Chapter Text
Grillby wasn’t materialistic by any stretch. He kept his apartment above the restaurant relatively sparse, furniture-wise, and didn’t have much in the way of knick-knacks. There were only two decorations on his walls--one was a poster of a rock band that Sans had never heard of, and the other was a poster depicting various hot peppers of the world, complete with Scoville rankings. As far as Sans knew, the only things Grillby ever really splurged on were kitchen utensils, and his bed.
The bed was unbelievably comfortable, with the softest sheets Sans had ever felt and a springy mattress that, fortunately, didn’t squeak too much. It was queen-sized, which was perfect for a flame elemental who tended to roll a lot in his sleep, and draped in plush blankets and a quilted comforter. Grillby had said something about thread count at some point, but Sans hadn’t really been paying attention. Sans just knew that it was probably the best place in the world to sleep. Certainly a thousand times better than his bare mattress at home.
It was pretty damn good for other things too. Sans felt like he was sinking into a warm cloud as Grillby perched above him, body almost flush with Sans’s. Grillby cradled his face with one hand as he kissed him, tongue exploring his mouth while his fingers explored Sans’s bare ribs. Sans gripped Grillby’s shoulders, holding him close, trembling as Grillby’s fingers easily found all the good spots he knew so well. Sans was dizzy from the heat and the sensation of Grillby’s mouth and hands on him, his bones humming with magic.
Not in the right places, though. Not yet. Grillby hadn’t touched his pelvis at all--he was always so careful--and nothing they had done in the last hour had lit that spark. Sometimes it took something specific, and sometimes it took conscious effort, and sometimes it just happened, without any input from Sans or from anyone else. It was never as annoying as it was now, when he already felt amazing, when he was in a good mood, when Grillby was hungrily kissing him again after a week-long dry spell. When he could feel Grillby’s erection through his pants, even though Grillby was trying to be careful, waist hoisted above Sans as he tried not to grind down.
Grillby wanted to fuck him. Sans wanted to let himself bliss out, to stop thinking and enjoy a night of just this, just Grillby near him and touching him and kissing him. It should have been easy, with how utterly comfortable he was, but he could feel his thoughts beginning to coalesce and congeal. It was always so stupid, trying to reason with his own body like this. Thinking about sex with a sort of clinical detachment--envisioning Grillby’s cock, the size and shape of it, how it would feel inside him. The movement, the friction, the sounds, how long they would both last. How good the orgasm would feel. All of it, completely removed from actual desire or arousal.
Normal people didn’t have to think about it this much, didn’t have to break it all down into qualifiable parts, just to try and force themselves to feel something. Did he have to be such a goddamn scientist all the time?
Come on, he thought as he deepened the kiss and shifted his grip to hold Grillby’s face. Come on, just do it. He’s been waiting all week.
Grillby’s fingers trailed down along his spine, pressing heat into the discs. Sans inhaled sharply as Grillby found that perfect spot between two of his lower vertebrae, making him arch upwards.
Just do it. Form something and give it to him.
He’ll never forgive you if he finds out, another voice countered.
If he finds out.
Of course he’ll find out. It’ll hurt. He’ll see it right away.
He wants it.
Yeah, asshole? Enough to be okay with hurting you? He’s not a piece of shit like you are.
Grillby’s hand moved further downward. Slowly, carefully, he started to slip his fingers below Sans’s waistband. Heat spread from his fingertips, warming the bone and doing absolutely nothing else.
This was the part Sans always dreaded.
“Wait.”
Grillby stopped with his fingers less than an inch down Sans’s shorts. He sat upward enough to catch Sans’s eye.
“No good?”
“I’m okay, just…” Sans squirmed a little, trying to draw a bit more heat from Grillby’s fingers, desperately hoping it would start something. It was warm, and it felt damn good.
It just wasn’t that kind of good.
“Sorry.”
Grillby withdrew his fingers with the smallest, faintest of sighs.
“It’s alright.”
“No it’s not.”
“Shh.” Grillby moved upward again and kissed Sans on the edge of his neck. “It’s alright. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“You want it,” Sans said, staring past him to the ceiling. “You’ve been waiting all week.”
“I can wait awhile longer.”
Grillby tried to kiss his mouth but Sans turned away.
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Sans. Seriously.” Grillby couldn’t reach his mouth so he kissed Sans’s jaw instead. “It’s alright. I’m not upset. Besides, I’m used to this.”
He had probably meant it to sound comforting, but all it did was remind Sans of how many times this had happened. How many times he had shut Grillby down in the middle of things, how many times he had left Grillby frustrated. Even if Grillby was very good at hiding it. Sans clenched his jaw for a moment.
“You’re rock hard.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Grillby scooted upward a little so that his waist was further away. “I was trying to control it.”
“No, it’s--” Sans lost his thread for a second as Grillby ran a finger along the underside of his sternum. “--It’s natural, I get it. I meant it’s just--not fair to you, to have to--”
Grillby made an exasperated sound. “My dick’s not going to fall off if I don’t stick it somewhere, Sans.”
That got Sans to snort a little, mostly at the image it presented. Would it be like the little flames that sometimes got away from him when he wasn’t thinking, or like when he used magic to light fires? Just a dick made of fire flopping away across the floor. Maybe it would burn the building down, and then they’d both have to explain that to the rest of Snowdin.
“Pfft, okay, okay. Talk about a killer orgasm, though.”
Grillby gave a vague hum that was almost laughter, vibrating through Sans’s neck and jaw. The ticklish feeling made Sans chuckle out loud.
“But seriously,” he said, finally turning his head back to face Grillby. “I could suck you off or something.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Maybe I want to.”
“You don’t.”
“Just gonna call me out like that, huh,” Sans said mulishly, slipping his arms around Grillby’s neck again. “I don’t not want to, either.”
“Sans.”
“I’m serious. Sucking dick is like…” Sans waved a hand vaguely. “What’s a nicer word for ‘meaningless’?”
Grillby made another of those exasperated sounds and braced his forehead against Sans’s shoulder.
“I just mean it’s like--something I can do without needing to like…be turned on or want it or…look, this shit is hard to explain, okay?”
“Clearly,” Grillby said against his shoulder. “But I really don’t know how many times I need to tell you that I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to.”
“I’m offering.”
“And I’m saying no,” Grillby said, more firmly this time. “End of discussion.”
Great. Now Sans had made him angry on top of the rest of it. The evening had been going pretty well before Sans had decided to open his stupid mouth. Just like him to ruin a perfectly good thing. Even the bed was starting to feel more suffocating than comfortable.
Grillby stayed perched above him for a few long moments, face buried in Sans’s neck. Sans didn’t move, staring up at the ceiling again.
“Do you want to stop?” Grillby asked quietly.
The problem had always been that what Sans wanted always boiled down into fluffy, sappy bullshit. Even when the desire and the attraction were there, it could be reduced into simpler things like--Grillby holding him, Grillby touching him, falling asleep curled up under Grillby’s arm. Pathetic, cheesy little things that couples did. And they weren’t a couple. They hung out and they bantered and occasionally they did things like this, and even more occasionally they did the whole sex thing. Friends with benefits, and the benefits were tipped steeply in Sans’s favor. He could get everything he wanted from a kiss or two. Grillby couldn’t.
What a shitty deal for him.
“Maybe we should.”
There was that tiny, disappointed sigh again.
“Alright,” Grillby said, starting to sit back. “I’m sorry. I can’t always control it.”
“No, I know, that’s not what--I’m not upset at you.” Sans let go and draped an arm over his eyesockets. “Just, sorry for getting you all hot and bothered, heh.”
“You can’t control it any more than I can.”
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t--”
No, this had to stop. Sans could feel himself spiraling, and Grillby didn’t need to see that. Sans had ruined more than enough already. He made himself grin and began scooting away toward the edge of the bed. The bed sank beneath him like it didn’t want him to go.
“Eh, whatever,” he said airily. “We can try again some other time.”
“If you want,” Grillby said, like a nail in a coffin. Like what Sans wanted even mattered. Sans slid his legs over the side of the bed and stretched languidly, cracking his spine.
“You don’t have to leave,” Grillby said, the faintest note of a plea in his voice. “You can spend the night.”
Sans leaned over the edge to gather up his shirt and hoodie.
“Nah, when I fall asleep in your bed it’s basically impossible for me to leave.” Sans looked back at Grillby and grinned, bouncing in place a little. “I don’t know how you manage to get out of it every morning. I could practically live here.”
There was a somewhat surreal moment where Sans felt like he could see Grillby’s entire thought process. He watched as Grillby realized that Sans was deflecting, got frustrated about it, debated whether to call him on it, decided it wasn’t worth it this time, and then begrudgingly decide to play along.
Being observant was kind of a curse sometimes.
“Believe me, the temptation is there,” Grillby said dryly. “It’s surprisingly hard to work in a kitchen while lying down.”
Sans wrestled himself into his shirt and hoodie, chuckling and getting an elbow stuck in the hood briefly.
“I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t pay money to see you try.”
He stood up fully and turned around. Grillby was sitting up in the middle of the bed now, so Sans didn’t have to lean too far in. He kissed Grillby quickly on the mouth and stayed close when he broke away.
“Sorry again,” he muttered. “See ya tomorrow.”
Grillby started to reach for him, but Sans pulled back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“Yes,” Grillby said, dropping his hand. “Goodnight, Sans.”