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The bar is filled with the typical kinds of folks who care to get out of the snowy night. Just behind you, you can hear the white noise of murmurs that fill the air with drunken mumblings and the smells of grease mixing with salt coming from the food everyone takes part in. To your left are a couple of creatures you noticed on your way in, a bird in a cocktail dress and what you guess is a fish-lipped something or other in a wife beater, just beyond them is a dog losing to itself in a now four hour long poker game, and just beyond that more creatures and non-creatures partaking in what the bar has to offer. What your parent’s generation and generations before even them would have never dreamt of, now playing out in front of you in normalcy after what has been about a year or two since the barrier’s lifting off the Underground.
You remember when you first visited here and the integration was a mixture of terror and excitement, when the inhabitants of the bar you now so easily say hello to were once monsters in the most negative definition of the word. A millennia of teachings not easy to get rid of. However, with visiting a new area, you decided to partake in the common activities for it. Which lead you to this bar in the first place, but just being lead somewhere doesn’t mean you automatically stay.
No, your staying was thanks to the bartender of all people. Now, that’s not as outlandish in the thought process of a human in a human bar with a human bartender, but you were not in a “human bar” (as segregation would have it called), nor was the bartender any kind of human. Unless perhaps in shape but even that could be argued given the nature of his body. Because walking into the establishment that night and seating yourself at the bar you were greeted with a being of pure flames asking you what you’d wish to have.
You would’ve screamed in shock by then but by that point in the visit not much was left to shock you anymore. Instead, you gave him your order and watched as he walked to the back and came back with your food and still watching as he filled your glass and went about filling the needs of others at the counter. But instead of focusing all of your attention on your meal like you were planning, you took small bites and tiny sips and watched him go about the rest of his night. You watched how he reached for new glasses for new customers and how he washed the old ones clean between moments of calm. How the flame that came to a point on his head gave him the appearance of a well-dressed candle and how his featureless face still required glasses, even with no eyes behind them. You noticed how he was quiet, not like the loud tenders on the surface, he would respond to small talk, but rarely created it.
By the time he’d catch you staring you’d already be done, and could excuse it as wanting to report the finished meal. That night you left him a hefty tip and your face was warm long after you made your way to your room at the town’s inn.
This pattern repeated for the week: you going to the bar, you sitting at the same stool, you ordering the same meal while beginning small talk with the same bird person and their friend of…unknowable species, and you eating slowly and methodically as you watched the bartender tend to his bar. Until you returned to the surface once more to go about your time in an ever changing, now shared, world.
However, you couldn’t stay away. At the first chance you got, you were back again. The greetings warmer, the townspeople knowing you by face (some even by name). It’s the night you’re waiting for though, the night when you plan to go out to eat at the bar. Once there, you chatted with old friends and caught up over food and drink, but the entire time your eyes were drifting, glancing back behind the bar. They doidthat for the whole night, your brain churning greeting after greeting after greeting, ways to pull him into a conversation but none ever come out. Your failure lasting the whole trip.
Sometimes though, fate can throw you a bone. Several months later, surface dwellers came, built, and completed homes to house the growing human population of the underground. You gained a job and one of the cozy cottages, becoming a regular not just at the bar, but around Snowdin as a whole.
Which leads to where you are now, eating fries while conversing with a dog couple who keep pausing to nuzzle noses and finishing each other’s sentences.
“We think we’ll-“
“Win the competition for sure this year. Last year we-“
“Lost to Undyne and Alphys-“
“But not this year-“
“We’ll win this year!”
You nod in response, your listening halving by the second until you hear nothing at all. Your attention is floating behind the bar again.
Grillby’s right there, glasses tilted downwards slightly, cleaning out a mug and paying as much attention to the two guard dogs as you are.
You’re such a sham, you’ve been a regular how long and you still haven’t said a word to him. You didn’t even learn his name by asking him yourself, you just overheard it, and you haven’t even used it beyond telling him what you want to order.
“Are you done with that?” You nearly jump out of your skin as the voice breaks your train of thought. Grillby is pointing at your empty dish. How did he even get a word in edge-wise with those dogs talking?
You look to the stool next to you. It’s empty, ending a moment of movement caused by its inhabitants leaving. You being too wrapped in your own self-hate to even notice the nuzzling pups walk out of the bar. In fact, the whole place is empty, for the first time upon entering you even hear the sound of winter winds tumbling around the building.
Fuck this wasn’t what you had in mind at all.
“Um…y-yeah.” You gently nudge the plate in his direction, eyes following him as he disappears into the back.
Two options simultaneously scream at you, and you’re too busy weighing them that he comes out while you’re still building up the pros of the first choice. Well, you only thought positive of it anyway.
“You come here often.” He’s leaning his back against the bar, cleaning out your used glass.
“I live in town.” You’re fiddling with your hands on the counter top.
“Oh, where?” His voice is even.
“It’s a bit past the river, in the…” You trail off. Your voice is not even in the slightest.
“The human development?” Why does he say it so nicely?
“Y-yeah.”
“That’s pretty far. I can walk you back if you’d like,” He looks outside. “The weather’s horrible out, and so dark.” It’s only just becoming evening outside, the snowfall is rather peaceful.
“Terrible.” You say quickly.
He grabs the keys to the front door and closes up the bar while you wait outside for a short forever. When he emerges from the inside the street lamps are already on.
The walk is taken in silence say for the crunching of your feet through the snow and the small crackles of Grillby’s fire and the occasional hiss from snowflakes hitting his form. You keep your pace slow the whole way back to your place.
The same thing happens the next night as well. You, ordering a meal and staying till closing. Grillby commenting on the newest snowstorm your collective imaginations create. Outside you walk in silence and this night you stand just a bit closer to him in order to fight off the cold. A pattern adds itself with ease among your older one until finally you no longer walk in silence.
“You’re always staring at me.” He turns his head towards you, locking…eyes? With you.
“I was just…” You trail off. You’re watching the back of his head, the flame twirling and joining rhythmically. The different colors joining and parting against the dark winter sky.
“Does it bother you?”
“NO!” You recoil, your shout coming out as a large puff of breath in front of you. “No it doesn’t bother me-”
“It’s okay if you do,” He shrugs. As if he’s had to justify his own hatred many times. No, he definitely has had to do that. “I could understand as to why-”
“It’s beautiful.” Whelp, there it is, out in the open. The warmth of your breath making the word linger in the air.
It’s the last thing either of you say on the walk. He drops you off at your door like many times before. Your hand is on the door knob, he’s only a yard away before you whip around to face him.
“H-hey, wait!” He stops, turning back towards you, flame flickering in the wind like an over excited birthday candle. Nothing comes out after though. You both stand there in the gusting wind and snow, a ‘hey wait’ lengths away from anything. “Would you like to come inside?”
He studies you for a moment as you’re trying your best to not have the door fly off and slam open from the wind.
“…Sure.”
Fuck. Well, no turning back now.
Inside, your house is slightly warmer. You chalk that up to Grillby being there, as the place is usually freezing even with the heat on. You hang up your coat and take off your shoes, him doing the same and leaving slush-covered loafers next to your own belongings. You try to avoid all of the puddles from the uninvited snow and you swear you can hear a quiet laughter, like kindling at a slow burn.
You offer him a drink from the kitchen, he comments on never being on the other side of the counter and his tone nearly makes you miss the joke. You laugh a bit longer to make up for it.
When you’re both finally seated on the couch you ask if he’d like to watch TV, when he agrees you try to put the television on something to the equivalent of background noise. Instead, you both get caught up in some stupid show where a comedian is doing standup and the jokes could be a million times better, but you’re both still laughing. Well, you’re laughing, Grillby’s more of a low chuckle kind of…person. There’s something particularly said that has you in pieces, full on snorting and giggle-fit of a joke and when you hear him go silent next to you, you wonder if the joke offended him and you laughing doing the same by proxy. You look over and he’s staring at you. Well, his head is in your direction, the lack of eyes sometimes makes it hard to tell.
“S-sorry, it was a dumb joke I-”
“You have a nice laugh.”
What?
“What?”
“Your laugh, it’s nice,” You swear you see his head tilt slightly, maybe a part of his face scrunch slightly, as if smiling. “And it’s cute how you cover your mouth after snorting.” He puts his hand in front of where his mouth would be, demonstrating.
“T-thanks…” You look down, embarrassed, but smiling, playing with your hair. The air around you gets warmer, for a moment you blame your blushing but the realization of external heat makes you take your eyes off the floor.
He’s right there, not even a foot from you on the couch, close enough to watch his body shift its warm shades.
“You’re not the only one who likes to people watch,” You take note of the yellow making its way up his face. “Especially certain people.” The flame on his head flickers slightly, the yellow taking over his face and the air grows in warmth.
Oh god, he’s blushing. You can’t help but giggle.
He freezes as much as fire can, the arm he’d been moving to the back of the couch slowly retreating. You stop laughing.
“S-sorry, that wasn’t-”
“It’s okay.” It’s not okay.
“No it’s just awkward.” It’s very awkward.
“Is that how I’m making you feel?”
“No!” He jumps at your outburst. You lower your voice. “No it’s- you were saying all of that about my laugh, and the people watching and then you started…blushing? It-it was nice. You looked cute…” You mumble the last bit to yourself. The surrounding room lights up around you both. Apparently it was still audible. You look up at him, squinting slightly from the brightness.
“Sorry.” You hear Grillby say as the room darkens again.
At some point in the night you drift to sleep to the drones of lackluster comedians and fire crackling. Only to be woken up not too long after by the sound of what you hope is a tree limb slamming against the side of your house. In your less-than-cognitive state you think you’ve fallen asleep with the lamp on, your eyelids burning red when closed. You slide your hand up and down what you assume is a wall for the switch. You find nothing but more heat.
Panic mode switches in because perhaps the wall and lamp have been replaced with flames and you’ve actually been sticking your hand in the fireplace. You bolt upright and look around for an escape from your imaginary inferno. Your vision steadying and the world looking neither charred nor ember-riddled. Relief trades places with panic and then back again as you try to piece the world and your worries together.
All is interrupted, once you hear light snoring and the sound of air gently snapping with heat beside you.
Grillby is there on your couch, arm draped over the arm rest and his head resting back against the couch tilted downwards in sleep. His glasses are eschew and the rest of his face blank, but you swear his expression is peaceful. His legs are slightly angled away from his body, his other arm pinned against the couch by your now kneeling knees.
God, he’s gorgeous.
“Something wrong?”
You jump. Cursing to yourself and wishing that he had freaking eyes.
“No, just woke up.” You shrug. Trying to let your eyes wander somewhere besides him.
“What time is it?” He removes his glasses and rubs where his eye would be.
“About midnight or something?” You make up the estimated time quickly. Even with all the clocks in your house, you don’t pay attention long enough to read any of them.
“It’s so dark out.” The fact of why that’s even an issue doesn’t come to you. Unless perhaps…there isn’t one.
“Could get lost out there.” You play along.
“And cold.” He adds. You swear your thigh feels a tad warmer.
“No need to send you out in that.” You look outside for a moment. To punctuate your point a pile of snow falls off of your roof with a muffled ‘pomf’. You look back at him and try to make your voice even and conversational. “I have a spare room upstairs if you’re like to stay.”
“I would.”
The fact he even agrees doesn’t register for a solid minute. The fact you should both get off the couch doesn’t register for another minute after. The only thing happening is you two staring at each other and boy are you two good at doing that.
At some point you do move though. Towards him. Into his lap. It’s exceptionally warm. He’s exceptionally warm. He rests his hands on your hips and you’re feeling warm as well.
He’s looking at you, glasses shining your reflection. Your face feels like it’s warmer than ever, but you blame that on being so close to his. Grillby trails his hands lightly over your hips, fingers moving gentle, almost shyly against them. He slides his hands back further, cupping your ass and pulling you closer.
Oh, now your face is really burning up.
Not that you didn’t think this would happen tonight. You asked him inside for a reason, but that reason was mostly to just hang out and maybe work your way into asking for a kiss. This was- this was is far from anything your mind could conjure up. He’s still looking at you, head tilted just to the side, studying. While you can’t read his expression, the small shake of his shoulders and chest translate to him silently chuckling to himself.
Hesitantly, you reach up, gingerly touching his face. You lean in closer now, lightly kissing where you guess his lips would be. He doesn’t pull away. In fact he moves towards you, your nose bumping his glasses as he leans against you. It’s the warmest you’ve ever felt while shivering.
And that’s…when you feel lips kiss you back. You pull away quickly, surprised and slightly breathless.
“Sorry.” A blush creeps up his face, yellow and whites brightening around his glasses. You squint in the light, running your thumb across where you felt the lips. Finding nothing.
For a moment that is.
He makes a small hum at the back of his throat, you feel a thin dip in his face and in an instant your thumb is being kissed by lips you wish you always knew about. Your body jolts, hand making a fist instinctually from the heat. He keeps kissing, lightly taking your wrist in his hand to keep it close to him.
As if you’d want to take it away.
“You know,” You flex your fingers, Grillby pays each its own special attention, and while it’s exposed, he begins to kiss your palm as well. Your train of thought derailed for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind having those lips a bit higher…” You try to pull your hand away in an attempt to set his attention elsewhere. Your mouth, specifically. Instead. He continues on your hand, head tilting up to look towards you face, waiting for signs of approval. He gets it, once his hidden lips move from your palm to the tips of your fingers, gliding down your wrist. The noises you make cause another light chuckle to vibrate against your skin.
You plea as well as you can while biting down on your lip. You grab onto his shirt with your free hand, tugging lightly to add to your demand. A small sigh escaping you as he leaves one last kiss against your now clenching fist.
And, well, he does move higher. He rests his face against your neck, lips forming again to place kisses here and there on it. You breathe out what could hardly be called a moan but had every intention of being one. Against your neck, you feel Grillby smile.
“You said you had a spare room?”
You try to respond, but his kisses keep you distracted. Your head swimming as you search for the various syllables you can use to answer him. You manage a nod just as he sets one last kiss on your jawline, and it takes everything in you not to push him back against the couch and return the favor.
You lead him upstairs quickly, everything about anything leaving your brain as you focus on the present and the present alone. You lead him down the hall and into the spare room with the door nearly slamming behind you two.
Then, it’s quiet. Say for the non-sound of large snowpuffs hitting the windows mixed with the nightly winter whistle, it’s just you and him. The whole world might’ve ended all around you and you wouldn’t have even known. You lead him over to the bed, feet trying to keep the quiet. You’re stroking his hands gently with your thumbs as you urge him to follow. He’s nearly all yellow in the face and yours is feeling very red. You sit on the bed and make sure there is just enough room for him before letting go of one of his hands and starting to trail your own up his arm lightly, its path going along his jawline and over his assumed lips before its only your fingertips touching his neck and ending the path at the little black bow-tie at his collar.
You repeat the pattern again, leaning up to kiss his lips just as your fingers pass them. Then you repeat it again, kissing his neck this time. Lips, neck, lips, neck, his breathing is quickening and the hand you’re still holding is twitching furiously. When he goes to lift it, you pin it back down.
You push yourself closer to him, and stop trailing his body with your hand and instead begin to tease at the inner part of his thigh. He squirms and you feel rather triumphant about that. You continue the tease and never take your hand down far enough to satisfy him. His head is flaring and you can hear him mumbling low under his breath.
“What was that?” You keep your voice soft. Kissing his neck and feeling him lean into you desperately. His whole body is heating up now, you keep one of his hands pinned down, the other too busy latching onto the covers to care about doing much else. Your palm is beginning to feel the discomfort of the heat and the awkwardness of how your hand is resting, but you don’t want to rush this. Especially with him. Especially now.
“Please,” He’s rocking his hips, the one hand you’re not holding stops gripping at the bedspread and settles on your side. His hands are shaking. “Please can I- would you let me-?” His grasp tightens. You can feel the heat through your clothes, even more than you had on the couch.
“Just a little longer…” You say it to him in a whisper. Swaying your hips lightly. You want to let him, you do, but he needs to wait, you need to wait. If it’s going to last at all, you need to wait.
“Please…” He’s breathing harder. Trying to keep you as close as possible. There’s sweat starting to form on your brow and chest and you’d give anything to get out of your clothes. You want them off, you just want all of it off and you want him to touch you again.
Screw it.
Screw the waiting, screw the teasing, you just want him to touch you.
The words gets muffled as you kiss his neck again, but everything you say to him is positive and encouraging. You lift your hand off of his and he has your shirt off so fast the fact he could have just burnt it off is a possibility. He moves onto your bra and his hands are fumbling behind your back. Maybe it’s anticipation, maybe it’s human-bras, maybe it’s just bras in general baffling him. Either way, you reach around to help him unclasp it. Letting your breasts display in full view of him. It’s embarrassing at first, him just watching your chest rise and fall as you breathe, hands moving idly around your sides and stomach.
“You can touch them if you want.” You bite back a laugh. Taking his hand and leading them up slowly, leaning into his touch.
“I…” His glasses shift up and down slightly as he glances from your face to your chest. Fingers moving in unsure movements.
“Like this…” You press his hand against your breast, signaling him to give it a small squeeze. He does. You let out a small shaky breath. He gives it another try, maybe brushing his thumb across your nipple curiously. You make a satisfied noise. He’s a fast learner.
“And you’re enjoying this?” He sounds legitimately shocked.
“Yes,” There’s a strong warmth coming from between his legs, you brush your fingers over it. His actions stop and are replaced with only shivers. You lower your voice, there’s a smile behind it. “Are you?”
“Yes.” He powers through the small shudders you’re sending through his body. Nudging you back onto the bed, he hooks his thumbs under the waistband of your pants. “Can I-?”
“Please.” You’re practically kicking your pants off after he has them halfway down your legs, being sent off to wherever your shirt went. He takes the time to take you in then, straddling you and featureless face studying you in the color-muted winter night. He leans down then, kissing down your neck and chest and lower and lower and-
Oh God.
His face is between your legs, leaving chaste kisses along your inner thigh. Hands joining in task to slowly remove your underwear, each section he uncovers gets its own peppering of kisses. Your head is buzzing when the underwear is gone at last. No layers between you and his mouth. He looks up at you expectantly, and why he was going so slowly and all becomes clear.
Kissing is the easy part, kissing he knows you like, the way your body moved made him know that. But you had to teach him about your breasts, so why wouldn’t you have to teach him about this as well?
You use your own fingers as your tools of demonstration, rubbing at your clit and doing your best not to get off so he’ll have at least have the satisfaction of that for himself. But it feels so good and his face so close and your whole body feels warm in all the right ways. You make sure he’s watching as you slip one finger, then two, into yourself. You take the time to call out his name more than once as you alternate between rubbing your clit and pumping your fingers into yourself. Hips rocking harder, you can feel yourself starting to lose the battle against yourself, body feeling tense and rigid and begging for a release. Your back arches and you feel him running his hands up and down your thighs and legs, encouraging you, waiting to see the big finish of the impromptu show you decided to put on for him.
That tips you over, you try for another shout of his name or a swear but it all comes out as a messy moan of juggled noises and the orgasm’s jolt leaves you just a tad numb after.
“I think I get the idea.” You can hear the smile in his voice. He nudges your hand away, using his own fingers to copy your pervious movements. You’re still sensitive, and can’t help but cry out, hands grabbing at the air desperately, fists banging down on the mattress. It’s then that you feel his fingers replaced with something unbelievably warm. You jerk back, he raises his head quickly and you spot what exactly you were feeling.
The best description for it would be a tongue since it’s coming out of what you’ve been calling his mouth, but it’s engulfed in flames to the point where you can’t even tell if there is a tongue under all the fire or just a smaller, compact flame.
“It’s okay,” You can sense his worry from your sudden movements. You prop yourself up slightly, leaning on your arm to speak to him. “It’s okay, I’m okay. It was just…unexpected.”
“We can stop of you want.” He’s still, even the flame on his head seems slow in movement.
“I didn’t say that.” Your breathing evens out, you give him a welcoming smile before lying back down, repeating the phrase in almost a whisper. You settle yourself back, getting comfortable, feeling comfortable, doing your best to prove that to him. He seems unconvinced, you run your hand idly against his, staring up at the ceiling. “Grillby, I promise you, it’s okay.” His hand tenses at the sound of his name, you give it an encouraging squeeze and his head dips down between your legs once more. He’s slower this time, as if waiting for another negative reaction from you. There is none. You melt right into his touch.
He runs his tongue along your slit, flicking at your clit once or twice as he does so. You reach to grab at one of his sleeves and he makes a satisfied hum as you let out a moan. That apparently builds up his confidence because he holds you close to him, the heat of his face now overtaking you and you feel his tongue slip inside you and everything feels like an overwhelming blaze in the best possible way. He’s holding your legs, as they keep jerking with every action he does. Your breathing gets harder and even with his hands attempting to keep you steady, your thighs still end up pressing against his head, the fire on his head cascading over them. He moves faster now, you’re begging him to do so, aching for it, repeating the request over and over until you’re sure you’re not even making words. You shut your eyes tight, legs moving in unsure gestures of pressing against him and spreading apart. Grillby tries to hold onto them, to work you closer to the edge, the wetness between your legs spreading to the bedspread as he flicks his tongue quickly against your clit, inching you ever farther until finally, you tip.
He still works you through the orgasm, his tongue riding it out and that only makes it better. At some point you hear a muted hissing sound. Looking up at the ceiling and seeing what you assume is steam rising up and dispersing just before reaching it. You follow the trail down curiously, until your eyes land on Grillby’s face emerging from between your legs and your orgasm muffled brain makes sense of the patch of wetness quickly drying off of Grillby’s chin. Your body turns a slightly brighter shade of red at the sight of it, and only deepens as he raises a hand to wipe at a small section at the corner of his mouth. You swear he’s smirking at you.
You beckon him over with a half-attempted hand gesture, swallowing hard and trying to regain the voice he’s taken from you. He obliges, and you muster up all your strength to pull him into a kiss.
“So that was good?” He asks between the spattering of kisses you keep pulling him back into.
“It was very good.” You tug on his bowtie, fingers fumbling and yanking until it’s finally undone. You kiss him hard and he gets the hint, helping you in removing his shirt and pants shortly thereafter. His entire form is the equivalent of a humanoid form dunked in kerosene and set ablaze, you weren’t expecting anything different, but the conformation of him being entirely flames answers one question you never actually asked aloud. Between his legs is what is more or less a penis also entirely made of fire and you don’t exactly take the time to ask him if he’s always had that or if he made it just for this occasion. You urge him to lie down and will yourself up on top of him, straddling his hips and running your hands up and down his sides.
You then raise your own hip, until you’re hovering just over the tip of his thick inferno. You lower yourself, brushing your lower lips across it before lifting yourself away once more. You repeat your actions again and he’s already squirming. You continue the tease, watching his mostly featureless face scrunch and his flame rise and fall in anticipation. You decide to just take in the head of his dick, feeling your insides warm and cool as you now bring that in and out of you. By the fifth time of trying this, you feel heated hands grabbing at your ass. You look down at him, maybe more than smirking.
“Please…” He whines. His hands squeeze at your flesh and your body gives a sharp shudder. You comply, sliding yourself farther down his length, letting out a soft sound as you do so. A flutter of sparks exit his mouth as you begin, a content noise following after them. You angle yourself slightly until call feel the satisfaction between the two of you, your legs moving in steady bucks.
“You’re so warm” You say it breathlessly. Rolling your hips against his, feeling his heat inside you, making you squirm.
“You’re freezing.” He pants, pushing up into you, tilting head back as you moan again, letting out his own.
“Freezing?” You bite your lip, moving yourself faster.
“It’s amazing.” He’s got a death grip on your hips, trying to keep you both interlocked for as long as he can and maybe even past that. You don’t protest it one bit.
You ride him as hard as you can, body enjoying the scorching ecstasy of it all. He’s shivering and shuddering under you, limbs shaking. His glasses fall off onto the bed and you’re both too preoccupied to worry about them at the moment. You latch onto his shoulder with one hand and try desperately to grab the pyre on top of his head, your hand phases to the bottom of it and you use that as leverage instead to keep the feeling of physicality. You rest your forehead on his and your hips are numb to the heat by now, murmuring encouragement to him until you feel the hot, surprisingly wet, release inside of you. Your mind blanks for a moment from the new sensation only managing a drawn out groan and swear. Your hips however, keep moving.
At first he’s confused, voice horse and garbled as he tries to regain speech. He manages out several sounds resembling a question and you piece together that it’s probably about your burst of stamina.
“One more time,” You plea. You nuzzle his forehead and lean down to kiss his neck, your voice rising in pitch as you repeat yourself. “Just one more time, please. You- I have to see you like that again- you- you were-”
The search for adjectives fail you in the verbal sense, but your mind is racing with the repeating of words like ‘gorgeous’, ‘wonderful’, and of course ‘beautiful’.
It was always ‘beautiful’ with him.
You keep your body’s pace against his, still warm from his first orgasm, trying to bring him back into another. Slower this time though, he’s pleading for you not to go any slower than you already are as best he can in his tongue-tied state, but you just want it to be a little longer.
Because once you’re done, that’s the end of it.
Once you’re done he’ll leave.
You want it to last a little longer, you want to feel him a little longer.
He lasts for far less than the first time, understandably so, but deep down the disappointment still stands. You watch him this time, closer to his face when it happens, kissing along his throat and feeling the mess of words leak out of his mouth like unstable gas. Parts of his body take on the blinding yellows and whites while some forms of orange try to move him back into sense. You whisper your soft praises to him, voice cracking and squeaking as you fall into climax just a short while behind. Your body pushes forwards and your hands lock around anything they can find. All the while you’re moaning and swearing. Not able to comprehend anything but the vibrant blacks behind your eyelids.
When you finally come down from your high and remove yourself from him, you fall in a heap at his side. Your face nestled against his upper arm. You can feel light flashes of heat hitting your shoulder and neck. All the while comforted by soft mumblings.
“I’m here…I’m here…” Grillby’s voice reverberates through the air. He’s repeating it to you. After a few more moments you’re certain of why. You hear yourself repeating his name, your tone desperate. As if not saying it would make him vanish.
You stay like that, numb and exhausted. You lean into him, his arm wrapping around you.
You savor it all, trying to keep tabs of everything in your tired and dizzy mess of a brain. When you finally do fall asleep, you swear Grillby mumbles something new into your ear, but you’re too far into sleep to know if what you hear is real or wishful thinking.