You start to panic. What if his magic semen has already been absorbed by you? What if an embryo is growing right now!?! You just met this guy! He’s a monster! This is a fucking nightmare.
Sans notices and sighs heavily, “calm tha fuck down. lez’ not worry about that unless it 'appens.”
Fiddle with your clammy hands. “How am I even supposed to know down here? Do monsters have pregnancy tests?”
“i’d know,” he says simply, then pats his lap with the same thunk of bone, “c’mere, cupcake.”
Breath still short, heart pounding, you scoot across the frozen dirt to his legs. He takes one last drag of his cigarette then flicks the still burning butt behind him. After a few minutes of just sitting there, leaning against his shin, his hand lazily stroking your hair, you suddenly feel affectionate.
Decide to share your feelings. “Thank you, Daddy,” you chime, beaming at him.
He blinks at you, obviously confused, sweat trickling down his temple, “fer what?”
“For fucking me,” you clarify.
Sans just stares at you for a moment. Has he never been thanked before? Maybe, actually. Skelehands cup your face and there’s an unfamiliar ardor radiating off him as he leans down to ‘kiss’ you. Groooss, his hand smells like your butt. You still pucker your lips against his moist teeth and he seems to enjoy it, humming cheerily.
Reel back when his ass-fingers brush your cheek. “Ugh,” you spit out, “can you wash your hand in the snow or something?”
He chortles and shoves two dirty phalanges in your nostrils, pulling you up to your knees by them. “dun’ tell me whatta do, ya lil’ piglet,” he gibes. Takes a hold of your jaw with is other hand and removes the fingers from your nose to dive them into your mouth. You whine unhappily but accept them, slathering them with saliva, cleaning them with your tongue. “good human,” he praises, pulling out of your mouth with a lewd pop, then wipes them off on his already soiled shorts.
Sit back on your knees as he releases you, trying to ignore the swell of your genitals and the pain of the wounds he left on your hips. “how ya holdin’ up down there?” he asks, returning his hands to his pockets. “need a snack?”
Shake your head, replying, “I’m okay. Could use an orgasm, though. And some new clothes.”
“nah,” he turns down casually. Guess you’re stuck in these blood-stained, cummy clothes for a while. Yuck.
"a’ight,” he says as you rest your arms on his legs, looking up at him. “ere’s my plan. i’m gettin’ the hell outta here. and i need yer soul fer that.” That makes you uneasy. Hopefully the soul can stay in your body. “but first we gotta actually get ta the fuckin’ barrier. by now, shit’s hit the fan, most of the underground probably knows about ya. so. gotta bide time till’ errybody assumes yer dead n’ gone. few days at least.”
Great… stuck waiting around for who knows how long. That’s exactly what you don’t want. The capacity to move forward was the only thing that kept you going.
Sans continues, “so imma hide ya at my place fer a while. pap never goes in my workshop.” His house? This feels extremely intimate. “then we got time ta really have a ball,” he snickers, grabbing at his crotch to punctuate his joke.
That sounds like fun and your body eagerly responds, but it’s not what you care about right now. “Where’s the barrier?”
“king’s castle.” He pulls out the same mustard bottle you saw before, squeezing some into his open mouth until it farts, indicating it’s almost empty. That makes him grumble and chuck the bottle over his shoulder. Dirty litterbug. “cute lil’ place. loaded with human corpses and souls,” he grins, like he wanted that to scare you. It didn’t.
“How are we supposed to get there?” you ask, toying with the red elastic trim of his winter jacket.
He heaves out an exasperated sigh, “shit, kid, i dunno. probably cum all over ya ta hide yer scent and put ya in a disguise er somethin’.”
Twist up your face at his words. You were anticipating him to have a cunning plan or at least a plan that doesn’t completely suck. “That’s it?” you mumble, “you’re going to get us both killed.”
A deep growl vibrates in his ribcage, “dun’ be an ass, i came up with this like a fuckin’ hour ago.”
“Can’t you just use magic? Teleportation or something?”
“that ain’t how magic works, sweetheart.”
This is getting frustrating. “Well, how does it work then?” you say, voice laden with your chagrin.
Snickering, he rubs your head like you’re a pouty child, “yer awfully cheeky fer a creature wit’ literally no power over their own life. shit’ll work out fine. an’ if not? i’ll just wait fer nother’ human.” The hopelessness and impuissance of your situation finally hits you, teardrops beginning to cloud your eyes. Hands quiver on his femurs as you hide your face in the elbow of your sweatshirt, quietly sobbing. “hey now,” he purrs, “yer a good human, i like ya, i ain’t just gun’ let ya get killed. have a lil’ faith, huh?”
Faith? You’ve never had faith. All you’ve had is yourself. That’s the only thing you could ever rely on. You don’t know anything about this guy. How could a few bad jokes and romps in the snow possibly earn your trust? You’re going to die down here.
When you don’t stop crying, he runs his warm hand down the collar of your hoodie. “mmm, be that way if ya want, babyface. bet a nice distraction would help. how about a joke?” You really don’t want another joke but he continues before you can even say anything, “whuzza pedophiles favorite part of halloween? free delivery!” He snorts and slaps the thigh you aren’t resting on. You just groan into him. “ah, didn’t like that one? well, maybe i can cheer ya up like ya did fer me…” his voice flows through you like melted chocolate as his hand grazes your bare shoulder blade.
Nerves still alight from being fucked earlier, you respond more enthusiastically than you wanted to, moving you head to bury your face in his crotch with a moan. Bad idea, his groin is just a bunch of sharp angles and divots. Uncomfortable, but you bear it. He lets out a pleased murmur, bucking against you lightly, the bones of his hand traveling leisurely across your back. “why don’t ya unbutton those pants an’ start touchin’ yerself?”
Rest your head in his circle of his ilium and do as he says, opening your pants enough for you to slide your dominant hand inside, cupping your bare sex. You’re still so wet, fingers entering easily. It’s nowhere near enough, especially when compared to his cock, but you’re grateful for any stimulation.
Sans laughs, “there ya go. that feel nice? keep goin’, lil’ one.” Slumping dramatically, he traps your head between his ribcage and pelvic bone, a skelehand joining you in your pants. Distal phalanges find the swollen bundle of nerves as your crest and start circling lightly. Express your appreciation for his efforts with an emphatic mewl. This position must be putting some strain on him, he has to reach so far. He’s being so gentle and attentive, unwanted feelings of attachment start surfacing.
“that’s a good human,” he compliments, other hand still in your shirt, beginning to scratch at the thin skin protecting your spine. “how many fingers ya got in there?”
“Th-three,” you whimper, continuing to plunge them as deep as you can.
“put one more in,” he instructs. You do, slowly, stretching yourself out to about the thickness of his shaft. “good,” his voice is murky and loaded with anticipation, it resonates through his bones and into you. He evaluates your reactions when changing rubbing styles on your clit and goes with the one that makes you compulsively thrust into his hand. “good, (your name), that's right...”
Roll your hips as your hand moves frantically, you’re getting close, you need this, you need him. “S-Sans, I’m gonna…!” You trail off when he pushes into you harder, the tension stewing in your pelvis becoming overpowering.
“cum,” he whispers into you, and immediately, you do. Jerk beneath him as waves of energy travel through you, flooding your mind with dopamine, oxytocin, and serotonin. Struggle to keep your fingers inside as your ride out your climax. It lasts longer than you expected, electrifying your entire body. Muscles still throbbing, you pull your hand from your pants, breathing heavily into his shorts.
Sans leans up and although you can’t see him, you’re still coming down from the incredible high, can hear his tongue materialize and lap at his fingers. “feel bettah'?” he asks.
You wheeze out a garbled giggle and lift your heavy head to make eye contact. “Yeesss,” you sing out, “thank you, Daddy.”