Red Light District
Chapter 12: But don’t you love me?
The cricket took a concerned look at Sans’ face.
“I know he looks gross, but he’s not allowed to touch you in here, remember?”
No, this couldn’t happen. Not even a small part of it. Sans shorted out.
The cricket gave him an understanding smile. The other workers were used to Sans’ skittishness.
“Come on, I’ll walk with you, okay?”
A hand on Sans’ shoulder turned his legs back on, if not his head. He wasn’t aware of moving, but the kitchen flashed by him, and next thing he knew he was rushing into an empty room and scrambling into a low cabinet, wildly trying to close himself in both quickly and silently.
He covered his mouth, but when he heard other monsters entering the room to look for him, his restraint crumbled. They must have heard him—there was a pause and a shuffling in his direction. When they opened the cabinet door and looked in, they found him scrabbling his feet to squeeze as far back as he could, clasping both hands over his mouth but unable to quiet the desperate whines.
More than one set of hands reached in for him. He twisted in their grasp, and before long the monsters were tugging only at his legs while his hands were clamped in a death-grip on the cabinet’s inner shelving.
“Not him—not him not him not him—”
A guard finally managed to wrench Sans’ grip loose, and he was out in the open. He was surrounded mostly by confused workers. He was sure every monster in B Section had seen him freak out about this or that, but this was apparently a new level they couldn’t understand. Sans was standing in the middle of the room in a circle of them, and he’d brought his balled fists up to his sockets, openly weeping in heaving breaths.
The monsters around him were citing assurances that didn’t make any sense at all.
“It’s just a drink. He just wants a drink with you.”
“We’re all in the room with you, nothing’s gonna happen.”
“He’s not going to hurt you.”
What were they talking about? Didn’t they know what that thing was? It was the end of the world incarnate. It was what bad monsters met when they died. Having it force its way inside him even one more time in his life was unimaginable, but just having a drink with it would be enough to turn Sans into a brainless putty.
When the guard picked Sans up to drag him back to the lounge, Sans clawed ferally at his face, then kept summoning useless gaster blasters over and over until he fainted from exhaustion.
He woke up in Waterfall in Onion’s chamber. He had been left in a pile at the door. Onion waited at the edge of the pool. Sans raised his head and shoulders from the ground shakily. His wrists were bound behind his back.
“You’re in trouble again, Sans?”
Sans’ voice was small. “yes.”
This was still better.
This was further away from where it was.
Despite what he was probably here for, Sans wanted to be closer to Onion, wanted to be wrapped up and protected. He got himself up clumsily, then walked to the edge of the pool as quickly as he could before Onion could prompt him.
Maybe being extra good could play in his favor.
When Sans came up to the edge, he looked down at the water, remembering the last time he was here.
“Do you want me to…?”
“Come to me.”
Sans sat down and swung his legs over the edge of the platform, scooting himself off the edge and into the water. This time, Onion let Sans fall in. He pushed Sans above the surface with a tentacle around his middle, but didn’t restrain him any further than that. Sans’ head was above water, but the rest of his body stayed submerged.
Sans thought he would be more afraid, but the water calmed him down a little. Instead of pure fear, he was filled with the pitiful desire for Onion to hold him like he had last time, to stroke him and bring him close. He shivered a little, swallowing down the urge to beg for comfort. He could try later. First he had to find out what he was here for. Onion hadn’t punished him last time, but back then Sans had been ripped open. This time Sans hadn’t been hurt, hadn’t even had sex. He’d refused to so much as sit next to a client for a drink, had fought it literally tooth and nail.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Sans?”
Sans’ breath hitched. He trembled, closing his eyes and breathing fast. He tried for a word.
A tentacle wrapped around his spine and squeezed gently in a rhythm. Onion had done it sometimes back in training, when he wanted Sans to breath steadily. He focused on the rhythm and breathed in and out, slowing to a steadier pace.
“Are you all right?”
Sans shook his head.
“Here…there we go…”
Tentacles were rolling on his back, nudging the back of his neck. Sans’ gasp became happy whimpers.
“You saw him again.”
Sans choked. A tentacle squeezed over his shoulders gently. He swallowed.
“In the lounge. They w-wanted me to…but I..I d-d-didn’t know if, after that, I’d…have to…”
He was too paralyzed to even ask the question. Not all the clients that workers took care of in the lounge also came back to…but he didn’t know that. He didn’t know that and he couldn’t imagine the question coming out of his mouth.
Onion pet Sans’ face with so much tenderness that Sans almost broke down again.
“You’re really scared of him. I heard him break you—you called out for your papa.”
Sans involuntarily jerked in shock. He stared at Onion.
“No one was watching the live feed, but I did check the recordings after.”
Of course he’d watched. Everything was observed. There were recordings of all of Sans’ worst moments. Even now, the camera up in the corner was capturing footage of Sans receiving comfort from his rapist. Sans remembered Mettaton joking on TV that you forgot about being public when the cameras were everywhere. Sans had thought he was always aware since coming to Red City, that he couldn’t possibly forget a thing those cameras were picking up, but now he saw how true that was.
In spite of how that should have made Sans react, made him feel, he abruptly wanted nothing more than for Onion to fuck him ruthlessly hard. He was so tired of being terrorized. He just wanted to feel good.
Sans looked down at the water, legs squirming under the surface and face heating up.
He couldn’t help it. It had been so long since Onion touched him like that. In fact, Onion hadn’t touched him since the slug. Sans felt the absurd desire for reassurance that Onion didn’t think he was disgusting. Of all the crazy things he wanted now, maybe even crazier than wanting to fuck to stop thinking about how broken he was from fucking, was Sans’ fragile need for Onion to show that he still wanted him.
And Sans didn’t know if Onion planned to punish him for his tantrum. Maybe he would still let Sans beg for sex instead…?
That was Onion’s ‘good job’ voice. Sans had made the right choice. He was doing okay. He wouldn’t be punished if he acted properly now.
Sans spread his legs and formed a pussy for Onion to touch him. A tentacle obligingly slipped into Sans’ pants and stroked at him. Sans sighed, allowing himself to relax in Onion’s hold. He’d done really right. Onion hadn’t made him say it.
But maybe it was too early to celebrate that. The tentacle flicked over the lips of his pussy like the lick of a tongue. Sans pressed his hips forward, but the tentacle continued its light, teasing touches.
The tentacle slid snugly between the folds of Sans’ cunt, then sucked at his clit with its stickered tip. Sans’ back arched.
Onion wanted him to ask for it after all. He could do that. He wanted this.
But…Sans couldn’t help wanting a little more.
“d-do. Do you…do you want…?”
Onion looked surprised. He grinned, tentacles curling around Sans and giving a quick squeeze around his middle.
“Sans. Of course I do. What I want to hear is that you do.”
The suckers pulled on Sans again, making him pant. He was still trying to make sentences happen. He was tugged in close, and he felt something hard and hot press on his stomach under the water. Onion’s member was twitching against his body.
Onion wanted him. He wanted him.
Warmth spread through Sans’ groin. He pushed his hips forward, his words coming out in one breath.
“please fuck me.”
Tentacles slithered up Sans’ legs, one of them pushing harder against the lips of the cunt, finally reaching a more satisfying level of force and friction. Sans gripped the tentacle around his waist with shaking hands.
Hell, may as well go all the way.
“Um. W-with your…tongue…?”
Onion touched Sans’ face. “Aw, that’s right, I never did make you come with my tongue. I’ll tell you what: I’ll do it for you if you’re really good.”
Sans barely whispered. “okay”
Onion reached back and snapped the handcuffs off of Sans’ wrists. Then he dredged Sans out of the water and lowered him back onto the platform.
“Get down and lower your pants to your knees.”
Sans hurried to drop to his knees and start unbuttoning. Once undone, he let his pants fall to the floor, exposing himself.
A tentacle curled lightly around Sans’ left wrist and guided it to Sans’ sternum.
“Lift your shirt up to here.”
Sans raised his shirt, letting out a breath as Onion stroked his ribs.
Another tentacle closed around Sans’ right wrist and nudged his hand between his legs.
“Now stroke here.”
Sans went stiff. In response, the tentacles felt like they were melting around him, getting gentler and softer to match Sans’ growing anxiety. A tentacle reached up to cover Sans’ eyes and close out the world.
“How’s this? Better?”
Suckers stuck onto Sans’ fingers and moved them to press into the lips of his cunt.
“Feel that. You’re already wet.”
Sans cringed in embarrassment.
A tentacle tickled under his chin.
“That’s good, Sans. That means that this is going to feel very nice, doesn’t it?”
The tentacle drew the fingers in circular motions against the lips. Sans’ hips jerked forward.
“That’s it. You can relax. Nothing we’ll do is going to hurt you. You’re only going to feel good.”
Sans started inserting his fingers in himself, but the tentacle tugged his hand up so his fingertips were brushing his clit.
“Start here first.”
Sans rubbed at himself in small circles. Tentacles sucked on the underside of his ribs. One tentacle wound around his spine, slithering back down and interrupting Sans’ rhythm briefly.
Sans could practically hear Onion’s mouth spread in a smile.
“How good is your dirty talk getting?”
Sans’ hand slipped.
“Ah…! I’m…I mean…I d-dunno?”
Sans didn’t need to see Onion to feel that look of eternal patience, which contradictorily got Sans moving back to rubbing himself, working up a pace so that his hips were rolling into his hand’s movements.
“Start by describing what’s happening to you.”
“Y-you know I’m not good at that.”
“You can go slow. One thing at a time.”
Onion grazed his tentacle back over Sans’ busy hand.
“What am I making you do?”
“You’re m-making me touch myself…”
“You’re…you’re watching me.”
“How does that make you feel?”
…how did that make him feel?
The tentacle was still over his eyes, blocking his view, but Sans could feel Onion’s huge eyes on him while he was like this. While Sans spread himself and got his body ready to be fucked, while his hips twitched into his hand with every motion. And again there was that twinge, that thrill from doing something obscene and being watched, from the humiliation. Hell. Maybe he was a masochist.
Sans wasn’t sure how to vocalize what he was feeling, exactly, but he did have an idea of what Onion was looking for.
“I…” but the embarrassment caught up to him, and Sans hung his head. The tentacle on his eyes stuck to him, following as his head bent down. A tentacle rubbed up his spine under his shirt. The motion was more consoling than sexual, but that only made it better. The cozy darkness, the tender touches, reminded Sans of being under hypnosis.
Sans tried to focus on his lack of sight—the dark gave the strange illusion of privacy, like Sans was working up this whole fantasy alone under the covers. He tried again.
Describe what’s happening. “I’m t-touching myself in front of you.” More. “I’m…g-getting really wet.” He slipped a finger into the hole, pushing in and out and demonstrating his words while he was at it. A bit of wetness squirted out around his finger. Sans bucked on his own hand.
How does that make you feel? “It feels good when you…watch me.” It feels safe. “I want…I want you to look at me while I p-play with myself…”
Sans squeaked when the tentacle was suddenly taken away from over his eyes, and he saw Onion’s shocked expression sloppily transform into a goofy grin. Onion put a tentacle up to his own mouth almost like he was the one who was embarrassed.
Then Onion’s gaze drooped heavily into half-lidded bedroom-eyes, his voice a little huskier than Sans had heard from him before.
The tentacles drew away from Sans and gave him enough space to shift around on his knees so his back faced Onion. Onion pressed on his spine, and Sans obediently hunched over until he was on all fours. Tentacles guided him further, positioning him so he rested forward on his elbows and forearms, his hips lifted high and his tailbone all the way up in the air.
Was Onion going to fuck him like this? Penetrate him from behind so Sans wouldn’t be able to anticipate what was coming? Sans was shaking all over, and he couldn’t tell if it was eagerness or if he was wracked with nerves. The slickness traveling down his thighs from his cunt suggested it might be a little of one if not a bit of both.
Onion took it upon himself to spread Sans’ legs wider apart with a tentacle wrapped just above each knee, sliding Sans’ knees just slightly across the floor. After a moment when nothing more was happening, Sans shifted so that he was looking upside-down through his spread legs at Onion’s face. Onion noticed his stare and met his eyes like he was being pulled away from a close examination of an absorbing art piece.
“Hold on. I want to look at you a little while. I don’t get to see you that often, you know.”
“D-don’t tease me…”
“I’m not, I’m not.”
Onion spread the lips of Sans’ cunt open with two tentacles, and his eyes sparkled.
“It’s so small and cute!”
The color of Sans’ face deepened several shades of red.
“You really do have a sweet little pussy, don’t you?”
Sans coughed out an embarrassed laugh.
“If you…don’t say so yourself, huh?”
“Well, it’s still your magic.” A tentacle cupped Sans’ cheek. “And make no mistake, it looks good on you.”
A tentacle curled around the pubic mound, just barely tickling the outer lips with its tip. Onion’s expression turned devilish.
“Now, what do you want me to do with this pretty hole?”
Strings of wetness were dangling lewdly from Sans’ cunt, dripping onto the floor in a puddle. It was far too late to be coy.
“F-fuck me…fuck my pussy, please…”
Tentacles enveloped him and pulled him back in the water, holding his back against Onion’s body. Onion tilted Sans’ chin so he was looking over his shoulder at the octopus.
“Mm. Don’t worry, Sans.” He purred in Sans’ ear. “I know what your pussy likes…”
A tentacle slid inside and pumped into Sans, another tentacle covering Sans’ clit with suckers and pounding on it. Sans yelped, his body writhing under the stimulation. The spike in pleasure was so intense it was almost too much. Almost.
“G-gh! I’m gonna—I’m gonna—”
“Oh! That’s right.”
All at once, the stimulation stopped. Onion left the suckers on Sans’ clit, but quit pressing on him. He pulled Sans above his head and held his legs open with his calves folded under, suspending him in a kneeling position. Onion stuck his tongue out playfully.
“You’re being such a good boy, so I’ll give you what you wanted.”
Sans supposed this was the moment when a ‘good boy’ would say thank you, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Heat spread over his face as Onion sat him on his mouth.
Just the feeling of the tongue lapping at his folds made him bend forward and moan. He rested his chest and face against Onion’s head, gripping weakly with his knees. The tongue stroked him harder and his eyes fluttered. The texture of all those little bumps rubbing wetly against him got his whole lower body trembling. Finally, the tongue plunged into him.
Not long into the treatment, Sans lost all reserve. He let his own tongue hang out as the tongue inside him struck an especially sensitive area. It curled and pushed, licking deep inside. Sans made instinctive cries that sounded like the beginnings of yowling.
Onion pulled away slightly.
“Now Sans, I want you to ask m—”
I don’t care I don’t care. “Please make me come.”
Sans felt rather than saw Onion’s smile, the muscles of his mouth rubbing Sans’ cunt as Onion pressed back into him. The tentacle sucked at his clit again as the tongue beat inside and gave the last firm jabs needed to bring Sans back to the edge. Tingling gathered tantalizingly at his groin, he needed just a little more—
“Haaa please, finish me, make me come, I’m so close—”
The tongue flicked hard inside, and the dam broke. Sans closed his eyes and shut off everything but that release. The orgasm felt like it splashed over him, his bones were dissolving like he was one of Alphys’ amalgamates.
Instead of easing off, Onion pushed deeper, suckers kissing Sans’ clit hard and making him come again immediately. Sans thrust onto him, fucking Onion’s tongue with his tightening cunt with some messy sprays of fluid.
“A-ah…yes…! Yes…” his cries punctuated particularly powerful jolts of his climax. The tongue kept stroking him from the inside, folding in half as it reached up and hit a sweet spot over and over. As long as it lasted, the blissed-out feeling still reached a peak and started to fade. Onion withdrew his tongue.
But if this ended, Sans would have to think about—and he wasn’t ready to—
“N-no, don’t stop. Do me again.”
The command didn’t seem to bother Onion at all. His smile only grew wider as he tipped Sans back and laid his member between Sans’ legs. A tentacle under Sans’ clothes slid down his spine, then curled around it and pumped it like a cock. Sans arched his back into the touch, his cunt rutting up against the member at the same time.
The member teased at the hole, first rubbing the length against it, then prodding into it without entering. Sans’ legs kicked in anticipation. It pushed in slowly, but once inside it built up a pace that made Sans unreservedly vocal.
Sans remembered what Cecil said, about how Onion told them that…and for one moment, Sans let himself think that this was something different. That it was happening only because he asked for it, and not because the alternative was being tortured, or because he was terrified out of his mind and wanted comfort any way he could get it. That he wasn’t just being played with like a toy, that he was being made to feel so good right now because he was actually loved—
Sans sobbed, and whether it was pleasure or something else he wasn’t sure.
This time as Sans climaxed, a tentacle that was previously tending to a rib slid into his soul and gave a sensual roll. Sans’ soul sparked and the orgasm felt like it had doubled. He gave an animal cry and his whole body shook, hips jerking desperately against the member inside him. When the feeling finally started to come down, his thighs were still trembling violently from the exertion. Sans was half-aware of being grateful that Onion hadn’t pulled out yet, because he felt like his pelvis would collapse if he did.
“You’re all tuckered out. You really went for it this time. That’s good for you, but we’ve gotta give you a little rest now.”
The member pulled out gently, sparking some aftershocks of pleasure that the tentacle sucking his clit affectionately carried him through. But eventually that ended too.
Sans eyed Onion’s still hard member with desperation.
“You—you haven’t cum yet, will you—”
“It’s fine, Sans, we don’t have to keep going. I can take care of myself.”
“—will you please cum on me?”
Onion startled a little, then looked over Sans’ dazed expression. He pet Sans’ cheek.
Sans spread his still trembling legs to give a target, and Onion stroked himself to completion. He didn’t groan like most of Sans’ clients, made little noise—but Sans felt heat radiate off him, and the jerking twitches of his member as he peaked were enough for Sans to know he was affected. Cum shot onto Sans and spilled over the bottom of his ribs, covering the lips of his cunt and dripping off his spread thighs.
Sans sighed and basked in the warmth for a moment, coming down from his euphoric high to settle into the satisfying feeling of being needed. But as comforted as he felt with the cum all over him, it hadn’t sparked him back into action, merely acted as a nice closure. He was truly spent. Onion was softening too, lowering his member back underwater and massaging Sans’ bones with the unmistakable gentle finality of aftercare. They were done.
No, no…if it stopped then he’d—he’d—
The crash hit him harder than he’d just cum. Sans covered his face with his hands, and Onion didn’t restrain him from doing so. There was a silent moment between them. Sans breathed as evenly as he could into the clawed hands hiding his face.
“…why don’t I hate you? I should hate you. I should hate you more than anything.”
Onion’s expression was only playfully mad. He regarded Sans fondly.
“Of course you like me, Sans. I was your first time.”
When he put it like that, it sounded….
…really, truly awful.
Sans woke up still cradled in tentacles, all of his clothes removed. In spite of the damp, Onion’s magic was keeping Sans warmly enveloped for an easy sleep. It made Sans wonder when exactly Onion slept. When Onion fed Sans some breakfast, it occurred to Sans to wonder when Onion ate, too. Perhaps he kept his own needs private as another means of demonstrating control. If that was it, it worked a little too well. It was like he was a monster with no needs at all, designed specifically to dominate other monsters that were so weak as to get hungry and tired.
After a peaceful lack of conversation for the morning, actions punctuated mostly by Onion humming errant tunes, it finally came to what Sans hadn’t wanted to contemplate.
“You’re getting picked up soon. Muffet will probably insist you apologize to the client when you get back.”
Sans had shoved it so far to the back of his mind, he’d practically forgotten. He hadn’t been buying his way out of the client with sex; he’d only been buying his way out of punishment. Tentacles were already soothing over Sans’ back, anticipating more panic. It didn’t help. Sans wheezed a little.
“…do I….have to?”
Onion only gave Sans a stern look. It was a stupid question, after all. Onion didn’t tell him things he didn’t have to do.
“B-b-but you. You couldn’t. Try to change M-Muffet’s mind? You knew…you said y-you wouldn’t of, that you w-wouldn’t do it, back when I…when I f-first started, you said…you said you wouldn’t have left m-me with him…you said…”
“Shh, Sans, it’s only a drink.”
At that, Sans couldn’t hold back a panicked jerk of his body. It was never just a drink. How could Onion lie to him like that? Before Sans knew it, all sorts of things he shouldn’t try to say were pouring out of his mouth.
“Please help me onion, please d-don’t let them do this to m-me, please”
Tentacles stroked Sans’ neck, but he automatically cringed away. Onion’s tone stayed soft.
“no. no onion no nonono…d-don’t let it b-b-be like this, n-no…”
“He’s not allowed to touch you in the lounge, you know that.”
“Onion…you don’t. You don’t really think that’s it? That that’s all he’s…here for, or even…all Muffet would make me…d-do?”
Sans dared a glance up to see if even a fraction of this was resonating, and was startled to be met with Onion’s face darkened by anger.
Oh fuck. How could Sans have forgotten?
Onion could hurt him too.
Just because he’d gone easy on Sans sometimes didn’t mean he was harmless, that Sans could talk to him carelessly.
Even as fresh tears slid down Sans’ face from his renewed fear, from shame, he rolled his hips against a tentacle and looked at Onion with what he prayed was an eager smile, but was probably just desperate. Good enough.
“P-please fuck me again, Onion. D-don’t…hurt me. Please f-fuck me in…instead.”
Onion rubbed Sans’ shoulders.
“That’s a good boy, Sans. But you’re done. You did a very good job already.”
“N-no, fuck me, fuck me please—”
But as he encouraged the tentacle to press between his legs, Sans trembled hard, breathing coming tighter. A sob stuck in his throat, making it swell so he couldn’t speak anymore. When a testing nudge of the tentacle pulled a miserable whimper out of Sans, Onion immediately stopped playing with him, instead curling the tentacle around Sans’ knees and closing his legs.
Onion held Sans closer, looking somewhere over Sans’ shoulder. He still looked angry. Maybe it hadn’t been directed at Sans?
“Even if Muffet lets him have you, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You’ve gotten experience. You can do this. I don’t think you realize quite how good you’ve gotten since then.” He pulled Sans back a bit so he could look up at Onion’s face. The octopus’ eyes had an affectionate shimmer. “You’ll make that thing putty in your hands if you’re not careful.”
Sans couldn’t take any solace in Onion’s encouragement.
His body went limp, his pupils tiny pinpricks, shrunken against the overwhelming onslaught of inevitability, disbelief, betrayal. His voice was barely above a squeak.
“…it hurt me…”
“No one’s going to abandon you this time, you’ll be at Red City. Muffet will be there to protect you.”
“B-but. But she won’t…j-just sex hurt. It. Onion, it. It hurt so m-much.”
“She’ll be there to protect you.”
“Please i’m scared. I’m so scared, I—Onion, don’t you—”
And again Sans found himself thinking about Cecil’s warning about Onion. But the effect of the revelation was probably the opposite of what Cecil would have hoped for. Sans felt a sick longing.
But that didn’t mean he could say it out loud. He hung his head.
“…how could you do this to me?”
Tentacles squeezed around him. Maybe a threat for him to stop, but Sans would vastly prefer any of Onion’s punishments over going back to Red City right now.
“How could you let this happen? Would you…really let her d-do this to me?”
Muffet’s voice. Sans’ soul nearly jumped out of his chest.
Sans looked down at the platform to see Muffet tapping her feet.
“I come expecting you to be settled down, and here you are tormenting poor Onion.”
Sans glanced at Onion. He was avoiding Sans’ gaze, squeezing his grip around him tighter. One of Muffet’s past disciplinary sessions with Sans came back to him suddenly, when Sans had made the mistake of calling for Onion in Muffet’s hearing. He vividly called back her spitting words.
He lives in a tank.
That was all there was to it.
Sans was lowered to the platform, Muffet taking freshly cleaned clothes out of her bag for him. Sans moved toward her automatically, but was held back. One of Onion’s tentacles was still sticking to his shoulder blade.
When Muffet made an impatient ‘tsk,’ Sans yanked himself forward harder. Something told him he needed to not be a cause of friction between the two of them, or else he might not survive what was coming. The tentacle released him with a soft pop, and Sans didn’t look back towards Onion as he allowed Muffet to dress him.
He didn’t look at Onion even one more time as Muffet led him out of the chamber, but when they were walking away Sans thought he heard the small pop of a tentacle from the floor beneath his feet, as though Onion had made a last reach for him.
“You’re going to service the slug.”
Muffet’s words came like a punch to the gut. In spite of his pessimism, his insistence to Onion that a drinking session wouldn’t be the end of it, Sans hadn’t managed to prepare himself for reality to hit him so hard. They both stood in his room in Red City, the door mercifully closed to hide Sans’ imminent meltdown.
He didn’t know exactly how he ended up grinding his pussy on Muffet’s leg, trailing light kisses up her neck, but being pulled away by the shoulders didn’t come entirely as a surprise. Muffet chuckled sweetly, patting Sans on the head.
“Sans, dear, you can’t bribe me with sex. I own a brothel.”
Sans’ hands remained in a locked grip on Muffet’s arms, like letting go meant breaking a contract. Inviting fate. He resorted to taking one of her hands and licking the palm, and Muffet stopped discouraging his attentions.
“Muffet please I can take more clients, I can do anyone you want me to, please give me another chance, I—I’ve b-been better, haven’t I? I can be good I can be really good I w-won’t…”
He paused his efforts, his face scrunching up with inner pain and his hand shaking as it held Muffet’s slender fingers spread.
“…I won’t complain…”
Muffet’s fingers curled over Sans’ clasping hands. One of her other hands reached around him to stroke his lower back. Sans took two of Muffet’s fingers in his mouth and sucked on them, pulling them out, but letting his tongue linger.
Muffet reached her wet hand down and slipped it into Sans’ pants. Sans tried to cover a fearful cry with a cough. The whole world was upside down, because Muffet was letting up on him too, removing her hand from his pants and rubbing his waist at his signs of distress.
“…what exactly do you hope to accomplish here?”
Sans clenched his fists into the fabric ruffling at the waistline of Muffet’s dress. He pressed his face into her chest.
“God, Muffet, isn’t it obvious i’m fucking begging you for mercy?”
Muffet stroked his head.
“You don’t get to negotiate your job, sweetie.” But for once, Muffet didn’t sound like she was admonishing him. If this were the first day he’d met her, he might mistake her for kind.
“M-muffet, I…i’m n-not trying to argue with you. It’s…not even that I w-won’t, it’s, please im not trying to disobey you, I. I can’t. I really—I’d just shut d-down. I can’t d-do it, please, please believe me.”
Muffet kept rubbing her thumbs on Sans’ waist, speaking into the top of his head with his face tucked under her chin.
“Sans, I think there’s something you’re misunderstanding. It doesn’t really matter to him whether you’re cooperative or not.”
Sans felt ice slide through his soul. He was struck dumb.
“Let me put it this way, dear. You can walk yourself to your appointment like you’re supposed to, or you can wake up in the room with him, and at that point, honestly, it won’t make a difference if you’re combative. He’ll manage to get what he wants from you.”
Muffet danced her fingers under Sans’ chin, making him look up at her.
“I’ll let you choose which it will be.”
Sans shuddered. He still couldn’t speak. Something slimy had glued his jaws shut. Muffet had let go of him, was leaving the room, but he had to answer her or else—
Sans’ voice came out in a breathy croak, but he managed it before Muffet shut the door. He hoped to god she heard him, please god let her have heard him, he couldn’t take it otherwise, could barely take it like this.
Remembering the mics bugging the room, Sans whispered a few more times for good measure. She had to know.
“I’ll w-walk. Please, I’ll…”
He huddled on the floor, whimpering quietly into his knees.
“I’ll walk, please, please, I’ll walk. Please.”
He’d overslept. He’d fucking overslept, of all the days—
When Muffet came into his room as he was only halfway through dressing, Sans practically slid onto his knees in front of her and clung to her legs.
“I was on my way, I’m s-sorry, I just d-d-didn’t wake up, I was g-gonna—!”
Muffet’s hands were all over his back, circling his shoulder blades.
“Shh, you’re not late to anything, Sans. I let you sleep in today. I’m sorry it didn’t calm you down.”
Sans panted unevenly, his eyes still wide in panic. He had trouble grasping the meaning of her words.
Muffet picked Sans up fully, sitting on his bed and placing him in her lap to massage him like she had before testing the heat drug on him. Sans almost felt betrayed that his brain was triggered back to that time, when his situation was finally strangely enjoyable. Against all reason, he relaxed into her, and the stark switch in modes almost made him pass out.
Muffet’s musical voice whispered through his disorientation.
“You made a good choice, Sans. You’re really being so good.”
When did those things start feeling good to hear. When did it stop being something that made him want to scream and throw a chair at the wall, and instead turn into something he wanted so badly.
Muffet ducked her face forward into the dip between Sans’ neck and shoulder, brushing the flat of her fangs on him. He felt warm breath tickle him.
“There’s my brave dear.”
Sans’ breath caught. He was deep red from his collar to his forehead, and his cunt formed with immediate glowing heat.
He spun himself around and balanced crouched on her legs, throwing his arms around her neck.
“M-muffet, please, I’m not tired, I wanna—”
“This won’t change anything, you know.”
“I know, I know, I…”
Sans’ heavy breathing gave way to a grateful exhalation of air as Muffet’s hand rubbed the outline of his cunt over the crotch of his pants. When he didn’t react in panic, Muffet unbuttoned him and lowered his pants, then threw them on the floor.
Before she could put anything in him, Sans wrapped his arms tighter around her neck, grinding his hips against her waist. The lips of his cunt rubbed along her stomach, starting an effective friction that made the heat in his groin build and build. Muffet took hold of his hips, but instead of controlling him, she only used her grip to give him extra pushes—to help rock him harder against her. She leaned back for a better angle, too, using her other hands to stroke him all over.
She was letting him do this. She was encouraging him. He grazed his mouth on her neck, mumbling into her.
“Ha…mn…ah…Muffet…I want you, I want—!”
One of Muffet’s hands cupped the back of Sans’ head, and she drew him into a deep kiss, her tongue sliding over his and licking the inside of his cheek. Sans’ arousal skyrocketed, but his hips froze. A hand reached between where his groin was pressed to her abdomen, and her thumb flicked over his clit and rubbed it in circles. Sans’ building heat burst with a jolt of his hips. His body felt paralyzed by release, his pelvis jerking stiffly into Muffet’s hand, movement helplessly controlled by her stimulation.
Muffet didn’t remove her mouth from his, so his pleasured whines melted into the kiss.
She slowly pulled back from him, and his mouth remained parted with his tongue still partially out, like he was reaching for her mouth to return. Sans’ body went limp on top of her. He couldn’t stop looking up at her with hazy warmth.
Muffet brought her lips back to Sans’ mouth, but didn’t close the distance, instead speaking onto him as though her words were a kiss.
“Such a wonderful job of it. You deserve this, sweetie. You deserve to feel good.”
Muffet finally stopped rubbing him off with her thumb, moving to palm his clit along with his folds with the heel of her hand. His pussy shuddered with aching pleasure against her encouraging strokes.
“You deserve to be treated like the good boy you are. I don’t want you fretting about a thing—I’ll take care of you, we’ll walk you there slow and easy, and I’ll take good care of you when you’re done. You’re going to do just fine”
He couldn’t help it.
It apparently didn’t matter if it was real or not—and a dimmed, cynical part of him was sure it was fake—but it felt real. It was so good, and so much. Her confidence in him, the steamy orgasm still drizzling through him with some tight flutters, the praise, the kiss.
And that was all it took for him to sell himself, body and soul.
Sans’ eyes closed lazily from the heady wash of afterglow. Muffet kissed the corner of his mouth.
“You can do this, can’t you dear?”
“I can…I can do this.”
She’d somehow made him believe it.
After breakfast, Sans saw a message left on his phone that meant his brother had calculated the time of the call for Sans to miss it. Shit. That meant he had something sincere to say.
Sans had long since given up the idea of privacy in his own room here, so he went to one of the infrequently used corridors to listen to the message.
When he’d waited five minutes to make sure he didn’t hear any footsteps near or far, he pressed play with some trepidation, and held the phone to his head.
I haven’t been totally honest with you, brother.
That was an alarming start.
There’s someone I didn’t tell you about.
They’ve talked about you a lot. I think they’ve gone to see you. Maybe you know them already? About your height, brown hair, and very poor taste in clothing—still dresses like a child. Aside from that failing, though, they have encouraged me to speak more with you, and I have to admit I’m…I am grateful.
But listen, Sans. I don’t think you should associate with them.
Perhaps you can tell that Muffet woman to turn them away at the door?
I know this sounds like vague advice from the usually eloquent and expertly specific Papyrus. The damnedest thing is that I just can’t rationalize why, brother. They’ve been nothing but helpful to me…kind, even. I would go so far as to call them a friend. And I can’t think of a single reasonable explanation to tell you not to talk to them.
The only things I have that I could tell you are…strange.
The first time I met them, I took one look at them and felt this overwhelming sense of guilt, as though I’d done something terrible to them. And I felt dizzy…like I was being hypnotized.
But under that guilt, buried deep underneath, there was something else. Something insistent, like instinct, intuition—a flash of something I recognize, but disappears before I can put a name to it. Like I’ve met them before. And whatever that thing is—
I don’t trust them.
I suppose I’ve felt like this for a while, but I pushed it down because it didn’t make sense. And I never felt the need to warn you about it until…I got that feeling again, when I looked at my phone just now. I could have sworn, would have bet anything that I just heard it ring. Even that I got so far as answering and talking.
I would lose that bet, apparently, because there’s no record of a call on it.
But you know how impeccable my memory is, Sans. It’s not like me at all to mistake something like that.
And I was so sure—
…anyways, I’m sure this all sounds like madness to you. I trust you won’t tell anyone that the Great Papyrus is losing it. I don’t want to start hearing snarky remarks being said of me from strangers.
A long pause.
…after all, I would hate to take that exclusive privilege from you.
Sans took the phone away from his face and stared at it. Papyrus had to be talking about Frisk. But what did all of those other things mean? Sans implicitly trusted the Boss’ intuition, but it was as though even Papyrus didn’t believe what he was saying. Why would he still call them a friend if he didn’t trust them to talk to Sans…?
Sans thought the mystery would persist, but it only took until the early evening to get some solid evidence for Papryus’ bad feeling.
A few hours before Sans’ appointment, he travelled restlessly around the halls, unable to settle in any one area. His wandering led him to a hall he hadn’t explored before, and to familiar voices around the corner.
Sans froze against the wall out of their view, listening hard and barely daring to breathe. Frisk’s usually childlike speech had taken a different tone. Although it didn’t entirely make up for their naturally high voice, they spoke in a purposeful lower pitch, their intonations harder and coarser.
“Beat it already, I told you we can’t meet here.”
“Can’t seem to find you hanging around anywhere else, and we need you. Come on, work some of your magic again, he listened to you before—”
“It’s not—it’s not ‘magic.’ I told you he hardly listens to what I say. Even my best influence just gets him to do things he would’ve done if he’d thought of them himself.”
“You’re selling yourself short, shortstack. You’re the only one who could get him to think Papyrus coming here was a good idea.”
“He wanted to test his loyalty. See if meeting his brother like this would make him rebel.”
“You think any of us could’ve suggested that and kept our heads? There’s gotta be something—”
“There’s no good spin for this, Dogamy. L.D. was doing exactly what Papyrus got in trouble for in the first place. I tried to warn him, but he did what he wanted to do.”
“You saying this is L.D.’s fault?!”
There was a slam on the wall, like Dogamy had slapped a paw on it. Sans jumped, suddenly deathly afraid that the kid was in trouble, and sickly wondering if he should still care.
But he didn’t hear any attack. Just growling, and then a snort.
“Whatever. I know how this works. Not like I can really threaten the king’s heir.”
“Guess you weren’t as good a friend as we thought.”
Sans heard bounding, and for a soul-stopping moment it occurred to him to be afraid that the dog would come his way, but the footfall lessened in volume. Dogamy had left by the opposite hall.
But Frisk rounded the corner and locked eyes with Sans, their expression of shock at seeing him probably matching his at being found out.
Their eyes glowed bright, energy whirling off them, and Sans fell back a step. He held his hands up in front of him.
“…don’t kill me.”
Frisk’s face filled with deep heartache, and the air sparked.
A few hours before Sans’ appointment, he travelled restlessly around the halls, unable to settle in any one area. His wandering led him to a hall he hadn’t explored before, and to an empty corridor around the corner.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to walk with you, dear?”
“Yeah, I…I wanna go alone.”
He didn’t, but if Muffet walked him there he would probably hold onto her at the door and not let go. Best not to give himself any reasons to get punished.
The hallway to the private room was so lonely. It was like the area was evacuated.
Sans recalled too vividly the foul smell of the rotten egg street, and he had to cover his mouth and lean against the wall for a moment.
The hall was empty because workers didn’t use this area as often, he reminded himself. The halls were built taller, more rock had been painstakingly cut away from the walls because the hall was made for
…customers that were bigger than the usual fare.
Sans paused in front of the door. His knees were quaking. He just had to open the door. Step one, raise arm. Step two, put hand on door handle. Now turn the door handle.
The handle rattled in his grip as he slipped down to his knees, ending up hanging from the handle like he was over the edge of a cliff. He gave a few wet hiccoughs.
Someone please save him please save him please save him
Okay, get up.
He got back to his feet.
He shakily opened the door.
And he went in.
And the slug had him.
Sans halted at the door and touched the handle—
Frisk stopped Sans before he opened the door.
Sans whipped his head around to face them.
“Kid, w-what are—how are you—”
“Never mind; don’t go in there.”
“I uh…I have to. It’s complicated. Adult life is basically doing the most heinous things imaginable on repeat like it’s some kind of fucking worst-of MTT reruns, shit sucks, never grow up kiddo.”
“You don’t have to do this and you’re not going to.”
Frisk grabbed Sans by the hand and dragged him away from the door. They led him down the corridor so fast, it felt like they were flying.
Frisk stopped Sans before he opened the door.
“Kid, w-what are—how are you—”
“Don’t go in there.”
“I uh…I have to. It’s complicated. Adult life is basically—”
“—doing the most haymous things imaginable on repeat like it’s some kind of frogging worst-of MTT reruns, snot sucks, never grow up kiddo.”
“Did you hear me say that already? Did you fucking…replace all my cussing?…..did you say ‘haymous?’”
Frisk shyly rubbed their arm. “I didn’t know the word you used.”
“Heinous. It means bad.”
“Kid, are you a fucking time traveler?”
The human looked at the floor and nodded. They looked repentant, but Sans felt the beginnings of the first thing that resembled hope since he’d been stuck here.
“But that’s…that’s great! That can really get you out of trouble, can’t it?”
The child still looked uncomfortable. “It can help…some things. Sometimes.”
“That means you can basically escape anything, though, right? You can see it all coming. You can—”
“Oh Sans!” Tears poured down Frisk’s face. Sans froze. The child wailed and spoke at the same time, wiping their face continuously. “I-i-it can help me, sure, but I h-haven’t figured out how t-to really save you yet. You kept telling m-me it was okay that way, b-but it’s, it’s not, it’s not okay! I d-don’t want to do that again! It’s so horrible, Sans!”
Sans went cold.
“Nothing I do…w-works!”
They stomped their foot. They looked more like a child than he’d ever seen them.
“It’s…no matter what other choice I make…the time when I d-do nothing was the only one where…”
They sat on the floor and huddled their knees to their chest.
“I even tried g-going in once, to protect you, but…”
They looked distant.
“…it didn’t work.”
Sans remembered Papyrus’ warning, but when faced with this, all he wanted to do was comfort the crying human. Not that he knew how. Not that he knew what to do at all. Just the implication of their words was terrifying him into paralysis. He stretched his mouth in what he hoped was close to a reassuring smile and wasn’t an absurd grimace.
“Sweetheart, don’t worry about me, okay? Don’t go in there. Definitely don’t go in there, ever. Uh…ever again.”
The human’s sobbing had quieted down.
“I-I…I might have to go back. I don’t…I don’t have anything else. But that time, you wouldn’t…let me near you, and after that I heard you went to Onion, and that you asked him to…to…”
“…wait, ‘go back’? Kid, you don’t mean…all of this, talking to me now, you’re not gonna—”
Sans paused in front of the door. He had an odd feeling, like the opposite of deja-vu. Like something else was supposed to happen right now, like someone was going to rush in and save him at the last second. But things like that didn’t happen.
He shakily opened the door.