Chapter Text
It was a long day of work at [BIG!!! SH0T!!1] Advertisement firm, Spamton had been taking extra jobs and quotas, some online, most on foot. He was working overtime for his and Gabriel’s seven year anniversary, and tonight he had decided to get off just a little earlier to surprise him.
Gabriel was a man of little words, but many actions, he had never asked Spamton for much nor expected greatly of him. He was perfect in every sense of the word, and Spamton wanted to make this year’s gift unforgettable
A gentle ding shakes Spamton out of his thoughts as the elevator comes to a halt on his floor, the door parting slowly.
“Leaving already, friend?” A calm voice called through the open doors, causing Spamton to shoot his head up.
“QU1RREL!!1, L0NG T1ME, NO SEE!!” He gave a frantic wave and a wide grin as he stepped into the elevator, staring up at the lanky bug.
“Great wait, even greater reunion.” The pill bug chuckled as he adjusted his messenger bag. “How have you been?”
"AMAZING! LIVING THE [American dream!] WAKE UP, GET THE SWEET KROMER, [Hyperlink Blocked] THE MISTER!1" The lil guy beamed, thinking lovingly about his husband, before adding, "I THOUGH YOU WERE OFF MAKING [th3 big bucks?]. The duo stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage, the cold night air fresh against heated skin.
"Yes, well my calling lies here, I'm afraid." Quirrel said solemnly before giving the puppet a pat on the shoulder and making for his car.
"Good night, Spamton. Do not be a stranger."
The radio hums a steady tune as Spamton rounds a corner onto the street of their sub-division, passing house after house until he pulls into the cobblestone driveway.
The house is a quaint thing, bright white with dark oak trim and assorted plush loveseats on the porch. Spamton would have paid great attention to the open downstairs curtains, If not for the restored 76 mustang sitting in the driveway where his beetle would be.
He sat for a second, his eyes scanning the car while his mind was running through his extensive memory for any clue on the owner, until they settled on a fading bumper sticker.
“Solace panels and electrical”
When the man opened the front door, he was greeted by the smell of salmon and butter and the house bathed in warm amber light as the TV droned on with reruns of their favorite game shows.
Curious, how did Gabe know he was coming? An extra coat hung from the wall rack, far too large to be either of theirs, brown and ruggish, almost vintage.
And even more unsual, no Gabriel, barely even a peep. He would have been sat dotingly on the counch, waiting for Spamton to walk through the door
That is until a loud bang shook the upstairs floor. Spamton raced up the stairs, panic surging through his veins as millions of unspoken fears came to a head.
He heard them first, the gentle creaking of the bed, the harsh grind of wood on wood, the pang of hit metal, the sweet promises of angel beckoning forth.
He burst through the door, the wood splintering slightly as the door frame rattled. His stomach dropped, blood ran cold, cold as the darkest alley that he had long left in the past.
Spamton came face to face with a tangled mass of wings and scales, of halos and eyes too blue to be real, of hurt and betrayal
In bed, with his husband, in his husband was the goddamn electrician