Chapter Text
Asgore damn near dashed to the nearest closet once in the castle, shimmying in and holding the door shut. He breathed heavily. Searing heat boiled within, threatening to take over.
Morals be damned, he needed this release. He hastily undid his pants with one hand and spat in his other palm to thrust into his fist.It had been too long since he touched himself like this.
He missed the vine, waxy oily and rough. If only it weren't Flowery who he'd nurtured since he was a seed, touching him there. If it were a pretty flower stranger, a darkener he didn’t know... He could get hard for that. But not for Flowery. He shouldn't.
If only the tip of one of those vines could dip in his slit... Tease him from the inside. He moaned at the thought. It'd be almost painful but oh so electrifyingly good, and he'd cry out, and his lover would be there. They'd put a hand around him and tell him how good he was doing, and they'd make it feel wonderful. If only.
He tightened the fist, trying to avert the thoughts. His mind wandered to Toriel.
Her sweet eyes, crooked smile, her lush chest... The way she scolded him when he'd been irritating... He couldn't help but let out a soft whimper. How he missed her. How he missed having a warm bed to fall into. The hurt of near staved off climax and longing for another mingled in his heart into something muddier, wet and clingy. It stuck to the insides of his ribs like mulch to roots.
He thought of Rudy. Their dalliances in college, before he met Carol and Asgore met Toriel. How they both figured things out together in a locked dorm while Asgore's roommate was away. He shuddered and squeezed his fist tighter.
The look on that young man's face - much younger than today, as they were both grown with children now - as he said the raunchiest things was something Asgore couldn't get away from in the dark of night if he tried. His eyes would crinkle up at the edges and with the shine in his countenance, Asgore did anything he asked. He missed Rudy. They should meet up for drinks sometime.
On a whim, he dipped the tip of his finger into his slit.
"O-Oh- my, hhaa.." His legs seemed to wobble. If the closet were any bigger, he would have fallen. It seemed natural then to slide the finger in and out and as it caught gently on the rim of his -
"P-Plleaase..." he moaned softly. It was beyond him who or what he was asking for. He bumped his head against the back wall. It felt-
Pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Remembering foggily, he was in public, Asgore managed to grit his teeth and be quiet through his climax. He rode it out as long as he could, hand slowing down, and retracting when it began to hurt.
Taking a minute to breathe, he realized what kind of closet he was in. It was a janitor's closet, with a few buckets, a mop, and a roll of paper towels. Ironic. He was soiled in a place to clean up.
He cleaned himself up, growing more tired. It had been an eventful day. What time was it? Was there time here at all?
Folding up the soiled paper, he pressed it flat in his pocket. Asgore redid his pants, straightened up, and stepped out of the closet quickly.
Mercifully, he was alone. Time to go back to Flowery.
Shameful heat oozed through Asgore's veins. What would he say? Could he bear to go back?
Flowery was eager, yes, but not malicious, he gathered. He was young, green, inexperienced in matters of the heart. However much he tried to convince the world otherwise.
Yes, Asgore thought to himself, he'd go back and apologize for running off. He'd speak vaguely about business to attend to, for his dignity's sake. Then, he'd ask to see the fountain. Perfect.
With a new energy - one of life, not withering self-doubt - Asgore went back to the courtyard.
There, out in the sun, was Flowery still. His hair rustled gently in the breeze. He had waited.
Ugh, thought Asgore. His chest felt tight, the remnants of that sticky feeling in his ribs seeming to reach farther, into his heart. He was -
No. Taking a breath, he recentered. It was time to turn over a new leaf. The first step was losing that little voice in his head that called him scum on repeat.
And apologizing to Flowery. The poor thing was probably worried.
“Flowery.” Asgore called out softly as he came closer. Flowery whipped his head around so quick one could have heard his bones crack. If he had bones. The young man stood up, dusted a dirty hand on his pocket, and extended it for a handshake.
“Gorey, my good chum! I was getting concerned. Are you well?”
Asgore took his hand, shook it firmly. What to say…
“Yes. Thank you. I wanted to apologize for leaving so suddenly. I wasn’t thinking straight.”
With a laugh that sounded like a forceful huff of air, Flowery waved his hand lackadaisically, “You have my forgiveness! And,” He swallowed hard, collecting words. With a step back, he said,
“And I… didn’t act. Like a gentleman. I was. Pushy. For that, I apologize, my dear buddy.”
It was impossible to hide the shock on Asgore’s face. Flowery really owned up. Although, it really wasn’t his fault. Asgore did know how to say the word no. But still, this show of character from the young man, who was admittedly new to “humaning”, was not lost on Asgore. He smiled warmly,
“You’re a better man than I am, friend. … We could hug it out?”
“O-Of course! Bring it in, Gorey!”
So Asgore enveloped Flowery in a hug, mindful of how fragile the other man likely was. He fit so well into Asgore’s arms. It was warm and safe.
Flowery sighed shakily and pulled away. His cheeks were flushed a rosy pink.
“My king. How about you pick what we do next? Anything. If you want it, it’s yours.” He said, oddly breathless, wringing his hands.
Steeling himself yet again, Asgore made his request,
“Let’s go to the fountain. If you are well enough.”
“Absolutely!” Said Flowery, smile too wide, “The journey shall be scenic. Follow me, Gorey!”
With that, they were off. Off to the castle. Off to seal the fountain and change their lives forever.
He would miss Flowery. As insistent as he could be, he had a good heart. Along with the others, they were like one big family.
Perhaps one day, they could meet again. It was all a matter of time.
There was no more time for daydreaming. He was here for a reason.
Asgore remembered he had company at the sound of Flowery rambling about something. He refocused on the conversation, making small talk about nothing for the rest of the journey. They kept it light, as they both knew, even if they couldn't say it, how dark it could all get in a moment’s notice.