He swore he tried to duck the attempted strangle of cuddling, but instead his body accepted it, and he was now on the floor with one of his lovers almost choking him into their chest. He was too fatigued to use what muscle could be possibly left over to use to hug back. He just let his lover treasure his feathers and presence, after such a long night of waiting.
"Mi amor," he heard a whimper, and whatever feeling he felt before this transitioned into some guilt, not enough to touch him. He buried his beak further to show his apologies.
"Sorry, I worked a little bit later than usual," he felt himself loosen a bit. He suddenly felt comfortable in the topless rooster's grip and would force him to not let go.
"'A little bit later than usual'? It's been six hours!" There was some amusement in that vociferation. He still heard concern and disturbance. He felt as if he couldn't do anything about it, which yes, he could. If he pushed himself to just try. He didn't, instead, he closed his eyes once more and almost tended to sleep.
"Well, at least your home. It's Saturday tomorrow anyways," he kissed Donald's weary face and picked him up immediately, jerking the duck back into consciousness. There was a groan, and Panchito kissed him once again. "José is out back, he couldn't sleep without you either."
This was all a guilt-fest, and he cursed at himself more than necessary. Panchito didn't mean to make him feel bad, he didn't mean for him to feel horrible for his "night job". The night job Panchito was oblivious to the truth of.
Donald whispered a sorry and received another kiss. At this point, it was getting annoying but was met the blankets of their large bed, and he didn't feel the peevishness quite anymore. He turned to his side, hoping the rooster would lay next to him and wrap his powerful arms around him safely.
He felt more comfortable and satisfied when Panchito does just that. When as expected came smoothly to him, he still doesn't feel complete. Now, he was moaning unintentionally. Everything was wrong once again. He was missing something, no, someone. He wanted someone here with them. But he couldn't go get him. He was too weak. He was not inside the house, and Donald couldn't be even more quietly distressed.
"Where is José?"
His hands were still gloved. They made him feel even more heated and irritated. But, he was far too interested in the papers than to remove the small clothing. He hardly noticed anything like that, and it wasn't like him at all. He was aware of everything, which he didn't tell himself, but that's what people say about him. They call him aware and patient. At this moment, he was everything but.
He seemed so still, so settled, so… untroubled. He wasn't, no matter how much it seemed. It was all a lie, he cursed. He wasn't happy, he was screaming, he was crying. No tears or signs of hurt came. He remained not as he appeared to be.
He was so great at this. He could hide everything from everyone. It helped so much, with him and his lovers. His talent was remarkable, useful. It was getting out of hand.
He has been keeping this all a secret for far too long. He was screaming, but wasn't. His mind was spinning, but his eyes stayed on the paper. The bill. The damned papel.
The handmade shed Panchito has organized for them felt like it started to shrink. It caused him to feel even more irritated. But he was still. He was crying. He was scared to the point of delusion.
Yet he seemed so fine.
"We can't live," he mumbled. He didn't care if he sounded paranoid. Was anyone listening? That he couldn't care about either. The whole point he goes into the shed was to not be interrupted or to be with anyone around him. He did the paperwork faster this way. It was his job of the house, to get the bills paid.
But lately, he has been feeling hostile coming into this small shed. He felt not himself at all. Tonight may have been a breaking point, but from how he was doing in his seat, he wasn't quite there yet.
He cursed again and finally let a fist slam into the wooden table. The impact knocked over the collection of pens and pencils. The mess should bug him, but he hardly noticed. If he did, he wouldn't clean it anyways. He would let the mess stay there as his way to blame the repulsive aura from the hell that was this shed. The shed brought him misery, it brought him to anger, the anger he could try to control. He felt himself break somehow every time he came to do papers. He wasn't gonna be able to take it anymore he knew, but tonight, he was surprisingly strong, but he didn't feel that way about it at all. He thought he was doing terrible.
He thought he was doing god awful, and he let out a for real, angry, growl escape his beak. His green feathers perked up, he has finally had it.
He was done.
He didn't care about the massive bill anymore, he didn't care about the shed, he just didn't care! He was finished for tonight. Whatever was in store for him for his actions didn't cross his mind.
He slammed the shed's door and marched to the back door of their small house. He was gonna slam that door as well once he got inside, but the sense of an inviting soul dwelling in his mind made him halt. He felt reality peak back, and he remembered how to breathe again.
Donald was back home. José now finally knew how to smile again after so many hours.
He closed the door properly and walked to their room quietly. They may be asleep for all he knew, and the house was old and boisterous. The floors were unusually creaky, especially during the night, when it was the most silent. It was something he likes about the night, how everything was at peace. He, was usually at peace, but tonight was so different. He, was so different.
Whatever effort he used to not alarm his boyfriends came in handy. He was at the entrance or of their bedroom and naturally made his way in, not saying a word. He didn't think his voice was tranquil enough to use.
The bed was more than welcoming, and so was the nice comfort of his two tired boyfriends. He smiled once more when Donald opened his eyes, smiling back at him. Panchito remained asleep.
"Hey," a white hand moved slowly to José's pillow. José gladly took it into his own and laid down on the bed. The feeling made him not feel so small anymore. He wasn't trapped, he was free. He was free to look into Donald's eyes.
"Hola," he kissed Donald's hand and rested his eyes, ignoring the blankets. He was far too hot to let the blankets drape his body.
"You still have your gloves on," Donald chuckled. José opened his eyes to see the bright yellow fabric gently wrapped in Donald's white fingers. He bit his lip to prevent a laugh. As much as he didn't want to do it, he let go of Donald's hand and removed the gloves. They made him feel so sweaty, and he grimaced. He shouldn't let Donald feel how gross he is.
Donald took his hands anyways when the gloves were set to the side. He squeezed them lightly and shut his eyes. The world suddenly stopped when he felt José's forehead connect with his.
Before they knew it, all three of them were sleeping peacefully. No nightmares plagued them that night, or any dreams, it was a fast sleep. And in the morning, they didn't need to get up. They could be with each other just a little longer, all connected.
Just what Donald wished for his entire time of that night's battle.