Would That Make You Happy?

Frisk is your child, the result of a teen pregnancy, but they've always been told that you're their older sister. In an effort to get away from your own abusive mother, the two of you end up falling into the Underground, where Sans is startled by this abrupt change in what had become a predictable pattern of events. Maybe your presence is what is needed to stop the endless cycle of Resets.

After many struggles, both internal and external, you and your found family reach the surface, only to face even more difficulties from the society you weren't sure you'd ever see again. You meet new friends and encounter people from your past, though for good or ill, you're not sure. Sometimes it's difficult to tell kindness from cunning.


110. Silence

Grillby doesn't seem surprised when Deacon knocks on the door to the bar, ignoring the 'closed' sign hanging in the window. In fact he doesn't seem much of anything, as far as he can tell. The fire elemental is a puzzle that he just can't seem to solve, and he's not sure he wants to try much longer. It's been a week, to the day, since the first time they hooked up and already the novelty is starting to wear off.

It's not like he went into this expecting a relationship. Deacon doesn't do relationships. But as Grillby lets him inside without a word, part of him wishes that he'd at least seem happy to see him. You're always happy to see him. It's obvious by how your face lights up and you don't even hesitate to engage him in conversation. You keep up with him, enjoy his jokes, make him laugh...

"Were you expecting me?" he says, turning so he's walking backwards towards the bar, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

Grillby smiles, and Deacon is glad to get that much out of him. He's started to decipher some of the facial expressions and gestures, but it's just not enough. He's never been good with silence. The only thing keeping Deacon from leaving is the elemental's single-minded intensity, the way his attention hasn't strayed since he walked in the door. He can live with that.

"So how was your half day? Good lunch crowd?" Deacon asks, settling himself on a bar stool as Grillby follows after him. He doesn't respond, as expected. "Oh, my day was fine, thanks for asking."

Grillby undoes his tie and pulls it away from his neck in one fluid motion, slipping it into his pocket. Then his fingers go to the button at his collar while his other hand adjusts his glasses. Oh.

"I know this might sound crazy, but bear with me for a second," Deacon says, swallowing as he tries to ignore the stirrings of arousal making his pants feel snug. "We could talk or I don't know... watch TV or something."

Silence. Of course.

Instead there's warm, soft hands cupping his face, hot lips seeking his own, Grillby's legs between his knees. Deacon lets himself be quieted, giving up his futile efforts to make some kind of connection with the monster that isn't strictly carnal. Fingers rake down his chest then back up again, tugging at the knot in his tie. Soon his shirt is undone and the heat of Grillby's mouth is at his throat as a hand traces the muscles of his stomach.

Deacon slips one hand around the back of Grillby's neck, feeling the warm, harmless flames lick over his fingers. His other hand is tangled up with his in a gesture of intimacy he just doesn't feel. Instead he just feels hollow, disconnected from the moment, wishing he were somewhere else. His erection disagrees, but part of him wishes he'd just taken you up on your offer to spend time together after work. To just talk. God, when had his priorities shifted so wildly that he'd rather hang out with a friend than have sex?

Probably around the time he'd found himself with an actual friend.

Here, with Grillby, there's just something missing. Something he wouldn't have noticed before. The funny thing is, if he'd been dating you he's certain he would have broken up with you by now. Before he got too comfortable. And, well... it's too late for that. He found that out on Halloween, that he wasn't ready to let that friendship go.

Deacon snaps back to himself as he feels his pants coming undone, a hand stroking him through his underwear. Gasping, he arches into the touch and turns his head, seeking Grillby's mouth. This is better. He just doesn't want to think anymore. He just wants to enjoy this moment, to surrender himself to whatever it is that Grillby wants from him.

There's just one problem.

"Wait," Deacon breathes, tilting his mouth away just enough that he can speak. "We should at least go upstairs."

Instead Grillby lets go of his hand and takes hold of his waist, lifting him off the barstool with an ease that might have startled him if he were in a more clear-minded state. He sets him up on the bar, sliding his hands around to his back as his mouth and tongue start to trace a trail down his chest. Deacon almost knocks over a set of condiments as he scrabbles blindly with one hand to support himself, the other hand fisting in the monster's sleeve. His protest is momentarily forgotten as he feels fingers curl around the waistband of his underwear and start to tug down—

"hey grillby, you— oh for god's sake!"

No. Oh god, why? Why did Sans have to show up? Of all the people on this mountain, why Sans?

Deacon tries to summon the will to play it off, to be sarcastic and unaffected. It's not like he's never been walked in on before. Instead he feels his infuriatingly obvious blush creep up the sides of his neck, heat up his ears and paint across his cheeks. This is the worst. The absolute worst. Why did he come here? What the hell is he doing?

He buries his face in his hand and tries to hunch forward and hide behind Grillby.

Grillby, to his credit, straightens and with a calm collectedness despite the pale blue color on his face, does up Deacon's pants and starts helping him button up his shirt in silence.

"on the bar? c'mon you guys, we bring the kids here," Sans says, grumbling to himself.

"I told you we should have gone upstairs!" Deacon blurts out, humiliated and suddenly angry. With Grillby, with himself, and most definitely with Sans. What the fuck was he even doing here?

Grillby doesn't answer him, instead turning to Sans once Deacon is mostly put back together. "We wouldn't have finished here," he says, voice soft, and Deacon just feels even angrier. Oh, so he doesn't have a problem talking to Sans, but even when he tries to fish for things to talk about, he won't say anything to him? Fine. That's fine.

God this isn't fine! Nothing about this situation is fine! Deacon slides off the bar and grits his teeth, scrubbing his face with his hands.

"you should put a sock on the door or something. shit, warn people," Sans says, shoving his hands in his pockets with a disgusted look.

"The door was locked," Grillby says.

Deacon takes a deep breath. They're both ignoring him. He counts to five. Focus. Control. He forces himself to relax, like he was taught. "It's fine, you won't have to worry about this again. Either of you. This was fun, but I think we both know this isn't going to work out," Deacon says, forcing a smile as both the monsters turn to look at him. 

Grillby seems surprised, as much as someone with fire for a face can look surprised. But he doesn't say anything, doesn't protest as he walks past both of them towards the door. He unlocks it, waits for a second, but neither of them speak up.


Deacon walks out.

Sans lets out a small sigh as the door shuts behind Deacon. He can't say he's surprised. The human will be fine, he's sure that he's just going to go over and see you. At least this has all been laid to rest.

No, he's more concerned about Grillby. He's looking at the door, an especially unreadable expression on his face as he crosses his arms over his chest.

"it's for the best," Sans says, closing the distance between him and his friend. "sorry for showing up outta the blue like that."

Grillby lets out a small huff, loosing sparks from his head.

"wasn't this whole thing just casual, anyway?"

The bartender nods, then leans back against a stool.

"sorry again, i know it's been a while," Sans says, rocking back on his heels as he studies his friend's face.

He shakes his head, not so much a denial as a dismissal. Grillby reaches up and fixes the top button of his shirt, then adjusts his glasses. "He was right. It wasn't going to work out."

Arching a brow, he hesitates for a second. "did you think it might?"

Grillby shakes his head again. "I'm not sure what I thought."

Sans sighs again, walking over and pulling himself up on the stool next to him. "at least i didn't show up any later. seemed like things were getting pretty heated."

The fire elemental gives him a narrow-eyed look. Sans just grins. He doesn't have it in him to lie, to say he wished things had turned out differently. So instead he can at least make an effort to cheer him up with horrible puns.

"you could say he had the hots for you."

Grillby lets off another shower of sparks, and he knows that it's working.

Deacon slows his car as he reaches your driveway, caught in an internal struggle. All he could think about earlier was how much he'd rather be hanging out with you, how much happier he'd be. Now that he has the chance, why is it so hard to just take it?

He can't face you right now, and he's not sure why. As much as he knows you'd do everything you could to make him feel better, he's just too embarrassed and upset. This isn't the side of himself he wants you to see. He's not ready to share this vulnerability with anyone, not even you.

Driving past your house, he continues down the road until he reaches home. He parks, fishes his keys out of his pocket, and goes inside. The house is empty, just like it always is. It's silent.

Ugh. He can't stand it.

Deacon throws himself onto his couch and picks up the remote for the TV, just for the background noise. He doesn't even notice the channel.

There's another addition to his long string of breakups, if he can even call it that. There wasn't much of a 'relationship' to end. He's not even upset about that, about Grillby. No, just the thought of Sans catching him like that, almost literally with his pants down... it makes his stomach twist unpleasantly and he buries his face in a throw pillow.

He ought to tell you, before Sans does. What is Sans going to say? Who knows. He sure as hell doesn't know what might have been going on in the skeleton's head.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he stares at the last exchange he had with you. It's from last night. 'Just thought you should know. We're having meatloaf for dinner, I know you love it.' Deacon can't help but smile a little bit. What did Sans do to deserve you?

'OMG is that an invitation? Are you offering me food?'

'Of course it's an invitation. Come over.'

He watches the little cursor blink on his phone, waiting for him to type in a message. Swiping his thumb across the screen, he can't help but copy the end of your last text. 'Come over. Please.'

Deacon stares at it. He deletes it.

'Too quiet in this house. Want to come over?'

He deletes that too.

'Hey, so Sans totally walked in on me and Grillby, thankfully he didn't get too much of a show. But I broke things off, no way I'm going to risk that again. Oh well.'

There. That's suitably casual. Makes it seem like everything is fine.

He's fine.

He sends the message and puts down his phone.

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