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Frisk was starting to get annoyed.
“Sans… come on, I’ve been waiting forever. How long am I going to have to cover my eyes?” she complained, swinging her legs over the edge of the bench she was moodily collapsed on.
The laminated wood was cool to the touch, slick with dewy perspiration from the humidity of the fading day, but the impatient nineteen-year-old had little mind to spare its comfort, the crook of her arm draped over her eyes dramatically and her ears strained towards the sounds of the skeleton monster doing… something in the background.
He had promised her a night she would never forget, more jittery and excited than she had ever seen him, but ever since arriving at the small nature preserve outside the city, awash with color from the rapidly setting sun, she had been sitting on this damn bench, instructed not to peek at whatever it was he was doing (he had been mumbling to himself and moving objects around in the near distance for close to five minutes).
The exasperated girl heard the monster a few feet away chuckle dotingly, something shuffling against the ground, before warm bones wrapped around her wrist, at long last drawing her arm away from her eyes; Sans smirked down at her fondly as she blinked the darkness away from her eyes, tapping a forefinger against her nose.
“alright, alright. i’m done now. thanks for taking the bench on this one,” the excitedly grinning skeleton acquiesced, winking and pulling Frisk up from the bench with a light but insistent grip, then waved a hand over his handiwork, his chest swelling proudly.
Set out on the top of the hill he had pushed her up, overlooking a swaying field of early corn stalks, the rippled surface of a far off lake, and the last curve of the sun setting over the blackened husk of Mt. Ebott, lay a fuzzy, worn, light blue blanket, separating a wicker picnic basket, a long, green bottle, and a telescope from the long grass, illuminated by an LED lantern set on top of a flat rock, off to the side.
Heart swelling in her throat and tears building in her eyes, Frisk turned silently to look at Sans with wide eyes, her hands clasping at her chest (she didn’t even bother acknowledging his pun, too swept away by his gesture); he had always been a romantic, small gestures like a rose set on her pillow and spontaneous lunches and his fingers entwined with hers where everyone could see, but this was the most effort he had ever put towards a date in their five months together, and she couldn’t help but be touched.
“Sans, it’s… it’s beautiful. I can hardly believe it…” she gushed, wriggling her hand in his grip to tangle her fingers between his phalanges, squeezing his palm in hers and smiling so widely her cheeks hurt, and, a flush of blue spreading across his cheekbones, Sans smiled back, shuffling the toe of his sneaker against the ground and touching lightly at the heart locket strung around his neck.
“well, i mean… we’ve both been so busy lately, with you starting college and me finally getting my degrees accredited… we haven’t had much time together. and as much as i like hanging out at tor’s, i like it better when it’s just us. so when i heard there was gonna be a meteor shower tonight, i figured you’d like to watch it with me,” he explained contentedly, the sparks of light floating in his sockets sparkling like the dawning stars.
Frisk, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness and desire to be alone with her, blushed as well, dropping her gaze shyly and biting her lower lip.
“I… I’ve missed you so much, Sans. School is great and all, but I… I wish I had more time to spend with you,” she admitted, looking up at her skeletal boyfriend from under her eyelashes, and Sans, his grin growing in response to her words, lifted her captured hand and pressed his bony lips to her knuckles, his gaze fervid and sincere.
“i know exactly what you mean, babe. so let’s enjoy ourselves tonight… don’t worry about anything else. it’s just you and me, together,” he promised, practically glowing with happiness and stepping towards the blanket, pulling her hand with eagerness and gentle assurance both, and Frisk followed after him, lightheaded from his attentions.
He was so good at doing that, at stealing her breath away and making her feel like the center of his universe; he always claimed that he was the lucky one, that he was the most fortunate monster in the world to have her as his own, but the way he looked at her, the way he made her feel and everything he did for her…
She was sure there wasn’t another girl in existence that had a better boyfriend.
Following Sans’s lead, Frisk settled on the worn blanket, folding her legs under herself and setting her hand on her lap (Sans had yet to release her other hand, though she hardly minded, glorying in the rasp of his bones against her skin), and watched the monster at her side shuffle to situate himself comfortably, stretching his jean clad legs out in front of himself and scooting as close to her side as he could.
They leaned against each other in silence for a long moment, her head on his shoulder and the side of his skull against the top of hers, their hands wound together and their eyes on the sun as it sunk below the horizon; it was peaceful, as so many times with him were, and Frisk reveled in the feeling of him beside her, her soul swelling in her chest.
God, she loved this monster, sometimes so much she could hardly bear it.
And then, the moment broke, with a loud, rumbling growl from her stomach.
Sans laughed as soon as he heard it, snickering even with the glare she shot him, and gently slipped his hand out of hers to snatch up the basket he had set to the side, sliding it between them and flipping the top up.
“humans… you take so much maintenance. bathrooms, food, skeleton kisses… you’re more trouble than greater dog when he’s in heat,” he chuckled, punctuating his list of dilemmas with a peck to the pouting girl’s cheek, and pulled two fluted, plastic glasses from inside the basket after gesturing into it, indicating that Frisk help herself.
After digging through the contents and removing a prewrapped sandwich and a bag of chisps (she wasn’t even surprised by the abnormal amount of ketchup anymore, just rolling her eyes and smiling affectionately at the skeleton beside her), Frisk watched, with a raised eyebrow, as Sans struggled to remove the cork from the green tinted bottle, taking a bite of her sandwich.
“Shansh… ish that alcohol?” she asked with her mouth full, a dribble of mustard sticking to her lip and an admonishing look in her eye (she had turned nineteen a month ago, still not legal drinking age in her country), and Sans, finally succeeding in pulling the small obstruction from the glass tube, smiled at her sheepishly, shrugging and, idly, wiping the pad of his thumb across her lower lip, catching the condiment clinging to her skin.
“yeah, it is. i happen to know that you can handle it, though, with those parties mk has been having down at the university…” he suggested candidly, giving her an admonishing look of his own (she had the decency to blush, though that was in part due to the monster licking the drop of mustard off of his finger, gaze locked with hers), and Frisk, swallowing her food guiltily, raised her hands, acknowledging her culpability.
“I’m sorry, Sans. I know I shouldn’t have gone… but he talked me into it. Freshmen having successful parties is very rare, and he’s been so excited by the fraternity. Plus, I had some girl friends with me, so I was being safe,” she excused, scratching at her arm ruefully, but Sans waved her explanation away, smirking at her and pouring deep purple liquid into the glasses he held between his fingers.
“don’t worry about it, babe, i know you know how to handle yourself. i wish you’d have told me, so i could know where you were in case something did happen, but you’re a big girl. you can make your own decisions,” he allowed graciously, handing her a half full glass of wine, and Frisk, leaning over her glass to sniff it (it smelled… magical, like ozone and the brightest edge of a flame and sharp frost, like no alcohol she had ever had before), smiled back at him, stretching to press a kiss to his cheekbone.
“Thanks for understanding, honey. I’ll make sure to tell you if I go to one again,” she promised, moving to take a sip of the intriguing liquid in her cup (it had changed colors, from purple to blue, and now smelled like such a large assortment of fruit that she really couldn’t place which was most prevalent), but Sans laid his fingers over the top, shaking his head and nodding at the partially eaten sandwich sitting in her hand.
“you’re gonna need more food than that for this drink. tor will never forgive me if I bring you home drunk as a skunk; the last thing i need is to get the second degree from a school teacher,” he explained softly, joking but serious all at once, and Frisk, sulky but acknowledging the wisdom in his words, acquiesced (Toriel was a good mother, and had loved her unconditionally for years, but had a very deep respect for the law of the land, and would be very upset if she found out about this).
She ate the sandwich and chisps she had chosen (Sans sipped ketchup tranquilly at her side, occasionally traipsing his finger bones down the stitching of her pants idly), the last rays of the sun finally fading from the sky and baring even more of the universe’s stars to her gaze by the time she had finished and dusted the crumbs from her hands, before again picking up the glass she had set aside, inspecting it in the now necessary light of the LED lantern.
The liquid was a lurid yellow now, with white sparks rising from the surface and a waft of chocolate drifting from its bubbling surface.
“That’s so weird… what is this stuff? It keeps changing…” she queried curiously, tilting her head and sloshing the glass, and Sans, chuckling as he picked up his own glass of liquor (which was a bright red, swirled through with blue stripes), shrugged nonchalantly, though the pleased grin he wore gave an entirely different answer.
“oh, nothing much. just a little something grillbz and i invented in the underground. he eventually had to stop making it because of the cost, but i kept a few bottles… for special occasions. it’s magic. pure magic, undiluted and distilled and taken straight from the land, mixed with whatever kind of alcohol the buyer wanted. i picked a white wine,” he explained proudly, looking, with fond memory, at the glass in his hand, then clinked the edge of his against Frisk’s.
“take it slow, yeah? it’s a sipping drink, i don’t want you to get sick,” he warned, leaning over to nuzzle the ridge of his nasal cavity into her hair (Frisk flushed, his breath tickling along her neck and making her hands tremble with her sensation), before they both drank from their glasses, Frisk with coltish caution and Sans with relish.
It was like licking the edge of a thunderbolt, intertwined with the sweetness of the wine and laced with an intoxicating, lavish, velvety flavor she couldn’t describe, could only compare to a cloud; it was delicious and new and , so much so that she immediately went back for another sip, but, at a look from Sans (he didn’t say anything, but she knew what he meant), slowed herself, licking her lips and feeling, happily, the settling of a new warmth in her stomach.
After what felt like an appropriate amount of time, during which she grew very warm and snuggly (Sans, chuckling adoringly, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, holding her against his side as he sipped much more frequently at his glass), Frisk took another drink, savoring the flavor of the liquid as it washed over her tongue, then set the glass to the side, tilting her chin up to look at the stars.
“When is the meteor shower supposed to start?” she asked curiously, tracing the line of Orion’s Belt with her eyes, and Sans, pulling his cell phone from his coat pocket to check the time, leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead before scooting over to look into the lens of the small telescope, directed away from the glow of the city lights in the distance behind them.
“any minute now, babe. we’ll be able to see them without the telescope, so you don’t have to move a muscle,” he informed her, twisting the adjustor on the instrument as he gazed through it, then resettled himself at her side, throwing back the dregs at the bottom of his glass and setting it back inside the basket.
“hey, babe. why was the restaurant on the moon not very successful?” he asked after a moment of contemplation, his gaze lighting on the surface of the crescent moon clinging to the horizon, and Frisk, glancing at the already smirking skeleton from the corner of her eye, held back a smile of her own, tilting her head in query.
“Because no one could breathe?” she answered jokingly, doing her best to keep her face straight, and, beside the struggling girl, Sans snorted, elbowing her in the ribs softly.
“close… there was no atmosphere,” he finished, chuckling quietly at his own joke, and Frisk couldn’t hold back her amusement, letting out a rueful snicker.
“That was awful, baby,” she laughed, pushing his shoulder lightly, and he laughed with her, leaning into the pressure of her hand dramatically.
“hey, i couldn’t hold it in. i made a comet-ment to it,” he snarked, shooting her a grin and nodding his head up at the sky, and Frisk, rolling her eyes and sighing dramatically (but unable to hide her smile or her shaking shoulders), looked back up at the dawning stars, jolting slightly when she spotted the newly arrived streaks of flame shooting between the far-off stars.
She bent forward excitedly, eyes wide and focused on the celestial wonder; meteor showers were rare in their part of the country, and she hadn’t seen one since she was a child, long before she fell into the Underground.
Frisk sat, enraptured, as she watched the space debris catch fire as it fell through the atmosphere, the stars reflecting in her awe-filled eyes, her legs folded under her and her fingers tracing a slow circle around the rim of her glass (she occasionally sipped from it, starting to feel incredibly comfortable).
“It really is beautiful, isn’t it…” she observed, with a sigh, after a long moment of silence, setting aside her half-finished drink (he hadn’t been kidding, it was really strong) and settling back with her arms stretched behind her, smiling at the spectacle above her, and Sans huffed quietly at her side, his hand sliding over hers.
“the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he muttered, his voice very close to her ear, and Frisk, surprised by his closeness, turned to look at him.
He wasn’t even pretending to look at the sky, gaze fully on her as he watched her profile with a gentle smile pulling at his mouth, affection and desire in the weight of his magical eyes; Frisk flushed gracelessly, under his stare, reaching up to tuck a strand of her flyaway hair behind her ear self-consciously.
“I… I meant the meteors and the s-stars,” she explained, avoiding his gaze shyly, and Sans snickered beneath his breath, scooting closer to her and tracing the back of a forefinger down her arm.
“and i meant you, babe. have i ever told you how beautiful you look under the night sky? i always wanted to see the stars, always wanted to do this, spend a night out in the open with a telescope and just watch them sparkle… and now i can’t even look at them. they just don’t compare…” he admitted heavily, laying his forehead against hers and staring into her eyes with such sincerity and candor that Frisk felt tears building in her eyes, the edges of her vision wobbling from the water obscuring her eyesight.
“Sans, I… I love you so much…” she managed to force out, her voice breaking in her overwhelming wash of emotion, and Sans breathed out a gasp of blissful reciprocation, his hands rising to cup her face between them.
“i love you too, babe… so much my soul can’t contain it. i… i feel like we’re so close, so close to being together forever… i don’t wanna rush you, wanna give you time, but sometimes… when i look at you and hear you say my name and feel your skin… i need you so fucking much,” he murmured, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs, and Frisk, love practically bursting from her, closed the distance between them, her lips pushing against his teeth and her arms wrapping around the back of his neck rapturously.
Sans blinked in surprise, usually the one to make the first move, but then smiled against her mouth and shuttered his lids, pulling her into the cradle of his arms, digging his fingers into her hair, and meeting her fervor with his own.
After a long, drawn out time spent tangled in each other, gentle touches and fervent, lingering kisses and heavy breaths exchanged without qualms (at some point they had laid down on the blanket, one of her legs twisted between his and their chests pressed together), they broke apart slowly, curled up against each other and trading soft, sweet pecks beneath the watchful stars.
Frisk, her heart pounding loudly in her chest, ran her fingers through the fluffy lining of her monster lover’s hood, smiling giddily and snuggling as close to him as she could get.
“I’m so glad you brought me out here… I know mom likes having you around, and Papyrus is fun to hang out with, but… I can’t k-kiss you while they’re watching, it’s weird. Mom always smiles… and then tries to tell me about how she used to be like that with dad when she was my age. Bleh…” she sighed, cringing and shaking the image of her parents being lovey dovey from her head, and Sans laughed heartily, twisting a strand of Frisk’s hair around his forefinger and pressing another set of small, quick kisses to her lips.
“paps is almost as bad. he keeps finding dating books at the library for me to ‘research’, and last week managed to get his hands on a copy of The Kama Sutra. i did get some good ideas from it, but… i’d rather not share that stuff with my brother,” he chuckled, smoothing the palm of his hand along the side of her face, and Frisk, having glanced through the book herself a few times, flushed lightly, ducking her face away bashfully.
Sans didn’t let her, though, and slipped a finger below her chin, lifting her shy gaze to meet his own suddenly very flirty one.
He smirked at her impishly, tracing a forefinger around her kiss-swollen lips.
“so you’ve read it too, huh… see anything you like? anything you’d wanna try? …anything you want me to do to you?” he muttered huskily, breathing hotly across her skin and lowering his bony eyelids seductively, and Frisk nearly fainted, so much blood rushed into her cheeks, left dizzy and embarrassed and turned on.
She had seen one, a position where the woman knelt in front of the man on her hands and knees while he… but she would never be able to tell him, especially not now, not when just thinking about him doing that to her made her feel like she would float off into space.
Sans seemed to catch on to her state, her inability to speak and her absentmindedness, but didn’t take pity on her, grinning confidently and snickering instead as his magic flickered in his left eye socket.
“i bet you did… dirty girl. my little tease, looking at filth and thinking, imagining, wishing for it to happen to her… so how am i fucking you, hmm, when you think about you and me together? do you like me on top of you… your legs wrapped around my waist… your arms around my shoulders while i get you off on my cock…” he whispered, his fingers combing through her hair and sending tingling shock waves down her body.
Frisk gasped, her breath leaving her in a sharp, rushed gasp; she had never felt as hot as she did right then, her blood rushing in her head and her eyesight fuzzy and her focus, almost entirely, on his hands, his fingertips curling through her hair and tracing lingeringly along her side.
It was by no means the first time he had touched her, had talked to her like this; they had gone pretty far before, stolen moments in dark corners as they kissed and groped and whispered desire (she had had very shy phone sex with him a few weeks back, the sound of his voice when he described what he wanted to do to her intoxicating), but this felt different, real and intense and so, so mind blowing.
They were finally alone, in each other’s arms, and so in love… she wanted him, tonight, and knew it had nothing to do with the strange, delicious wine, sitting forgotten on the far edge of the rumpled blanket.
She’d wanted it, wanted him, for so long…
Outside of Frisk’s contemplation, Sans was watching her reactions with animated pleasure, biting at his lower lip line and breathing fairly heavily himself; elation shook his bones in their sockets, the heaviness and potential of the moment not lost on him, and, excited, he scooted closer to the girl in his arms, pushing his mouth against her ear.
“like that, huh? but not what you want… do you wanna be on top, then? do you wanna ride my dick, babe? hold me down, take control, let me watch you enjoy yourself…” he rasped, plucking at the hem of her shirt to slip his fingers underneath and stroke along the skin of her soft stomach, and Frisk, already heavily stimulated by just his words, shivered at the sensation of his warm bones on her flesh, flushing even darker.
He was so good at this…
Sans went on, encouraged by her reactions; he pressed a short but passionate kiss to her lips, trailing his hand higher under her shirt and tangling his fingers into her hair to tilt her mouth against his, before breaking away, staring into her drooping, desire hazed eyes from inches away.
“not that either? mmm… could it be that you want me to hold you up against a wall, your legs draped over my arms, while i fuck you hard enough to wake the neighbors?” he coaxed playfully, her whole body shuddering against his as he touched her and teased her (she was clutching helplessly at the front of his coat now, panting through her parted lips and whimpering quietly beneath her breath).
Sans crooked a brow bone, something wicked materializing in his gaze; he smirked widely, lowering his mouth to her throat to drag his teeth, canines sharp against her skin, to the crook of her neck and shoulder (it was his favorite place to nuzzle and leave hickeys, seemingly drawn to it preternaturally).
“but that’s not what you want… you want me to take control. you want me to bend you over in front of me, over a table or on the ground, and pounded your pussy from behind…” he murmured suggestively against her skin, glancing up at her from the corner of his sockets and ticking his forefinger along the protrusions of her ribs, and Frisk, shocked in her haze of stimulation and teasing and hapless desire, let out a squeaky whimper, unintentional but audible.
Sans, curiosity vindicated, grinned hungrily, his magic springing to life in his left socket; his tongue, thick and dripping luminescent blue saliva, extended past his teeth to lick a tingling trail along the skin of her throat.
“we have a winner… and she likes it dirty,” he purred gutturally, his questing hand digging under her bra to clutch greedily at her breast; he ran the tip of his tongue in a wending path up the column of her neck, his free hand grasping her wrist and dragging it down the protrusions of his ribcage to settle against the turgid bulge pushing at the front of his jeans.
Sans thrust against her palm the moment she made contact, a grunt escaping him at the extra pressure it placed on him, and flicked the end of his protruding tongue over Frisk’s chin before slipping the appendage back into the confines of his jaws to press needy, saliva dampened kisses to her lips.
“i’ve missed you so much, missed hearing you moan for me… i’m gonna make you feel so good, babe…” he muttered against her mouth gruffly, squeezing her soft flesh in his grasp and practically humping her hand in his hapless desire.
Frisk, heat from her roaring hormones washing over her whole body in droves, met his attentions with tremulous but anticipatory excitement, loving the way he lost control when he got like this; he was so often laid back in his day to day life, content to joke and tease and laze about, but when things started getting heavy between them, when he got that feisty glint in his eye…
He became a salacious, dominating beast, considerate but voracious for control, and something deep inside of her, something filthy and dark and submissive, acknowledged that that was just what she liked, how she wanted to be handled by her lover.
Knowing all the things he could do to her (and probably intended to) and wanting desperately to reciprocate, Frisk, remarkably bravely, traced her fingertips along the hot, hard bulge her hand was being pressed against, searching for the pull tab of his zipper while trying her hardest to not just collapse into inaction, the feeling of his mouth devouring hers and his phalanges cupping her breast setting her mind aflame.
Sans felt her movements, guessing at her intentions, and grinned against the girl’s lips excitedly (she had rubbed him through his pants before, had felt his desire for her pressed against her body, but this would be the first time she touched him directly), shifting his hips back a little so she could get better access and Frisk, flushing and giggling nervously, finally found the tab with her thumb, tentatively licking along the point of one of his canines as she did (and shivering delightedly when he growled at her spiritedly for it).
She had even more trouble now that she had found the zipper, though, fumbling with it one handed while the other clutched helplessly at the fur of his ruffled coat to keep herself grounded, to hold herself to the in place so she wouldn’t fly away on the wings of her growing appetite for him; she struggled futilely for a few moments, her attention split between his mouth on hers and his hand cupping her bare breast in his palm and the hardness pressing against the zipper she fought with, until he chuckled, slid his free hand from her wrist, and helped her tug the pull tab down.
Frisk, nervous but determined, slid her fingers through the separated teeth of the monster’s baggy jeans, her fingers brushing along the smooth surface of his cock, just the bare touch of her fingertips making it twitch.
Self-consciously, trying to lick past her lover’s parted teeth and force her hand down his pants at the same time, Frisk finally settled the length of him against her palm, attempting to wrap her fingers around him but failing splendidly (god, he was… surely this wasn’t how big he was… her overpowered imagination must be exaggerating things…).
She shifted against the hard-edged but gentle skeleton, trying to find a good angle to move her hand and keep kissing him both while not interrupting the rubbing of his bones against her breast (she shivered, letting out a tiny moan when he flicked his thumb over her nipple, and felt a rumbling growl reverberate in his chest in response, his kisses growing more urgent), and gave a few experimental strokes of her hand against the sensitive magical organ in her grasp, testing the waters.
Frisk heard Sans’s breath hitch as she did, his hips flexing into her motion, and he pulled away from her mouth momentarily to stare into her eyes, his breath ragged against her lips; there was an unrestrained sort of savagery in his gaze, hunger and desperate longing seeping from his bones (he looked like a man starved, lust layered on his heavy breath), before he tugged her against him again, prying her lips apart with his tongue.
“stroke up and down, rub your thumb over the head… and squeeze tighter, babe. you won’t hurt me,” he growled against her parted lips, bucking his cock further into her grasp (her hand slid to the base of his dick, touching both bone and magic at once), before smashing his bony lips against hers again, sweeping the tip of his tongue against hers lasciviously and squeezing, passingly, at the swell of her ass.
She gasped against his ministrations, attempting to do as he had told her despite her inexperience, and was rewarded with gasps of his own, groans of ecstasy spilling into her mouth; he tasted like the salty sweetness of ketchup, like the wine they had shared and the freshness of pure snow, and she gloried in it, pumping her hand along the thickness of his cock and letting herself fall into the pleasure of their entanglement.
It was empowering and sexual and overwhelming, so much happening at once to her body and her senses that she had almost no room in her head to think of anything but his body against hers; she could barely keep up with the flow of pleasure, never exactly sure whose she was feeling in the wash of emotion and sensation.
Frisk could feel the growing wetness in her panties, could practically taste her mounting need to have him finally do all the things he had told her about and promised and whispered in her ear (he liked to push her against walls and press himself against her body, letting her feel the hardness in his pants as he muttered wicked, dirty things to her), and plead, with any god listening, that he would finally relent.
She had been begging for weeks now, driven insane by his teasing and touches, but he had thus far refused to give in to her, insisting that they could not sleep together until he had finished paying off the jeweler for her marking gift.
Sans was adamant about it, refusing any possibility that he may hurt her in a rush of instinctual possession (according to him, it was almost impossible to resist a physical marking while having sex for the first time with your soul mate, if one had not already been placed), but claimed that it would only be a few more weeks, three at most, before he would finally, at long last, be able to bind her to him.
He would look fondly at the center of her chest whenever he said that, muttering “soon” beneath his breath every time, before changing the subject, no matter how much she protested.
He frustrated her so, but there was just no arguing with him.
He was too good at avoiding things he didn’t want to to talk about.
So, most likely, he would pull back before things got too serious, denying her yet again (she would pout more, but she knew it was just as hard on him; she had seen the way he looked at her after they got too handsy, how he would tremble and how his magic would spark almost uncontrollably), but she would take what she could get while she could.
Every moment with him was priceless, after all, fond and treasured memories of love and soul deep affection, and she wouldn’t give them up for anything.
As such, Frisk shook away her expectant impatience, pressing herself against the skeleton that comprised the center of her universe, tangling her tongue with his and stroking his cock heatedly, and was content.
And, for a time, all was well, soft moans and encouraging growls and the wet motion of a lover’s embrace the only ambiance in the quiet night, the stars turning overhead unnoticed… until, following a particularly long swell of noise (Sans had captured her tongue between his teeth and, wickedly, snuck his free fingers between her own legs, forcing sounds that she had never made before from her throat), Frisk broke away from the monster’s bony lips to catch her breath, and heard, almost a whisper and far in the distance, a long, low whine.
Still blearily lost in her distracted state, Sans’s hands magic on her skin as he coaxed her into diversion, Frisk initially disregarded the sound, maintaining the distance between herself and the skeleton’s tempting mouth only long enough to regain composure before diving in for more kisses, sweat dripping down her temples.
When he pulled back to nibble at her lower lip, though, she heard it again, closer and more distinctive and decisively more difficult to ignore; it was a sound she felt that she knew well, but couldn’t quite place, something that felt like dread settling in her stomach upon hearing it again.
The only thing she could compare it to was a wounded animal, howling feverishly in the distance.
Sans, clearly unperturbed by the sound, bit one last time at her swollen lower lip before returning to kissing her, his grip on her breast shifting to roll her nipple between his forefinger and thumb; Frisk, however, couldn’t put the nagging feeling of fear from her mind, the sound in the distance pulling at her mind despite how he was making her feel.
“What’s that noise?” she murmured against his bony lips, panting and hazy and arching into his touch, and Sans, a needy growl rumbling in his rib cage, rolled his hips into her hand urgently, slicking his tongue across her parted lips.
“what noise, babe? i can’t hear anything… besides you… god, you sound so fucking sexy… i want you so bad…” he groaned rapturously, plunging his undulating tongue past her lips and clenching his free hand over hers, through the thick material of his jeans, to guide her hand up and down the length of his cock faster (it glowed with a sheen of electric blue through the denim and the cracks in her fingers, a color she was becoming increasingly happy to see and hopefully, soon, would get to know intimately).
She would have been content with that answer, too, sucking passionately at his smooth tongue and listening to him moan keenly in response (he had confessed to loving that particular move, something he had never felt before and never failed to turn him on) and enjoying the way his hot, slightly rough finger bones pinched at her nipple and thinking, very hard, about how good it would feel to have the thick, throbbing cock in her stroking palm inside of her…
Had the howling not gotten louder.
Soon, the noise was inescapable, ubiquitous and bothersome and uncomfortably ostentatious; the temperature also began to sink noticeably, gooseflesh rising on her arms and the bared flesh of her stomach despite the warmth of Sans’s bones where they lay bare against her.
It sounded… it sounded almost like a storm, but there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, not even a whisper of wind disturbing her hair as she lay tangled in the monster beside her, trading saliva and breath and desire with the love of her entire life.
Frisk could physically feel her interest in his closeness waning, however, the knowledge that something was out of place and strange and wrong clamoring warning bells in her mind, despite not knowing what was happening; she pulled away from him, reluctant but worried, to sit up and look around her surroundings.
Sans tried to pull her back down, whining in the back of his throat for her to come back, but she couldn’t rest easy, felt literally sick to her stomach as the noise only grew louder, ringing in her eardrums and filling her soul with dread.
What was it?
“Baby… are you sure you can’t hear that?” she asked numbly, searching the dark, star-studded horizon for any sign that there could be an approaching storm (that sound was definitely wind, piercing and whistling along what sounded like wooden slats), but she was answered with silence, the only thing she could hear above the howl of the mysterious wind the crunch of what sounded, impossibly, like boots through snow and the slamming of a door.
“…Sans? Honey?” she queried, her eyebrows wrinkling over her searching eyes when she got no response after almost a whole minute, and turned back to where he had been lying… only to find the space empty, the blanket spread, wrinkled and clearly used, bare at her side.
Dread and horror spreading through her whole body, Frisk scrambled to her feet, staring at the previously occupied space even as she stepped away from it.
What the hell was going on?!
“Sans? Sans? If this is your idea of a joke, it isn’t funny!” she called out worriedly into the pressing darkness around herself, the stars winking out in the sky above her, one by one, stealing their already bare light from the plains spread into the distance, but was answered again only by the galing wind.
Until she turned on the spot, trying to see if she could still spot the path the two of them had used to climb the hill, and came face to face with the devil himself, his shadowy, omnipresent figure even darker than the deepest shadows of the night beyond him.
He was grinning down at her, his sharp teeth glinting in the fading light… and laughed softly at her instant flash of fear, his smile only growing and the height he towered over her lengthening.
“you should know by now, sugar… i don’t joke with my prey,” he growled, clawed fingers wrapping themselves into the front of her shirt and bright red eyes pinning her in place immovably; she felt herself choke on her trepidation, clenching around her neck like a too tight collar.
He laughed again, dragging her closer to himself; fur and bone and ravaging fright ran along her skin, even as she hung, helpless, in the grasp of the creature holding her captive.
“and you are my prey, beautiful… my pretty little mark, the victim for my hunger… and i’m gonna eatcha alive, body and soul,” he hissed, smoke curling from his nasal cavity (she smelled nicotine on it, not the brimstone she had expected), and, jaws separating into the most terrifying, fanged deathtrap she had ever seen, glinting with gold and red magic and blood, he lunged for her, his pointed teeth sinking into her bare shoulder.
She woke up screaming, thrashing and clutching at her unmarked flesh and flashing her wide, panicked eyes around her surroundings, looking desperately for the demon that had, surely, torn her to shreds.
She was alone, though, lying prone and panting and still shaking with fear in what appeared to be a small wooden shack; she was currently curled up in a pile of filthy, threadbare blankets, a gleam of cold metal set next to it revealed to be a tarnished silver dog bowl, partially filled with water, and was tethered to the wall behind her by a sturdy chain, attached to a thick, spiked leather collar that was strapped securely around her neck.
The shuttered illumination of a light post, far out in the street, shone a pale finger of light through the dusty windows and across dirty floorboards that stretched towards sturdy, well-structured cage bars set into the floor and ceiling of the small room, separating her from the door that clearly lead outside.
A strong blizzard beat against the walls of the shack, shaking them and the thin glass windows set in them, and as she felt her heart start to settle, her hand pressing quellingly at the center of her chest while she gasped for breath, she remembered.
She was in the Underground.
She was a prisoner, held captive by an evil, cold, sadistic form of the skeleton she had just been dreaming of, and had been for close to a month.
The demon from the dream was almost preferable to him… as least he had killed her outright (she really hoped that was what he had been doing, at least, the feeling of his teeth in her shoulder still pushing at her consciousness unsettlingly) instead of playing with her and torturing her and, lately…
Frisk shuddered, putting the thought of the strange Sans’s questionable intentions from her mind immediately, rubbing her eyes with the backs of her hands before staring, blearily, out the east window of the shack, trying to gauge the time.
It was extremely dark outside the shed, and consequentially inside as well…
He would be coming soon.
Scowling at the thought, Frisk sank as far into her bundle of blankets as she could, wrapping the thin material around her shoulders and trying to ignore the emptiness of her stomach in favor of trying to remember the dream she had just been ripped from.
It had been an uncommonly pleasant one, before it had turned dark and, admittedly, scary; she usually ended up dreaming about what she suffered at the hands of her captor, but had instead relived one of the best nights of her life… the last night she had spent with her Sans.
It seemed almost crueler than reliving her daily tortures, now that she had been shoved back into this reality, torn from the arms of her almost lover; the loss felt physical, her chest aching turbulently and burning tears pricking at her eyes.
She wiped angrily at them with her ragged, stained sleeve, hiccupping softly and closing her eyes against the sadness that pierced her to her soul; she missed him, her Sans, so much, would do anything to get him back, but it seemed impossible.
Did he even still exist?
Was all she had left of him her memories and the hole in her heart and the avaricious, nasty, confusing shade that had replaced him?
A quiet sob shook her shoulders, her arms wrapped around her legs as she rocked in place.
She just wanted him back.
She was torn from her mourning, though, when the door to the shed was wrenched open suddenly, so shocked by the abruptness of the motion that she jumped, the thick, dark shadow of her captor, all that was left of her Sans, blocking most of the doorway but still allowing the scream of the wind and to cool of the storm into the shack.
Dissatisfied and angry to have had so little time with her dream and steeling herself for another evening of cruelty, harsh words, and, more than likely, his hands on her body, Frisk turned her face away from his silhouette and scowled at her nearly empty water bowl, the frost creeping up the edge only reminding her of how much she hated but also depended on the creature stepping through the door and stomping his snow encrusted shoes on the floorboards.
Her stomach growled, at that moment, trained to anticipate sustenance by his presence, and she hated that too, swallowing at the dryness of her throat and the needling pressure of dread in her otherwise empty stomach.
She could already feel his sharp, hard eyes on her, shining from the darkness, staring through her skin and into her soul, and she shuddered, hugging her knees as the jingle of his keys rang through the small enclosure she was kept inside, accompanied by the click of the lock on the cage door and the light thunk of the already fluttering lantern as he set it outside the bars of her well-built cage.
The move was a precaution, a reminder of her attempt to smash the last one in his face; she was smug that he was being so cautious as to try to prevent it happening again, even if the beating she had gotten for the attack was something she disliked remembering (she was fairly sure some of her bones were still bruised, even though he had fed her since then).
Frisk’s arrogance dispelled as soon as he stepped into the cage, though, the light finally illuminating the monster to her view (the memory of the demon from the dream sinking his teeth into her made her shudder, bile trying to force its way up her throat).
The tall, girthy skeleton wore his usual ensemble, rough black shorts decorated with yellow piping, red and yellow high-top sneakers that he never bothered to tie correctly, and his incredibly fluffy, fur lined black jacket (she wondered, sometimes, how warm it was, especially when it had been a particularly cold day like today), zipped up over a red turtleneck sweater and tagged, in several places, with red, decorative patches that read things like “Bad to the Bone”, “Caution: Will Bite”, and “Fuck Bitches, Get Money” (Get Money was crossed out with what looked like black marker).
He also wore an animated expression tonight, though, his usual sharp-fanged smile a bit brighter and less cruel and his magical gaze flickering excitedly in his sockets; there was a spring in his step, joviality in the way he carried himself as he walked over to the bolted connector that secured her neck chain to the wall, swinging his keys around one extended phalange.
“evenin’, bitch. didja miss me? i betcha did…” he commented drily, flicking through his keys to find the one that matched the lock on the hook with the hum of a song she didn’t know carried on his lilted, carefree tone (what had him in such a good mood?), and a few feet from him, resentfully feeling the pull of her chain around her neck as he released it from the wall, Frisk sneered at her bowl acerbically, already feeling burning loathing rising in her stomach.
She didn’t deserve to be stuck here with him, to be so far separated from her Sans… she hated how much like him this monster was, the dream reminding her of how similar their voices were and how, sometimes, he looked at her like her Sans had used to.
She had done nothing to justify this lot, to be sentenced to a bleak future of pain and loneliness and him.
She should have been curled against her boyfriend, snuggled into his arms and free to kiss him if she wanted and not consigned to seeing him only in too short, too faded dreams.
She was tired of putting up with this bastard, too tired to care that she was being stupid or to remember what always happened when she snapped at him (he was not a forgiving monster, and had a hard hand when incited to losing his temper), and lashed out, her chest hurting from the ferocity with which she longed for her almost lover.
“Why the hell would I miss you,” she growled beneath her breath, glaring up at the smirking skeleton winding the now free length of chain he held around his carpals, and Sans paused for a moment, surprise flashing across his expression fleetingly, before it disappeared into an even wider grin, a sharpness that had been absent before narrowing his sockets.
“well, well… someone’s got a twist in their panties. lemme see if i can help ya out…” he crooned, the edge of his smile twisting slightly as he flicked his gaze away from hers to stare explicitly down the front of her torn dress (Frisk flushed hotly, closing one of her hands around the rend to close it), before pulling up on the chain in his grasp demandingly, constricting the spiked collar around her neck.
“get your ass up. i got some questions for ya, and you’re gonna keep a civil tongue in your head while i ask ‘em… wouldn’t want a repeat of last night, would we,” he commanded, challenge and warning in his eye as he watched her expectantly, and Frisk, scowling petulantly but knowing full well what he could do with that chain (passing out from lack of air was not fun), pushed herself to her feet, keeping her fingers tight around the tear in her top as she did.
She may have to go along with some of his ridiculous demands to preserve her health, but it definitely did not mean she was giving in to him.
She had some requests of her own, after all, and she did not have to cooperate until he met them.
Firming her resolve and lifting her chin, backed by the rumbling of her stomach and her stalwart bravery despite the danger she knew she could be placing herself in, Frisk stared up into the flickering red eyes of her captor, narrowing her own eyes and curling a lip in dislike.
“Aren’t you going to feed me? I’m hungry, and if you don’t give me something to eat, I won’t tell you a damn thing.”