Chapter Text
They were sitting outside under the clouds in the courtyard of the castle. The pleasure of the moment was cloud watching. It was shocking how good the clouds looked in a dark world, of all places. How similar to the window outside the Flower King, mused Flowery. It was like this world was made to suit their tastes, their loves.
Made for Asgore. Wide sprawling sky of orange and cool breezes, clouds of all shapes. A castle with beautiful hedging. People who cared for him.
By that logic, it was for Flowery too, he reasoned. His reason for being was Asgore, after all. The man had nurtured his delicate form, from seed to fully bloomed, golden flower. A rarity, and Asgore's oldest “resident”.
That's why they had such a good bond. Thanks to Asgore's dutiful care (and probably some magic, he could sense it rolling off the guy in waves when he was upset, which was increasingly often) Flowery had outlived his lifespan by about 4 years, he had heard Asgore say excitedly over the phone. He was eternally grateful for such love.
For many suns and moons, Flowery had wanted to do something to repay this love. For so long, he watched Asgore spend much time talking, and watering, and caring for himself and the younger flowers.
It was selfless.
It made Flowery ache, somewhere in his trunk. Yes, his purpose was just. To be. But it shouldn't. With so much love to share, so much good he could see unpaid, how was he expected to just sit pretty?
Today was his chance. Finally, he could repay Asgore for the wonderful love he'd shared.
Flowery scooched closer. He tentatively leaned a leg against Asgores. No stiffening. Good.
“This air smells... almost salty.”
“I believe you pointed the sea out on the way here.”
“Ah, right, old buddy. It's beautiful, isn't it?”
“Indeed.” Asgore answered simply, eyes half closed. He had a hand behind him that he leaned on, seeming certainly quite comfortable. Time for the next step. Flowery put his hand in front of Asgore’s. He put his other arm around him.
So far so good. Until,
“Flowery?”
“Yes?
Asgore looked down at their close hands, confused,
“What are you doing?”
“Just enjoying the clouds, with my friend. What are youuu doing, Gorey?” Countered the young man. Shoot. Too strong?
Humaning was harder than it looked.
Asgore chuckled, “I guess, I am doing the same. With my friend.”
Phew. A close one. Flowery relaxed.
He summoned a vine. He could have used hands but getting used to having fingers was… hard. This wasn’t something he wanted to be clumsy about.
“My king?”
“Mm?”
He snaked the vine around Asgore, coming to rest on his thigh. Ok, no more hiding it.
“Asgore, I... want to make you feel excellent.” He started. The older man’s eyes went as wide as disc florets. His mouth fell open, revealing large, yellow tinged teeth.
“You can’t possibly mean...”
“I mean it. Let me do something for you, old friend.” Said Flowery, trying hard to hold back the sound of pleading. They were just friends. Friends helped out friends from time to time.
Asgore swallowed, oddly loud in the quiet courtyard.
“There’s no one around. You could just lie back and feel, Gorey.”
Appearing to struggle within himself, Asgore put a hand on his temple. He breathed quicker.
“Ok.” Said he, with finality, and great burden, “just this once.”
Asgore huffed out a heavy breath. He felt warm. Heating up rapidly. Flowery had a vine stroking his tip through his clothes. He could scream.
Flowery, his plant companion of so long, touching him lewdly like this. Why'd he say he was doing so? Ah yes, to make Asgore feel excellent.
He couldn't breathe. It'd been too long since he'd self-pleasured, just finding himself too sad, busy, or tired to make time. Now, someone was holding him, telling him to just lay back and feel?
It was almost too good to be true. He needed more.
"Nggh- I... flow...”
“Does this please you?” Flowery crooned, voice low. He shifted to sit on Asgore’s knee, just about in his lap, continuing to tease with the vine.
“May I?” Asked the young man, rubbing along the zipper of Asgore’s pants.
Asgore froze as something roiled ugly in his heart.
What was he doing? With Flowery? Was this infidelity? Well, perhaps not, he was. divorced.
Such an awful word. Such an awful thing, the severing of hearts. It has been so long since they split, yet it hurt like yesterday. Was it immoral to let Flowery hold him like this?
Could he sink any lower? What could make him a worse person? Did he have farther to fall?
He nodded, feeling a little sick. That was easily brushed off as Flowery unzipped his pants mind numbingly slowly. It had never been so easy to forget to breathe.
Without thinking, he put a paw (huge, so big next to) around Flowery’s back, pulling him in. As the young man actually got his member out, he huffed for breath. Oh, glory day.
“Are you alright, my buddy?” Asked Flowery with a shiny smile, now stroking him in earnest. The sensation of vine - waxy, rough around the edges - was something Asgore knew he’d never put out of mind. He found his voice,
“How’d you even - nngh - learn this?”
“Well,” said the young man and for a moment, his smile seemed sharper, reminiscent of a shark's, “We are more aware than one may think. One could say.”
“Y-You’ve seen…” Heat crept up to Asgore’s neck. Horror or arousal, he could not tell.
“Many things, Gorey. It has been a wonder to get to know you, my friend.” Said Flowery, and with a flick of the vine, Asgore found his hand clenched tight in the fabric of Flowery’s overshirt. He moaned, head hung low.
Flowery had seen him weep numerous times. Throw things enraged. Obsessed over-
How was he not disgusted?
“I- I don’t know what you see in me.” He admitted, tongue too large in his mouth. Flowery laughed,
“I see my friend who is too hard on himself. He’s a great gardener.”
With that, he stroked faster, vine curled tight, and Asgore grew impossibly close. He turned his head away, catching a whiff of Flowery’s perfume.
The golden flower.
“Stop!” He said, meaning to just say so but he said it much too loud. Flowery went rigid, eyes wide.
“Did I hurt you? I’m s-”
“No, I, your, I have to go, I’m sorry.” Asgore scooched back to stand up and hastily redid his pants with a shaking paw. He turned and quickly made off for the castle.
Flowery called out to him, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t fall any further. This was his burden to bear, and error to fix.
He had to shape up. Continuing to live this way, act this way, was unacceptable.