"That hurt, asshole."

Quackity hissed, jabbing an elbow into bony ribs in return for the slight pinch. When the only response is a hum of acknowledgement and another feather readjusted, gentler, Quackity sighs deeply.

Running a country is hard, alright? There's money and architecture and people and Wilbur. So sue him if he lets his wings go a bit unattended! Schlatt would wrinkle his nose and mutter something that Quackity couldn't hear. Karl and Sapnap would smile weakly and offer to help but Quackity would say no, it's alright.

Wilbur just... fixes them.

He didn't even ask initially, he just started preening. A smack to the back of his head paused it, but now here he is. In Wilbur's lap - who is propped up against the pillow on the president's bed, lanky legs crossed comfortably - leaned back against his chest and getting preened by Wilbur of all fucking people.