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.


124. Wanting More

Everyone makes it back to Ebott with a full thirty minutes to spare. Deacon once again brings up the rear at the checkpoint, and by the time he's through all the other cars have already headed home. As the gate shuts behind Sylvie, he hears Bo let out a soft sigh. She's looking out the passenger window, at the mirror maybe. He reaches for her hand and places it on the stick shift, so he can thread their fingers together but still drive. Glancing over at him, she gives a weak smile.

"We'll go out again. As much as you want," Deacon says, because he can't stand that look on her face. Like a prisoner being returned to her cell. A taste of freedom snatched out of her hands. But it's true, isn't it? This is what it must be like for her, for all of them. Who's to say this will last forever? Who's to say it won't get worse before it gets better? If it ever gets better?

He can't think like that. It's not helping anyone.

"Okay," she says, squeezing his fingers. He squeezes back. "I'd like that. I want to see everything."

Everything within driving distance, maybe. Bo has this habit of watching the travel channel, or that home and garden channel where they remodel houses and stuff. He knows she's not going to be content with just the surrounding area for long. Her wanderlust, while endearing, feels dangerous. For now, at least. He's never been out of the state before, never really had a reason, but now he wants to. He wants to show her all the sights. The Grand Canyon, New York City, the memorials in DC... Yosemite, she'd love to go hiking there, right? And that's just thinking about the United States, who knows what else she might want to see all over the world.

Everything, she said. He wants her to see everything.

...What is he doing? Thinking about what... the future? That's... he can't do that right now. Who knows what's going to happen in the next month let alone the next year. There's too many uncertainties, first and foremost being Bo. How does she fit into this mess that is his life?

How does he want her to fit in?

Downtown's street lights are dim, just bright enough to see but nothing like the city lights they passed through on their way back home. Most businesses closed for the day, and the streets are quiet. Before he realizes it he's at Bo's apartment building. Five stories tall, hers is on the second floor, in a corner with a view of Mt. Ebott. As they get out of the car and they head inside, she threads her arm through his and tangles their fingers together.

She's so physically affectionate, he thought it would make him uncomfortable but it doesn't. In fact it's more the opposite. He wants her to touch him, to crowd his space, to keep showing him these little signs that she just... wants to be close. He craves it. Every little touch and gesture is like a whisper of 'I want you'. 'I want you here'. He can't remember ever being wanted quite like this.

They take the stairs and he finds their pace slowing the closer they get to her door. When they get to her apartment the day is over. He doesn't want this to be over. Despite that somber moment, with Asgore and that talk of the war, today was a good day. Better than he had dared to hope.

He's not ready to go back to his empty house.

Bo fishes a key out of her pocket but doesn't let go of his hand. She looks at it, turning it over in her fingers, before looking up at him through thick lashes. God, she's beautiful. He wants to kiss her, but then wouldn't that be a kiss goodnight? Deacon would rather wait, to hold out as long as he can. Without thinking, he wets his lips with his tongue.

"I had an amazing time today," Bo says, her voice quiet. She smiles at him, and he feels this tightness in his chest that makes him smile back. "It's, well... It's not that late. Did you want to come in?"

Oh. Right it's not even ten yet. "Yeah, of course," he says quickly. Maybe too quickly. He feels heat creep up the sides of his neck and Bo's eyes are shining as her face brightens.

She unlocks her door and leads him inside, flipping on the light. He likes her apartment. It's soft and warm and just very... Bo. There's a fireplace in one corner and a soft, oversized couch he discovered is perfect for cuddling. There's knit blankets thrown over the back of the couch and a chair by the window, which he thinks she made herself. A basket of yarn sits next to the chair, and a variety of knitting needles. (Her grandmother taught her, she told him.)

"Did you want to watch TV or something?" he asks, thinking back to the other times she'd invited him into her apartment. He'd be content to just lay on the couch with her, her head on his chest—

"Or something," she says, still holding onto his hand and tugging him past the couch, past her small kitchen.

He blinks. Then swallows. She can't mean... Wait. Hold on. He glances over her shoulder and that is definitely her bedroom. Trying to ignore the eagerness in the back of his mind, Deacon clears his throat. "Oh," is all he manages to say.

Bo laughs, then lets him go and walks over to her bed. Leaning back against the edge of it, she starts tugging at the laces of her shoes. With a wry smile, she tosses them over by her dresser and stretches her ankles while she watches him. He's just standing there, caught between wanting very much to go over to her, to the bed, and... and do a lot of things he's trying very hard not to think about, and this plan he had to not do these things yet. To give himself time to take it slow with her, to not turn this relationship into every other poor excuse for a relationship he's had over the years.

"Usually you're a lot more talkative than this, honey," she teases, resting back on her hands. The only light is from the living room, filtering in through the door. It's enough to see her eyes shining, the way her fingers press into the blanket covering her bed.

Deacon lets out a nervous laugh, swallowing again. "I, um... I can't think of anything to say that won't make me sound like an idiot right now," he says, voice a bit higher than is strictly dignified.

Bo pushes herself away from the bed, crossing the distance of the small room to slide her arms over his shoulders, pressing herself close against his chest. His hands are at her waist without even thinking, pulling her hips against him. She gives him a heated smile as he thinks she can feel him hardening through his pants. "Then we don't have to talk," she murmurs, and her words make him ache.

She kisses him and his eyes snap shut, her fingers burying into the back of his hair and holding him. He circles her waist with one arm, his other hand raising to cup her jaw and throat, his thumb brushing the length of her ear. She makes a small, contented sound into his mouth and he does it again. Teeth find his lower lip and tugs gently before being replaced with a swipe of her tongue. He deepens their kiss and she tastes like roasted marshmallows. Like wood smoke and salt. Will the rest of her taste like the beach, too?

He angles his head away, drawing in a deep breath as his grip on her tightens, unwilling to let her go even as that little voice of reason tries to struggle in the back of his mind. Pressing his forehead against hers, he resists the way she's trying to kiss him again. "I'm... I'm trying to be different. For you," he says, his voice ragged with wanting her. "I want this to be different. More than just sex."

"It already is," she says, stroking the back of his head, grabbing his shoulder. "Isn't it?"

It is. It's unquestionably more. He's not sure what it is but it's more. He didn't realize there could be so much more. The words, he's not even sure which ones, get caught in his throat so he just nods.

"I don't want to do anything you don't want to do." Her voice is soft, and sweet, and patient, but underneath there's this heat. He doesn't want to disappoint her, and god he doesn't want to let her go.

He nods again, and she pulls back just enough so that they can look at each other. He blinks and in the dim light she's looking up at him with those big blue eyes, heavy and lidded.

"I want you, Deacon."

The way she says his name —his name, not 'honey' or 'sweet pea' or anything else— feels so intimate, so... tender. It makes his chest tight because it's just this same feeling of more he's not sure he understands. Right now he doesn't need to understand. She wants him, wants him, and he's never been so desperate to give himself to anyone as he is to her.

His kiss is hard and needy. Full of things that go unspoken, things he can't and doesn't know how to say. But all of that can wait. Right now, in this moment, he doesn't want to think. He just wants to be here with her.

Bo tugs him back towards the bed, pushing his arms away from her so she can peel off his jacket and tug on the hem of his shirt. He yanks it over his head, frustrated at the interruption of their kiss and leaning forward to chase her lips, eager now. She giggles and presses her hand to his bare chest, leaning back just enough to keep him away. Undeterred, Deacon slides his hands up the back of her sweater, fingers pressing up the curve of her waist, over the soft, short layer of wool there under her clothes. It's odd, for just a moment, but no odder than a body made of magical fire. She's just... soft. Everything about her is soft.

Raising her arms over her head, she ducks her chin as he pulls off her sweater and adds it to the pile of discarded clothing before taking a moment to just admire her. Her bra is black and lacy, and he thinks this must be one that she wanted him to see. He grins and she gives him a shy, knowing smile. Oh, she'd planned this, hadn't she? His pants feel uncomfortably snug at the realization but that can wait a little longer. Instead he slides one arm around her back, lowering himself to the soft swell of her breasts as his fingers pinch at the hooks of her bra. Soft, creamy fur gives way to smooth, delicate skin as he eases the lacy fabric away and over her arms, leaving her topless.

Bo braces herself on her arms, arching her back with a soft gasp as he takes one nipple into his mouth. Laving it with his tongue and sucking gently, she grabs at the arm he's using to hold himself up, wrapping her fingers around his wrist as her head tips back. "Deacon, please..." she breathes, tugging his forearm, pressing at the floor with her hooves as she scoots back just a little on the bed.

Grabbing her hips, he helps her the rest of the way onto the mattress. She lets out a little yelp and he freezes, jerking back to look at her face, her breast tumbling from his mouth. With an embarrassed laugh and a wince she rolls a little onto her side and reaches behind her. "Are you okay? What did I do?" he says, a little breathless.

Bo tugs down the back of her leggings, past the curve of her butt. He catches a glimpse of pink wool behind her. "Just laid on my tail funny, it's fine," she says with a quiet laugh.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out, brow furrowing, reaching behind her as she settles onto her back again. His hand is trapped under her.

They look at each other, and she starts to giggle, which soothes away the worry in his chest. Chuckling, he squeezes her ass and she lets out an appreciative noise, deep in her throat. He chases the sound, kissing her again before she breaks away to lay back on the mattress. Hooking his fingers on the waist of her leggings, he slowly peels them off of her, leaving just her lacy black underwear behind.

She runs the tip of one hoof up the side of his leg, a coy smile curving her mouth. Oh she is something, looking at him like that, nearly naked, laid out on her bed... His erection gives an aching throb and he bites his lip, letting out a soft groan as he looks at her. Her smile widens and, slowly, she raises her arms above her head, heavy breasts shifting with the movement, drawing his eyes. She's waiting.

Deacon kicks off his shoes and fumbles with the fly of his jeans, shoving them down and tugging off his socks. He almost falls over in his hurry but he catches himself on the mattress, blushing as he hears Bo's muffled laugh. Glancing up, he meets her eyes, standing there at the edge of the bed in just his boxer briefs. Then, pointedly, she cuts a path down his chest, towards his groin with her gaze. As she watches he pushes them down, his cock bobbing free as the tension from the taut fabric eases away. Stepping out of his underwear, Bo shifts a little on the bed, arching her back. It takes him a second (oh, thinking is getting a little more difficult now) to realize she's shimmying out of her own underwear, and he pulls them the rest of the way off. She crooks a finger to beckon him to her.

Climbing onto the bed beside her, he's careful to lay on his right side, to try and hide the burn scar. But she rolls over and hooks her arm over him, and her fingers press into the uneven skin. He takes gentle hold of her elbow and shifts her arm higher as she pulls away to search his face.

"It's just a scar," he says, trying to stop the questions before they start. Cupping her cheek, he trails kisses down the side of her face, under her jaw, towards the edge of the wool blocking his way to her throat. "It's ten years old, don't worry about it."

For a moment he thinks she might insist, but as he drops his hand to her breast and circles her nipple with his thumb she lets out a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering shut. There's plenty of time for that talk later. For now, he just wants this. She shifts against him, dragging her thigh along the length of him, making him shudder and rock his hips with a weak groan. Running her hand down his side, her fingers trace a path to his stomach, brushing over the dark blonde hair from his navel to his groin. His erection twitches as her hand loosely circles the base of him, and he nudges into her palm.

She gives an experimental stroke and he gasps, burying his face in her shoulder and her wool. Oh she smells sweet like she always does, but there's that smoke and salt from the beach and his heart gives a not-unpleasant lurch in his chest. He wants her, and the second he feels her let him go and hook her hand around his waist, pulling him, he rolls her over onto her back, shifting on top of her.

No, no, he can't yet, he wants to... to make sure she's satisfied. He can wait. He starts to shift, kissing her before he begins a trail down her chest with his lips, over the soft fur on her stomach and he grabs her waist and squeezes because he can't help himself. Then, settling himself between her thighs, he listens to her shaky breath as he spreads her with his fingers and —silently relieved at familiar territory— he licks a slow path from her entrance to her clit with his tongue. Her moan just encourages him and he nudges her with his nose, closing his eyes as he feels her hand on his at her waist. Deacon tangles their fingers together and holds her as her gasps and murmurs go straight to his cock, almost painfully hard. 

He could listen to her for hours. The soft, trembling intakes of breath. The moans as he reaches up to stroke her nipple in time with his tongue. She's trembling as he alternates between long slow swipes of his tongue and tight, focused circles, shifting forward, her knee over his shoulder. Squeezing her hand, he lets out a pleased hum, enjoying the way her legs have started to quiver and slowly, as he continues his rhythm, he feels her body begin to tense. She's close, he's sure she's close. A few more minutes and he hears that sharp intake of breath and her back arches off the bed, a ragged, warbling sound almost like a bleat coming from her throat. Oh, that was... god that was cute. Does she do that every time? He suddenly wants to find out.

As he slows the rhythm of his tongue and gentles his movements, he waits to pull away until she relaxes against the mattress. Pushing himself up on his hand, he nudges his hair from his forehead and wipes his mouth with the back of his arm. But, as he looks at her, he realizes she's covering her face with her hand, blushing dark beneath pale fur.

"Bo?" he asks, climbing over her, cupping her cheek.

She shakes her head. "Oh that was so embarrassing!" she blurts out, sounding distressed.

He swallows. "Did I do something wrong? Should I—"

"No, no, god that was..." Bo pulls her hand away from her face, letting out a satisfied noise and closing her eyes. "Wonderful. I'm talking about that noise. I can't believe I—"

"What are you talking about? I loved that," he says, shushing her and rubbing her cheek with his thumb. She opens her eyes to give him a funny look, like she doesn't believe him. He laughs, smiling at her. "That was the cutest thing I've ever heard."

She sighs, giving him a weak smile and kissing him. "You're unbelievable," she says.

Deacon takes her hand and presses it into the mattress by her head. Shifting her hips, she lets out a little groan as he presses against her entrance. "Is this okay?" he asks, wanting to make sure. Because she still seems flustered, and even though he's aching to have her, he resists.

"Yes, Deacon," she says, reaching for his hip and urging him forward. "Please, I want you."

God, does she understand how much those words mean to him? How can she, he hasn't told her yet, about his past. Not really. If she knew, maybe she wouldn't have pretended to reject him this morning in the car, before the beach. She was just joking, just like he'd tried to turn it into a joke, but even so it stung. But this, being here with her, hearing her say that she wants him, it makes everything better. She makes things so much better.

He presses against her, wet and waiting, and she envelops him. With every part of her. Her legs wrap around his waist and her free hand is at the back of his neck, fingers grabbing at his hair. Moaning, he lets her pull his forehead to hers, squeezing his eyes shut as he focuses on the feel of her, of that tight, hot clench of her around him.

"Oh, yes," Bo breathes, gasping. "Deacon..."

The sound of his name in her mouth is like a balm for the ache in his chest. No sweet pet names could compare to this. "Bo," he groans, ragged and rapidly coming undone as he thrusts. It's just all too much, she feels so good and she's holding onto him like he's a lifeline, and it's too much and not enough and right now this is nothing like he's ever felt before. How many times had he done this, with how many different people, without ever realizing it could be like this?

He doesn't know how many minutes pass before suddenly he crests that peak, snapping with one final buck of his hips, moaning with his release as he rocks forward and tenses. She's kissing him, cradling his cheek with her hand when he lets out a shaky breath. His eyes are burning and his throat feels tight and Deacon has to take a moment to collect himself. To force back that overwhelming feeling that threatens to swallow him whole. And Bo just waits, patiently stroking his face as he comes back down, the tension bleeding out of his muscles as he pulls himself out of her to collapse at her side.

He's not sure who reaches for who first but she tucks her head under his chin and he pulls her to his chest and they lay there together, listening to each other catch their breath.

"That was amazing," he whispers, burying his face in the wool at the top of her head.

"I want you to stay the night," she says, nuzzling his throat. "Please, don't go."

"I won't. I won't go," he says, and he hopes she can't hear the tremble of fear in his voice.

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