If Sans were being honest with himself, he probably could have run faster. He could have been smarter about covering his tracks, about making sure his scent wouldn’t be caught in the breeze, but with the apathetic haze of his depression riding him hard that morning, it was enough of a struggle getting out of bed let alone trying to take care of himself.
The wide, white smile of the predator in front of him was a resounding affirmation of all his recent mistakes. “Hey there, sweetheart. Ain’t ever seen you round this neck of the woods before.”
In a distant corner of his mind, the part that wasn’t paralysed with fear and regret, Sans reflected that his life might have gone very differently if only he’d been more honest with his brother. If Papyrus hadn’t moved out, if Sans weren’t trying to visit him to desperately shake off the stagnant emptiness of his life without his only family in it, then he would never have had a reason to come down this particularly desolate trail in the forest. He should have known there was a reason it was so empty and quiet.
It took two dry swallows before he could convince his voice to work, but he managed to keep his tone admirably calm. “Hey buddy. Don’t mind me, I’m just passing through. I’m sure you’ve got much better things to be doing with your time, so how about I just stay out of your way, huh?”
The creature in front of him was a skeleton hybrid, just like himself, but with canine ears and very sharp teeth. The ruff of his coat was furred to match the tail that swished out behind him, but though he was radiating hungry, dangerous intent, his mouth was curled in a smile and his greeting had sounded almost friendly, if a little too overly familiar.
Sans didn’t make it a habit to get friendly with predators, but though foxes preyed on his kind, they were also less vicious than some of the other species in the woods. Clever and omnivorous, they had means other than hunting to fill their bellies during the long winter months. Maybe Sans would be lucky, and the fox wasn’t hungry. Maybe he was just territorial, and wanted to make sure Sans wasn’t infringing on his territory. Sans would be happy to leave and never return, but something about the intense look in the fox’s red eye-lights kept his slippered feet rooted to the ground.
(Choosing more sensible shoes in case he needed to run for it might have also been a good idea. Sans added that to his already towering pile of blunders.)
“Aww, don’t be like that, honey. I was just looking for some company.” The fox was small for his kind, but as he took a sauntering step forward Sans became unpleasantly aware of the size difference between them. The fox was taller and broader than he was, with heavier bones and hands that looked like they could fit the entirety of Sans’s skull in their palms. The red tint of magical saliva glinted off his teeth as he demonstratively licked the seam of his mouth. “How about you join me for lunch?”
Nope , Sans’s brain supplied with a dizzy rush of horror, adrenaline jolting through his marrow like an electric shock. His composure and willpower both snapped without fanfare, and with a graceless lurch he turned on his heel and fled. Instinct screamed at him that running would only entice the fox more, but some stupidly hopeful part of him remembered seeing a bramble bush not far behind him. The thorns might scratch his bones, but if the brush was thick enough his smaller body might be able to squeeze under it to deter the hungry predator. He could hide there and wait it out. Surely he could make himself too much of an effort to find and the fox would give up. That’s what Sans would do in his place.
Unfortunately he’d never get to find out if his desperate plan would work. He’d barely taken two steps before a crushing weight slammed into him from behind, sending him sprawling face-first into the snow. The fox’s solid body sprawled on top of him, squeezing a choked sound of pain and terror from his throat. One of his arms was caught uselessly underneath him, but the other scrabbled blindly in the snow, looking for purchase, a weapon, or anything he could use to escape. His phalanges found nothing but hard, empty ground that stung his soft fingertips, though his movements came to an abrupt and sudden stop as the prickle of claws came to rest warningly on the back of his neck.
“Shh, enough of that. You aren’t getting away,” the fox told him with an absurd and unexpected kind of gentleness. His hot breath licked at Sans’s face a moment before his tongue did likewise, the organic construct of magic gliding against Sans’s cheek with unsettling affection. “You’re mine now.”
The husky, pleased purr in the fox’s voice was almost sensual, and Sans felt his skull heating with a completely inappropriate flush. He opened his mouth to protest, or perhaps beg, but the next swipe of the fox’s tongue circled the sensitive juncture where his ears met his skull, and nothing came out but an incoherent garble.
“Hmm, these are cute,” the fox observed, the sharp point of his skeletal nose nuzzling against the long, sleek cascade of Sans’s lapine ears. Unlike his brother’s ears, which stood tall and proud atop his skull, Sans’s had always drooped in a lazy lop that framed his face. The fox’s ministrations made them twitch madly which seemed to cause an unseemly amount of amusement for his tormentor. He almost wished the fox would hurry up and kill him already, because the mortification he was feeling wasn’t any more bearable.
“S-stop,” he whimpered quietly, trying to cringe away, but the fox easily followed his furtive movements, laving Sans with his tongue and eagerly huffing the small rabbit-hybrid’s fear like it was a fine perfume. The sharp edges of his teeth grazed against both Sans’s skull and his fluffy ears, a teasing threat that didn’t quite press hard enough to draw either dust or blood.
“Mmm, nah,” the fox said with a cheerful leer. “Besides, I don’t think you really want me to stop. Not when your body’s all hot and ready for me like this.”
Sans let out a splutter of outrage, a furious rejection on the tip of his tongue until the fox’s sly hand delved into the front of his shorts to grasp at his pubic symphysis and the very undeniable simmer of magic rippling across his pelvis.
“What the fuck!?” he wheezed, indignance and bewilderment warring against his outright fear. For a moment he was sure the fox must have done something to him, but no, that errant touch was only bringing attention to something his body was doing all on its own. He’d never felt so utterly betrayed by his own stupid instincts, which seemed to have somehow misinterpreted the fox’s unsubtle flirtations and hungry molestations as some kind of signal.
“Yeah, what the fuck little rabbit,” the fox mocked, but with more sly humor than cruelty. “You like this, huh? Want me to take good care of you? It’s only natural. Your body was made for this, after all.”
“Go to hell,” Sans cursed, jerking unsuccessfully back against the fox’s smothering bodyweight, trying to throw him off. The clumsy motion had the unintended effect of thrusting his pelvis right into the fox’s cupped hand, and the sensation of sharp claws skipping over the sensitive bone of his pubis knocked the breath from his lungs. “Ah-!”
He was braced for pain, but quickly the fox shifted his grip so that the brunt of contact rubbed against the blunt curl of his fingers instead of his wickedly sharpened phalanges. The sheer absurdity of it, the insidious friction, the way his body pulsed with unseemly want, made him groan with wretched mortification.
“Yeah, good boy,” the fox purred, the heat of his own arousal practically glowing on his bones. He rubbed his own pelvis up against Sans’s coccyx, grinding down against the smaller skeleton’s delicate tail. “How about you call out my name, pretty bunny? It’s Red. Say it for me.”
Sharp teeth grazed against Sans’s nape when he didn’t immediately comply, an exploratory bite nipping at his cervical vertebrae. Sans shuddered, trying to convince himself the sweat seeping from his bones had only the fear to blame. “R-red,” he repeated uneasily, hating feeling complict and helpless in his own undoing.
Red growled, a feral sound that was all possessive want and pleasure. “Yeah, fuck, just like that. Say it again.”
“Red!” Sans yelped, this time as more of a protest as he was unceremoniously flipped over. He’d felt more trapped, being face-down in the dirt, but he quickly discovered that looking up into the fearsome visage of Red’s eager leer wasn’t an improvement. He tried to bring his hands up to shield his face, for what little good it would do, only to have them shoved aside with easy strength. Red used one hand to pin his wrists above his head, and the other to tear long furrows down Sans’s clothing, ripping everything between his collarbone and his thighs.
“You’re such a sweet thing,” Red crooned, hips rutting down against Sans’s now bare bones. He was so much larger and heavier, the force of his movements was almost painful. It was a small mercy that he’d already summoned his cock, which provided the barest amount of cushioning compared to the rigidity of his bones. He roughly shoved his own waistband down, freeing the intimidating length of his shaft. “Being so good for me. I like you. It’s kind of a shame I can only eat you once.”
The solid heat of his ecto-flesh nestled along the groove of Sans’s pubic symphysis -- not penetrating him, thank god, Sans didn’t think his narrow pelvic cavity could even accommodate something that thick -- but thrusting into the shallow crook between the rings of his ischium. It was uncomfortable and violating and, according to his stupid, stupid body, disconcertingly good. It made his bones ache in an exhilarating way, Red’s weight bearing down on him with unyielding pressure, and between his frantic whimpers he found himself moaning. As soon as his teeth parted, Red’s mouth was on his, not to kiss him so much as to delve his tongue into Sans’s throat, tasting the inside of his skull with filthy, erotic slurps.
He couldn't think or breathe, paralysed with indecision and the conflicting messages his body was trying to send him. Red’s assault was a debasement, an unthinkable transgression of what should have been the simple eat-or-be-eaten exchange between predator and prey species. The combination of soul-clenching terror and profound arousal was delirium inducing, and Sans wondered if his sanity had snapped somehow, that his struggles felt more like he was helping the slickening glide of Red’s cock against him instead of trying to curl away from him.
“Fuck!” Red growled, and with one especially vigorous thrust he came, crimson fluid landing on Sans’s spine and ribcage in a vulgar splatter. Sans barely had time to blink, numbed with bewilderment, before Red’s large fingers dipped into his pelvic cavity, stirring the furiously aroused magic that had gathered there. “Come on, sweetheart, you too. Give it to me.”
Red’s low, rumbling tone left no space for argument, and even though Sans’s magic hadn’t fully committed to forming anything, Red’s intent and ungentle handling were enough to send him careening over the crest of his own senseless orgasm. His formless magic condensed and burst outward, a spiral of shimmering blue radiating out across his ilium and dripping down from between his femurs. His body was left trembling violently from the aftershocks even as a disconcerting calm settled over him. He couldn’t find the will to squirm or protest even as Red picked him up, cradling him in his arms with all the care one might reserve for a lover.
“Beautiful,” Red breathed, his eyelights burning like hellfire as he gazed down appreciatively at Sans. “Look at you. Basted to perfection.”
His hand caressed Sans’s hip, smearing the blue and red secretions across the smaller skeleton’s body, like he was seasoning a dish. Sans watched wordlessly, feeling light-headed from the surreal encounter, and not even flinching when Red lifted him up, his jaw flexing in preparation for the difficult task of fitting Sans’s skull down his throat.
“It’s better like this, sweetheart,” Red told him, petting San’s skull before angling it towards his mouth. “Going out all high on pleasure. I’ll even make it quick for you.”
Sans closed his eyes, barely cringing as Red’s tongue curled around his jaw to better draw him inside, and faintly wondered if maybe the Fox was right.