Chapter Text
The second you see the redness of his cheekbones, you know something's off.
Throughout the past twelve months since you met Sans, you've never once seen him blush or show any other form of embarrassment.
Which can only mean he shagged someone before showing up here, jacked himself off for whatever reason, or he's drunk abundant amounts of alcohol for the two of you combined.
You know him well enough to have all three checked out as possibilities, completely different from how you act. He sleeps around when he feels like it, satisfying himself and his partner for the night, while you’ve had trouble finding a date that won't leave you without an orgasm. You've been to his place, shared a bed, and heard him pleasure himself when he thinks you've fallen asleep, while you're too much of a prude to even try doing that at home alone. He drinks until he can't remember what he did that day, while you drink until you feel a little dizzy and a lot more bold. All-in-all, he could have numerous reasons for looking the way he does.
“hey,” Sans greets, sitting down on the bar stool next to yours.
“Hey,” you reply, taking away the beer you bought for him.
You further confirm he’s deeply drunk, since he doesn't bother to look at the beer he likes, even as you hold it in your hands and claim it as yours.
“how's it goin'?”
“Same as usual.”
Rather than at the beer, Sans stares at your face.
Not at your eyes, or at the dangly golden heart earrings you're wearing, but at your lips.
“you're wearin' a new lipgloss,” he comments, his grin lifting when he lowers his gaze to your waist, and then to your shoes. “lookin’ mighty sharp, too.” He looks back up. “went on a date today?”
“Uh…” You try to cover yourself with the glass of beer, but his irises seem to phase through it, given how intense their glow is. “No, I, um… I haven't matched with anyone decent yet.”
“great,” he says, flaring his nose cavity. “not uh, the not gettin' a match thing, but the fact that you're still single.”
Oh, gosh.
You don't like where this is going.
“so…”
He's staring at your lips again.
“since, ya know, we've been drinkin’ buddies for a year now…”
You don't want your arrangement to end — not like this.
“and since i’ve never been with a human before…”
No, no, no, no, no.
“i wanna try somethin’ out…” Sans scratches the back of his skull, and he looks down at the table, his cheekbones tinting redder. “a whatchamacallit…” He chuckles, his grin as plastered as that sound. “a friends with benefits sorta thing? not just… a one-night stand, i mean. more than that.”
As if to make matters worse, he eyes you over and stares at your chest.
“been wantin’ to know what those mounds feel like in my hands.”
You have no control over what you do next.
And, by the time you do, you've already thrown the beer at his face and told him to fuck off.
“Cool down, will you?” you scoff, glaring at him. “I— I thought you were a real friend, and…” You rub a hand across your face at the first sign of your cheeks warming up, the icy temperature of the beer having stuck to your palm. “And not a ‘nice’ guy wanting an easy fuck!”
Now you know you've messed up.
No matter how long you've known him and how long it's been since monsters arrived at the Surface, you still count as a human getting all up in his business, bothering him while you're in a district strictly owned by monsters only.
What's more, you've poured a drink at a man known for harming people at the slightest provocation.
He's like the leader of this side of town, and he knows it.
“You've only dated monsters before. Why this, all of a sudden?”
So, why is he doing this — putting you at risk like this?
Doubling down and making himself look so vulnerable, like he doesn't have the power to make you disappear without a trace?
“c’mon,” Sans pleads, unfazed by what you've done. “one night, at least.”
His chest and face are dripping wet, but he doesn't bother to clean himself up. The people all around are completely different from his unbothered state, like you went out of your way to insult them and their bloodlines personally. Murmurs and whispers overcome the music playing in the jukebox, and Grillby shakes his head as if to emphasize you've taken a risky step. The drunk man sitting next to you is much different from the sober one you've seen in various alleyways, confronting his current victim to get what he wants. He's much different from the one you've seen make other women swoon with as much ease as blinking, his bad jokes adding further charm to contrast his violent nature.
“Let’s talk,” you bark, standing up from the bar stool. “Outside, in my car.”
While you stomp out, ignoring the rumours already being spread about you, Sans follows behind you, quietly and keeping up with your pace.
This is an… unconventional way to do it, but it seems to be the most effective to get through him.
“damn,” Sans says, squeezing your breasts. “this feels good.”
After the bar incident, you drove far out of the monster district and parked behind a movie theater still under construction.
Now, Sans has you pinned against the door of the backseat of your car, groping your breasts so hard and so roughly, it almost feels like you aren't wearing a bra or a dress. Him kneeling and leaning over your body while you’re nearly underneath him makes your height difference more pronounced, a sense of powerlessness overcoming you. The worry in your thoughts heightens as you think about how many people you've pissed off by treating him like he's just another drunk guy at Grillby's.
“Is that all you're curious about?” you ask, sipping in a breath when he pinches your nipples. The silky fabric of your bra might as well as be deemed useless in this situation. “Why not… go to the redlight district and pay for a human's service?”
Sans sucks on a nipple, leaving a big wet spot behind when he pulls back.
He's good at making it feel right, so you have to grab the top of his skull and close your eyes for a second, sighing the feeling away. If taking a couple of shots while waiting for him to show up didn't already make you a tad tipsy, the scent of his cologne makes you feel like you've drunk more than you thought. The air conditioner hardly does anything to fight against the heat of his breaths against your skin and his warm, increasingly smouldering touches all over your body. Your thoughts are a mess, and your heart yearns for something you're too aware he won't be able to give you. It's bittersweet, and a bit salty as you lick a few tears that have slipped past your eyes.
“it’s not the same,” he says, sucking your other nipple. He leaves a larger wet spot behind, and you notice the erection hidden under his pants grow bigger. “it's gotta be with you.”
That's a confession of feelings, if you've ever heard one.
But it's not the way you would have liked it.
“I’m no one special,” you remark, biting on your lip when he slips his hands under your armpits, the sleeveless dress allowing him to gain full access to the annoyingly sensitive flesh of your breasts. “You could find yourself someone more experienced. Someone who can try it all out with you.”
He asks if he can touch some more, and you mumble a yes, then shut your eyes, gasp, and arch your back as soon as his fingers graze your bare nipples.
It's rough and it's needy, like he's been holding himself back for who knows how long.
“can i feel your butt now?”
You don't know whether to be annoyed or flattered at the fact he's chosen to ignore your statement, so you nod as reluctantly as that thought.
“you sure?”
He narrows an eye socket and raises another, making it seem as if he's raising an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“bend over, then,” he commands, and his skull paints itself red again. “uh… please.”
You turn your back to him and do as he says, knees and elbows on the seat while your butt hangs in the air.
He groans out a dragged ‘fuck’, then sets his hands on either cheek, squeezing them.
“spread your legs a lil’,” he instructs, fitting himself between them when you do.
His fingertips aren't long, but they're sharp, and you can feel them dig past all the layers of clothing and into your skin.
“you're so soft,” he mumbles, and you can see him close his eye sockets through the reflection of your car’s window. “can i…”
There's the sound of something unzipping, and then of heavy fabric shifting.
“can i put it between your cheeks?”
At the feeling of something thick slipping into the crack even before you've given him permission, you let out an involuntary moan.
“i like you a lot,” he says, and — again — this isn't the way you wanted his confession to be like. “can i keep goin'?” His words are careful, like he's dealing with a short fuse. “and, uh… maybe do the same with your tits?”
You close your eyes and gasp as he pushes himself forward a little.
“...S— Sure.”
He grabs your butt tighter, then presses your cheeks together, applying pressure to his length.
The car rocks as he thrusts himself back and forth between your cheeks.
“you’re fuckin' amazin’,” he groans, picking up his pace. “i knew it.”
Your dress causes a slightly awkward experience, though it's thin enough that his precum seeps into the fabric and makes his member slide easier with each movement in and out.
Similar to the bra, your panties are a useless barrier he surpasses with sufficient ease, his release now wetting both the dress and your underwear.
He keeps thrusting and shoots some of his load on your back, the warmth felt on your skin immediately.
“turn around.”
Sans pulls his member away and holds it in his palm while you lay on your back, pushing your breasts together when you're in a comfortable position.
“This is the last thing I’m letting you do,” you warn, looking to the side as he fits his length between your breasts. “Hurry up.”
He takes it literally, as the car rocks harder with each rough jerk forward into your cleavage.
His tip reaches too close to your face, though he pulls himself off your breasts right as he shoots more cum, making it fall on your stomach, staining your dress.
“Is this all you want?” you ask, frowning. “A fuck buddy?”
“not just that.”
He's panting like he's run a marathon, despite the feat lasting…
You glance at the time on the front side of the car.
“Six minutes,” you remark, grinning. “Shows you're really into foreplay, huh?”
You hope teasing him about how much longer he often lasts with monster partners will get him angry, but he doesn't say anything.
“i’m gonna make you happy,” he states, pulling himself away from you. “if you’ll let me.”
Sans tucks his erection into his underwear, then fixes his pants back on.
All of a sudden, he appears sober, and the man you're more used to shows up in his irises: intense, and as demanding as his threats.
“will ya?”
It's hard to believe he was a complete mess mere seconds ago.
“I'm not sure.”
“trust me that little?”
As if he's screwed his drunkenness off his mind and body alike, he stares at you like he's finally remembered what you did at the bar. His irises wander up and down your body like he's judging you for how far you've let him go. And his grin stiffens at the sides like he's angry at you for spilling the beer on him, or regretting he's dry-fucked you.
But then, something in his gaze softens and warms, and he lets out a chuckle so light and so airy, you feel a twist and turn in your chest — feelings and thoughts you’ve bat away since he seemingly showed no interest in dating his drinking buddy.
Or humans, for that matter.
“i wanna kiss you, walk with you to an altar, and see your face get more wrinkly the more days i wake up next to you in bed.”
He helps you sit, then takes out a couple of wet wipes from the ones you typically stash in your purse, removing the cum stains off your dress.
“take it how you will.”