Bitch
Waluigi had been enjoying some much needed quiet time at the house for almost a month now. Wario spent most of his time visiting Mona in Diamond City these days. The little cameras he used to order Waluigi around when he was at home still prevented the taller doppelganger from breaking most of Wario's stupid rules, but at least it was quiet. Waluigi had been surprised how quickly he could get all of his chores done without Wario breathing down his neck. Or without the various aches and pains that came with Wario's fits of rage. Or without the constant gnawing concern that he could be yelled at any moment.
One day while vacuuming he'd discovered that if he hid on the floor behind the couch and kept the TV on mute, no one watching the little cameras could tell he was watching TV. In combination with his new swiftness at completing his tasks, he found he could enjoy more leisure time than he had before. While he normally wouldn't wish Wario on anyone, as long he and Mona wanted to continue on together Waluigi couldn't complain.
He was watching TV that night. It was an infomercial for something that didn't matter. The light washed over him as he rested his listless head on the arm of the couch. With his work finished, all he wanted to do was space out for a bit before bed. He was staring at the remote, thinking about reaching for it, when the front door smashed open.
The adrenaline rush jolted him awake instantly. He grabbed the remote and pounded the button with his finger. The TV snapped off. He scrambled to return the remote to its place on the table. He rehearsed excuses for being on the floor with it in the first place. Cleaning, knocked it under the couch, just looking for it...
“She's a bitch!” Wario roared as he stormed into the living room. His eyes found the man sitting frozen next to the coffee table. “Not like you... You are a bitch, but not like her...”
“I'm... sorry to... hear that?” Waluigi stammered in a barely audible voice.
Wario laughed. “See that? You're a bitch that knows his place, right? A bitch that appreciates me. Right?”
Waluigi nodded quickly. How much had the fat man had to drink? Please just go to sleep, please just go to sleep...
“Damn right.” Wario left a trail of clothing across the living room as he stripped to his boxers and flopped onto the couch, at least somewhat appeased by Waluigi's answers. “Get the liquor. The good shit. The good shit. For balancing out the bad shit.”
As Waluigi passed by close to him, a meaty fist engulfed his arm.
“And don't pull any of your shit. I'll find you.”
Three simple words. The earnestness behind them sent chills down Waluigi's spine. It made him wonder how much Wario knew about his occasional fantasies of running away forever. He nodded quickly once more. Wide-eyed.
Wario released him, turned on the TV, belched loudly, and snorted a couple times.
Waluigi opened the liquor cabinet in the dining room and stared at the rows of glistening bottles without really seeing them. Wario wasn't mad at him. That was good. If Wario was too sloshed to do anything but ogle the big, glowing screen until he passed out, that would be great. The drunker, the lazier. Waluigi grabbed something high proof in a fancy bottle. There were crystal glasses in the cabinet underneath, so he grabbed one of those, too. He doubted Wario would give a shit, though. He'd seen the man drink two-hundred coin brandy out of a plastic cup.
After he set the glass on the coffee table and filled it, he started to return to his place on the floor. He intended to remain out of Wario's line of sight—and mind—as much as possible.
“Where you goin? Sit! Sit!” Wario commanded, grinning.
Waluigi hesitated. Wario's grin wavered. Waluigi dropped swiftly into the cushions at the other end of the couch. Wario laughed again.
“That's a good bitch. That's a bitch that appreciates me,” he repeated, gesturing with the glass in his hand.
The sense of discomfort tightened. “I'm... upstairs... dusting...” Waluigi stammered. He started to stand. Wario grabbed his arm and pulled.
“The dust isn't goin anywhere. This is goin somewhere.” He gestured with the glass and laughed again. “Have some, for bein a good bitch.”
“I only brought one glass,” Waluigi protested.
“Fuck it, take it,” Wario pushed the glass into Waluigi's hand.
Maybe a year ago that wild grin and the sudden generosity would've been a relief, but Wario had proven too many times how quickly he could go from zero to batshit. “I shouldn't,” Waluigi whispered. He wanted to keep his wits about him. “It's- it's yours. I shouldn't...”
“So you're gonna throw my generoshity in my face, you little shit? Typical! Dunno why I even ask!”
“N-no. It's too good for me, I...” Wario's grin was almost gone. Waluigi hurriedly brought the glass to his lips and took the tiniest taste he dared. He forced a small smile. “Yeah, that's-that's good shit...”
“To balance out the bad shit,” Wario added as he grabbed the bottle and took a swig.
The lanky man hunched his shoulders and took another sip. Maybe being buzzed would be better than being sober after all.
“She's goin on tour,” Wario went on. “Some fuckin islands somewhere, I don't fucking...” Another swig. “Says I can't come along. Says I'm bad for her image. Little slut says I'm bad for her image. Un-fuckin-believable.”
The narrow shoulders rose and fell. Waluigi didn't know what to say.
“She can choke on a dick if she thinks I'm gonna wait for her.” Glug glug went the bottle. A belch roared forth from Wario's gut.
Waluigi nodded dutifully.
Beady blue eyes sized up the hunched figure at the other end of the couch. “What're you so nervous for?”
“Nothing,” Waluigi said. His grip on the glass tightened. “I just... Things to do... upstairs... like I said.”
“You're up to some shit. I knew you were surprised to see me. What were you doing?”
“Nothing,” Waluigi insisted.
Wario snatched the glass out of his hand, slammed it on the table, and crawled closer to Waluigi on the couch. The oppressive odor of alcohol and garlic overwhelmed Waluigi's senses as Wario leaned in to smell him. He grabbed each of Waluigi's wrists in turn and examined his fingers. Then he sat back, but he still didn't look convinced. “Gimme your shit.”
A random search. The more he resisted the more things would escalate. To demonstrate his cooperation, he started unbuttoning his straps. He did it slowly though, hoping Wario would change his mind. Stalling. He couldn't admit to being scared. Wario would ask why. Waluigi would have to say something about Wario being drunk. Wario would be pissed. “I'm nervous about drinking,is all.”
Wario held out his hand. “Off with it.”
Waluigi pulled his shirt over his head. “I can't hold my alcohol as well as you. You know that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. We'll see.” Wario took the shirt and held out his hand again.
Waluigi sighed, stood up, and stepped out of his clothes. He averted his face as Wario checked his foreskin with a few rough squeezes. After a deep breath, Waluigi put one knee on the couch and bent over. This sort of shit was almost routine at this point. Except that Wario was too drunk to remember to spit. Waluigi let out a hiss of discomfort as the thick digit forced its way in dry. It reached and wiggled and poked.
“Hm...” Wario grumbled. “Not finding anything...”
“I told you. I quit.” Not that he'd ever hidden anything up there, anyway, even while he'd been hiding cigarettes.
“I guess you did.” The finger didn't withdraw.
“So can,” Waluigi gulped, “can I go?”
“Upstairs?” The large man laughed and yanked Waluigi's hips so that he was belly down on the couch. “You're not goin anywhere. Not ever. Not a good bitch like you.”
Fuck, should've drank more. He felt Wario's weight shift on top of him as Wario worked his boxers down around his thighs. Then he felt a half-hard cock wedge between his butt cheeks. There was a fleeting hope that Wario was just going to dry hump him until he fell asleep. That hope was summarily dashed as the drunk fucker spent the next three minutes trying to force his flaccid, unlubricated cock into Waluigi's back entrance. He let out a surprised squawk at the first attempt, trying to sink into the couch. Wario dug his fingers in and pulled while he pressed. The bony spine arched as Waluigi wrapped his arms over his head. He emitted soft sobbing noises, but he wasn't sure if he'd get in trouble for talking or not.
Eventually Wario decided he wasn't getting anywhere. He climbed off the other man and moved to stand by his head. Waluigi gasped as a fist yanked his head around to face Wario's crotch. The narrow jaw dropped open to accept Wario's flesh. It was better than the other option. He even took special care to coat it in spit as Wario drew the length forward and backward along his tongue. It was the only way around asking for lube. Gagging up phlegm was harder than it used to be before his reflex was completely fucked, though.
The couch shifted as Wario leaned into Waluigi's face. The thin man took a breath and held it as Wario's belly smothered him completely. His throat distended as Wario filled it. The fat man sighed, withdrew a bit, and then pressed forward again. “Mm... suck while I fuck... Good bitch...”
Waluigi sucked harder—which was a real trick when he had to swallow around a cock. If he could keep Wario distracted, maybe he would forget about his other end. A face-full of old cheese smell was marginally preferable to an ass-full of pain. He could've done without the sensation of Wario's balls caressing his cheek, though.
Almost fully erect now, Wario pressed Waluigi's face into the cushions and remounted him. The bulk settle with a sharp suddenness that forced air out of Waluigi's lungs. The drunken fumbling continued with more effective results this time. Waluigi groaned through clenched teeth. He was already sore from the previous rough treatment. Once Wario started rutting away on top of him, the only thing that kept the pinned man's moans inaudible was his compressed lungs' inability to take in a sufficient amount of air.
Wario flopped and squirmed and groaned for a while. Whenever his thrusts tried to build up any actual speed he popped out, grumbled to himself, and started over. An eternity later he still hadn't shown any signs that he'd finished. He did slow to a stop, though. The bulk settled in heavier and heavier until the whole weight had Waluigi pinned under a snoring, drooling Wario.
Waluigi winced and tried to squirm out sideways. With the couch molded around his belly and Wario molded around his back, escape proved nigh impossible. The trapped man didn't want to struggle too hard, either. There would be hell to pay if he accidentally knocked Wario onto the floor. The skinny limbs went limp. Defeated.
He gazed listlessly at the TV. Wario hadn't bothered to change the channel or turn on the volume. Colorful Toads wrapped in colorful blankets laughed soundlessly in their TV set living room. Waluigi sighed, closed his eyes, and tried to ignore the saliva oozing across his back.
An indeterminate amount of time later, he awoke to a sharp prodding at his ribs. His eyes cracked open and he tried to sit up. The crushing weight had lifted, but his arms were numb and tingly.
“Move it, you lazy fuck. Come on.”
Waluigi blinked and spotted Wario standing over him. “What?”
“Asprin. Water. What else?” Wario snapped.
The guy did look hungover as shit. Waluigi groaned and slithered onto the floor. He reached for his clothes.
“Now!” Wario snarled and kicked at him. “Go!” Then he held his head in his hand and muttered a string of curses as he lowered himself onto the couch.
The lanky legs threatened to buckle as soon as he tried to stand. He used the coffee table, an arm chair, and then the door frame to steady himself as he made is way toward the nearest bathroom. The pins and needles were awful, if not quite on par with the ones he suffered when Wario left him tied up for extended periods. He found the necessary pills in the medicine cabinet and headed to the kitchen. By then the feeling had returned enough that he trusted his fingers to hold a glass of water.
Wario held out his hands impatiently as Waluigi hurried into the living room. He tossed back a random amount of pills and downed the water in two gulps. When he lowered the glass, he scrutinized Waluigi with bloodshot eyes. He pursed his lips and scowled. “You look like shit when you're not bent over.”
Waluigi hunched his shoulders and tried to cover himself with his hands. He thought of a few choice insults for the naked pile of hairy lard on the couch. Instead, he mumbled, “Can I get dressed now?”
“I don't give a fuck what you do,” Wario groused. He oozed onto his side and rolled to face the back of the couch. “Just don't bother me.”
Thankful for the end of the whole ordeal, Waluigi collected his clothes and sneaked out of the room. He thought he felt Wario watching him leave, but he didn't turn around to check. If Wario was going to sleep for an hour, Waluigi was going to bathe for an hour.
