasn’t showing him on purpose, though! It’s just that Launchpad had made the mistake of ogling his hero and uh, hanging out in his bed for too long.
Launchpad flushed as he thought about being in Drake’s bed. From now on, he just needed to be way more careful about appreciating Drake’s hotness. After all, Drake had simply been giving some of his sage advice, lecturing him about the importance of a good mattress.
If he had something else on his mind—like uh, them maybe making some hot sweaty use of that mattress—he’d say so. Right? Drake’d never shied away from speaking his mind before, so why would he start now? Despite his attempts at rationalizing it, Launchpad couldn’t make proper sense of it: Drake’s dark, reproachful glare and how goddamn sexy he was laying in that bed.
What was going on?