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"Do you think there's hope?"
Red looks up from the wobbly reflection of his own face staring at him from the surface of the whiskey sloshing in his glass, and makes an inquisitive noise. "Hope? F'r what?"
Dust makes a vague hand gesture, his movements just a little slow and swaying.
He might be getting past the point of his own limit. Empty bottles litter the table, some of them knocked over and leaking down the side of the table. Boss will give him hell for staining the carpet, but Red is past caring about that. That’s a problem for future Red.
“The way yer goin’?” he asks. Alcohol has always made him a little loose lipped, nevermind the fact that he doesn’t have lips, so maybe he’s stepping over a line, toying with a tiger or whatever metaphor he can’t quite put his finger on, when he says, “Y’want full honesty, buddy? Cuz I ain’t think so. Every which way t’Sunday, yer a tragedy.”
Dust’s browbones furrow as he looks over the mouth of the bottle he holds. Red had lost count of how many of them they’d gone through. How many of them had Dust gone through, all on his own. But Dust’s human is dead, the universe empty yet again, and he is just waiting for the next reset to put him right back.
Not unlike Red, really. Little Frisk had fallen for one of Undyne’s spears, and they had yet to reset. It would be an insult, not to drink the whole cabinet’s worth of booze if it would just be fully restocked. At least, that’s what he’d justified this with, a deck of cards in hand to further entice the other skeleton. Not that Dust had ever needed much enticing in the first place.
As much as he loathes to admit it, Dust reminds him… well, of himself. Sure, they are the same person, technically. Whatever. Suck it, university. Red’s multiverse theory research had been right. But Dust carries around the same weight Red had, when the resets had started and he hadn’t come to terms with them yet.
So sue him for feeling pity. It could always be worse. He could’ve met an actual maniac, instead of this depressed (and yet determined) mess. Yeah, could’ve been much, much worse.
“I’ll make you a tragedy,” Dust snips, teeth upturned in indignation more than actual anger.
“Sweethear’, if y’wanted me t’keep the gloves on, ya should’ve asked b’fore we got sloshed.”
“Yeah, okay, fuck you.” Dust takes a swig of the bourbon, wiping his chin with the back of his glove. He’d completely missed the joke Red had just made. He snickers anyway. “You’re still an asshole.”
“Takes one ta know one.”
They both laugh, resets forgotten for a moment as the conversation moves along, into Red regaling a tale of Edge kicking Undyne’s ass at training, and Dust laughing, more at the way Red’s words slur together than the actual story. It’s better than him staring off into space and talking to the air.
Red knows he’s had too much to drink, realizes it the second his back hits the bare mattress in his room, air punched out of him by a shortcut and Dust’s weight pinning his spine down. He has no idea what happened between the Edge story and now, to have Dust’s teeth on his and his tongue prying its way into his mouth.
Dust tastes — and smells — like all the bourbon he’d drank, but Red finds he doesn’t mind one bit. He gives back as good as he gets, or tries to, anyway. Their tongues run over one another, magic sparking between them while their combined saliva drips down Red’s mandibles.
As Red holds Dust close, claws digging into his hips, he hopes he’ll remember this in the morning. Maybe he’ll count all the bottles, to figure out how much it had taken for the other to get this plastered. He’d always been fine, even when Red was already about to fall over. He chalks it up to the difference in their LV.
Dust’s hips roll against him, making his clothes rub against his hipbones. The pressure on his spine is exquisite, and he’d feel embarrassed that it heats the bones up, makes the magic spring forth to pool under the quickly-wrinkling clothes, if he couldn’t feel Dust’s as well.
Dust’s breath fans over his skull, hands shaking where they’re bracing him on either side of Red’s head. There’s a flush on his cheekbones, a mottled purple that’s much more obvious than it’d been in the living room. He grinds down again, makes a quiet noise that will plague Red’s wet dreams for months, and hooks his tibias around Red’s pelvis. In an impressive show of coordination, Dust rolls over and pulls Red along, bracketing him between his legs.
A bit of the impressiveness falls off when he groans, wincing from the sudden movement, but Red isn’t sure anything save being puked on would stop him from rutting forward into Dust’s pelvis. There’s a hardness there, and when his hands find Dust’s hips, they’re met with the plush give of ectoflesh beneath the stained shorts. Yeah, it’s looking like not even the puking would be enough to dissuade him.
He’s got really low standards, huh. What a way to have a personal discovery.
“Fuck me,” Dust mutters, and Red can’t puzzle out if it’s an invitation, or just a reaction to the vertigo. He decides to take it for the former and slides his hands under the waistband of Dust’s shorts, pulling them down over the smooth ectoflesh.
Dust groans as his cock springs free, arching his hips up to help with Red’s efforts of undressing him. to his credit, Red is able to tear his eyelights away from the prettiest shade of lilac in existence to check up on him.
“Fuck, hold on,” Dust says, so Red, despite kind of wobbling on his knees, backs off. He takes the shorts along, of course. He hadn’t been told not to, after all.
Dust reaches between his legs, passes over his cock and splays his fingers over the smooth area under it. Red watches his browbones scrunch up, and maybe he swallows heavier than usual. Maybe he thinks frustration looks hot on Dust. Not like anyone will ever know.
“Stupid— fuckin’ magic,” Dust huffs, “said I wanna be fucked…!”
Red wants to laugh, but he has enough self-preservation to hold it back to just a grin.
“Oh, this won’t do with yer plans, huh?” he asks, just a touch teasing. Before Dust can bark at him for the comment, he reaches down and covers Dust’s hand with his own, fingers teasing at the ectoflesh.
Dust jolts, his whole body shaking, but to his credit, he doesn’t cry out, even as all of Red’s intent flashes through him, lighting his body up. If Dust wanted to be fucked, then Red wanted to fuck him.
Dust huffs again, voice stuttering on the sound, but when he pulls his hand away from under Red’s, there’s a pussy where nothing used to be, and Red lets out the chuckle at the fact that it’s soaking the glowing flesh with a very liberal trail of slick.
“Why aren’t you fuckin’ me yet?” Dust asks him, breaking him out of his stupor, though the inflection is all wrong, and the demand ends up as a whine, of all things.
“Fuckin’ stars, sweetheart. You ain’t even had the cunt fer ten seconds,” Red mutters, but he’s already pushing his own shorts down and out of the way.
“So what? C’mon, I’m dying over here.” Dust wraps his legs around him as Red slots back between them, holding his hips up.
“Yeah, I can see. Fuckin’ a waterfall hadn’t been on my to-do list today, y’know.” As if to prove his point, more slick drips down to the mattress as he guides his cock to Dust’s entrance, gliding over his folds.
“You literally summoned the fuckin’ waterfall,” Dust snips at him, but the accusation only makes Red snicker.
“I sure fuckin’ did. And now I’m gonna enjoy it.”
With that, he slides into the welcoming heat, inch by inch until he’s as close to Dust’s pelvis as he physically can be.
Dust hisses out a, “yes,” dragging it out until he’s out of breath and gasping for it. If Red needed a sign to know he could move, that was it.
He snaps his hips back and Dust’s head lolls back against the shitty, wrinkled pillow. Maybe he could actually make his bed in the next reset. He thinks about it, distantly, as he watches the miniscule twitches of Dust’s browbones, the way his teeth part on small grunts and groans.
“Fuck— right there,” Dust tells him, and Red isn’t sure what he’d done to change the angle, but he tries to keep it that way. He takes the way Dust trembles beneath him as a sign that he’s not doing a terrible job of it.
Dust’s magic runs hotter than Red’s, and the heat feels so good with the way his walls squeeze down on him. Red’s hips move on their own, thrusting into the pliant body under him as Dust fists his hands in the pillow. Pleasure sparks along his spine, lighting up his joints and false nerves.
“Fuck,” Dust gasps. His voice had gone an octave deeper than usual, rumbling over the slick sounds of Red’s cock sliding in and out of him. “Sans!”
Red pauses at the use of his real name, his brain muddled past the ‘holy shit it feels so fucking good to fuck him.’ But he recovers quick enough, a smirk tugging at his teeth. “Yeah, Sans?”
Dust pauses as well, their heavy pants all that fills the silence for a moment, and then Dust breaks out into a chuckle. It’s breathless and infectious.
As he laughs along, Red couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed during sex. It’s strangely nice, coupled with the snug heat he’s still buried in.
He adjusts his hold on Dust’s hip and the other skeleton’s laughter tapers off into a long, quiet groan. Red is more than happy to resume his previous pace and they fall back into a rhythm of rocking against each other. He’s sure that Dust had already forgotten what he’d wanted to say, mostly because he himself couldn’t remember the reason for their little break, but Dust surprises him as he reaches up to grip at the sleeves of his hoodie, using the grip to pull himself up into a half-sitting position.
“Red,” he says, slower and more deliberate, though no less strained than before, to avoid a repeat of their laughing and losing the thread of their thoughts. Not that it hadn’t been nice… “Can— ah— can you do me a favor?”
The new angle pushes them even closer, and Red’s cock presses against a sensitive spot inside him. Dust’s cock bobs between them, adding to the mess as it drips precum.
Red grunts, tooth glinting as he grins down. “No promises, sweetheart.” Sweat drips down his skull and his hands grip the generous swell of Dust’s hips, padded with the extra magic that speaks volumes of how much he has to spare.
Dust mirrors the expression, eyelights ablaze, before leaning in and clicking their teeth together in another messy kiss. Just as Red’s getting into it, licking the residual taste of bourbon off of Dust’s tongue, he pulls away.
Their skulls are still close enough to feel the labored breathing, see the red determination lining Dust’s gaze.
“You’re the only person I trust,” Dust tells him, soft and quiet, and the words have no business making his cock jump like that. It pulls a little startled noise out of them both, and then Dust kisses him again. “If I— If I ever lose myself to LV, promise you’ll — fuck! — promise you’ll judge me.”
There’s nothing funny about the request, but Red is so startled he all but chokes on a guffaw.
“Sweetheart, tha’s a bit morbid t’think about when yer bein’ fucked, don’tcha think?” he remarks, but as soon as the words are out of his mouth, he leans down and teases along the column of Dust’s neck.
“A turnoff?”
Red doesn’t reply, and that’s an answer in itself. Probably, anyway.
Except Red’s hands move up and wrap around his midriff, claws digging into Dust’s ribs through his shirt and holding him close.
“I said no promises,” he mutters against a lilac leyline, biting down hard enough to draw marrow. Dust jerks with a quiet sound. “But I trust ya, too. If ya do, I’ll be there.”
Dust masks the little hitch in his breath with a moan, and Red bites down on his neck again, to pull out another one. He stays there as a little show of mercy, to let the other skeleton pull himself back together.
“Stars, fuck me ‘til I pass out,” Dust demands after a moment, and that’s something Red gets started on without reservations, rocking his hips up to slam himself deep into the slick passage. The head of his cock hits against the end of Dust’s magic and makes his breath stutter again.
They cling to each other, hands clawing at each other and teeth leaving marks on every available inch of bone, etching themselves into the other. The move almost like one, Dust pulling himself to meet Red’s thrusts as the pleasure mounts.
Somehow, Red both expects it and is surprised when Dust comes first, gripping his arms and leaving marks in his hoodie and bones alike. His walls clamp down on Red, even as more slick gushes out of him, drenching Red’s lap and painting long lines over their shirts.
He shivers, pliant and boneless as Red keeps moving him, chasing his own end. The tightness brings him there fast, but what sends him over the edge is Dust’s look, half-lidded sockets looking at him with fuzzy eyelights, hazy around the edges. Or maybe it’s the little, breathless gasps he punches out of him with each thrust.
Whichever it is has Red growling and spilling himself into Dust’s ecto, the magic accommodating as much as it can, but the purple puddle under them ends up stained red as well, seeping into the mattress.
Dust all but collapses against him, his grip going slack. It takes a moment for Red to regain himself, until the pleasurable aftershocks fade from his magic, and another moment to realize that Dust had fallen asleep on him, quite literally. He wants to do the same, but manages to lay them both down, as far away from the large wet patch as he can.
Well, he did fuck Dust until he passed out. That's a success in his books.
He hopes he’ll remember this, even if he has to deal with a hangover.
He doesn’t have to deal with a hangover.
When he wakes up, it’s to an empty mattress, his room just as much of a mess as always. There’s no stain to indicate any of last night’s activities, and he’s sure the cabinet downstairs would be fully stocked if he went to look.
Edge bangs on his door, announcing the daybreak, and at once, Red knows the universe has gone through a reset.
It explains why Dust is nowhere to be found. Red had expected his counterpart to sleep in, just like him.
He forces himself to get up, unsure yet what kind of an iteration it would be this time. He thinks to the not-promise he’d made to Dust.
He hopes it’d never have to come to that, but he knows better than to put his SOUL into that hope.
The good news is that the cabinet is, in fact, fully stocked again, and he might find the time to dress his mattress up properly.
Y’know, just in case.