Edge was used to getting ominous messages from Red at odd times. It was just the nature of any relationship Red was involved in.
He looked at the text again: "clock out early im coming for you" it read. The lack of chatspeak was by itself a warning: Red had been too distracted by something to spite the autocorrect, and when Red wasn't in the mood for spite, something was terribly, horribly wrong.
"chill," Sans suggested in that way that Edge both hated and adored; as though he were completely impartial and disinterested, like there was no reason to worry, drawn out slow and unhurried.
"I AM FRIGID," Edge deadpanned, hoping the delivery was soft enough not to make Sans feel attacked or unwanted: Edge wanted him very much, especially now, in his anxiety.
Thankfully, Sans seemed to take no offense. Pushing off with his knuckles, he scooted closer to Edge on the bench, pressing his small body that little bit more into Edge's personal space, but not quite touching. Sans always lacked a certain fullness of presence (abysmal stats, poor health, and diminutive stature did not saliency make); this close, however, Edge could feel the feeble heat just starting to radiate from him, tremulous and fragile (an inconspicuous sign of spite and strength of will that Edge would always admire).
"he's probably fine," Sans reasoned as he angled himself towards Edge, an invitation. Edge accepted the silent offer of physical contact, turning to reach around with his opposite hand, settling it around Sans' neck (where it felt like it belonged, his gloved fingers slotting perfectly between the spines of Sans' vertebrae, curling comfortably around the circumference as his thumb swiveled between stroking the front surface of his bare throat and teasing the joint of his jaw). Like this, curled around Sans protectively, the part of Edge that demanded vigilant protection was appeased somewhat (the awareness that Red was not also close and safe lingered, but the pain of its screaming lessened). Sans made for a fine distraction, from the flush of his maxilla, to the soft vulnerable mewl he made whenever his throat was given the smallest affection, to the tension and flexing of energy Edge could feel through his glove as Sans swallowed, unwilling or unable to look away.
Yes. A very good distraction. So very distracting. It was almost enough to make Edge forget his manners, his civility, and his respect for public property.
He was mercifully granted a few moments of such divine indulgence before Red arrived, and any semblance of serenity was shattered.
"am i interrupting something?" Red asked, his voice torn between a mocking sneer and a hollow monotone.
Edge released Sans as he turned to check on his brother, alarms already ringing in his head. Red stood with his hands in his pockets, shoulders a stiff, straight line, the tension in the curve of his spine strung tight as a wound spring. There was an unfocused mania in the way his eyelights quivered, never quite settling on anything, the edges frayed like his nerves. Edge rarely saw Red in such a state nowadays, between the weed and Sans to keep him level.
Red just quirked his grin wider, holding out his hand for them. Edge stood up, opening his other arm in invitation to Sans, who bypassed him entirely to burrow into Red's chest and cling to his shirt. Edge couldn't fault him for it, not when something tight and ugly in Red shed off to make room for him, as if it and Sans could never coexist.
Edge was thankful for that, even if a selfish part of him wished he could do the same for his brother.
He took Red's outstretched hand, and in a dizzying instant between one infinity and the next, they were in their house.
Specifically, Edge's bedroom.
Red immediately shoved Sans down on the bed, pinning him down and pressing close like he was trying to assimilate into the same space. "gimme something," he all but growled.
The problem was that Sans's grin was more startled than soft, and Red had done what he always did to get what he wants: put his back to Edge.
Edge immediately put his hand again where it belonged: on the back of his lover's neck. He gripped Red's collar and tugged, yanking Red off his arms to force him up on his knees, straddling Sans but no longer boxing him in. Red's body went limp, a comforting, familiar weight held in the crook of Edge's fingers, and another swath of tension bled away.
Edge remembered a time when it took so much more than a little choking to beat the stress out of Red. It wasn't all gone, not yet, but they were making so much more progress with less nowadays, and he was thankful the vulnerable leaks he knew to be in his expression were out of Red's line of sight.
"so ya gonna tell us what freaked ya out so bad?" Sans asked, propping himself up on his elbows between Red's legs.
"shut up and fuck me," Red hissed, still askew, still stressed and wound. Pliant didn't mean toothless, didn't mean ok.
Edge gave a warning yank, bringing his other hand up to twist Red's arm behind him. He made it rough, straining the joint the way he knew Red liked. Red made a sound that didn't match the pain he had to be in, thrashing in Edge's hold with renewed vigor. Edge did not yield, would never yield. He could not fight Red's formless and faceless demons, but he could fight Red as their avatar if that was what he wanted.
Sans watched them, Red's struggles and Edge's discipline. There were already signs of light in his joints.
Edge let go of Red's collar, using that hand instead to forcibly turn his head. When he kissed him, he took the kiss the way he knew Red liked it taken, unhurried, without any room for dissent or argument. Red snarled against his mouth, threatening to bite his tongue with warning pressure behind the blades of his teeth (not a good sign; days when a kiss didn't distract him at all were the worst kind of days). Edge growled back, twisting Red's arm that little bit harder until the noise he was allowed to taste came out sweeter for it.
When Edge finally broke the kiss, he could finally see the first renewed sparks of light in Red's joints. Still not a good sign, but progress. Today was a 'hold him down until he got tired' day, it seemed.
"YOU DO NOT HAVE TO STAY FOR THIS, SANS," Edge said, gripping Red's other wrist to bring it back with the first. Edge would have liked to remove Red's jacket first, but it was too late now. Red's thrashing was getting more desperate by the minute; what little control he had managed to keep before, it was giving way now that he was assured Edge had taken the reigns (and a soft, vulnerable place in Edge's soul felt good to be trusted like that, felt pride that Red trusted him to keep them all safe while he went off the rails).
Until he was ready, Edge just had to keep him steady.
"i- uh... was hoping to join in this time?" Sans said softly.
"heheheheheh," Red's laugh was a tad manic. "gonna help him cut me good?"
Sans snorted. "i don't think you deserve it so nice. but i have an idea... if you'll trust me."
Edge turned his grip on Red's wrists to something one handed. Red struggled, trying to break from his hold, testing the strength of Edge's hands on him. Edge had plenty of practice holding Red where Red needed to be. He wouldn't be letting go unless he heard the safeword.
"I HAVE HIM," Edge said, although the words were meant to reassure Red as much as Sans. I have you, it is safe. You are safe. How foolish to think he still wanted to say such things to him.
"pussy," Red complained. Edge used his now free hand to move Red's collar away enough to bite him. Edge's teeth sank into unresisting bone, easily, like Red's body had long since become accustomed to welcoming him home. "fuck..!" The word raw and a bit breathless, the softest reward Red could seem to give him. Edge felt a little tension bleed away from under his teeth.
"i was thinking dick, actually," Sans said.
The glowing lump that formed in Red's shorts was a green light, despite its crimson hue. "go nuts, i dare ya."
Even his consent was barbed.
Unperturbed, Sans shifted to sit up a little straighter, his legs still stretched out under Red and Edge both as they knelt on the bed. Red continued to fight (still no safe word, but Edge was listening for it), his body trembling as the force he put up against Edge's restraining hold had nowhere to go. Sans settled his hands hesitantly on Red's hips, pulling the waistband down to free his stiff magic.
Edge had a lovely view from his vantage point over Red's shoulder: no matter what Red said or what mindset he happened to be in, Red was always a handsome, attractive specimen. Edge had thought so for longer than he cared to admit, although he knew better than to say it out loud: to him, Red was beautiful, a pleasure to look upon, if not in the conventional sense.
Seeing his teeth marks in him, seeing him in his collar (and sometimes nothing else) certainly sold the idea. Edge was possessive like that, even if he tried not to show it.
Sans looked up at them with a little too much innocence, a little too sweetly, mischief glittering in his eyelights. Edge knew that look. It was the look Red wore when he had figured out exactly how and where he planned to sink the knife in.
The 'knife' turned out to be 'Red's dick', and the 'where' was 'in Sans' mouth'. The 'how' was 'slow, seductive, without breaking eye contact'. Watching was more than sufficient to remind Edge he had a package of his own waiting to be unwrapped.
Right now, however, it had to be about Red, and Edge trusted Sans to do right by them.
He could be patient.
Sans didn't know what had happened to send Red running home to them. He didn't know what had Red almost as chipped and sharpened the wrong way as Sans coming home with a black eye (it had been face paint, but Red hadn't known that). What he did know was the little tell in the way Red walked, the damning lilt to his tight grin.
Red left wanting was hot. Maybe it was time to give him a different kind of stress test.
Sans couldn't quite help the groan that tasting Red brought out of him. Red was a familiar, comforting thing, and Sans' body was abused and bribed and trained with cruel pavlovian certainty that his touch, his taste, his scent, his magic, meant safety and comfort and pleasure. Sans was a little bitter about it, that Red not only had the keys, but had the balls to change the locks, but it was what it was. It wasn't even a problem most days, given the benefits; benefits like deep throating until his teeth were flush with Red's pubis, feeling like he was choking but didn't actually need to breathe, with the comforting pressure easing down his false throat to stretch him like his suddenly aching cunt wanted to be stretched. There wasn't much for that at the moment, no way to relieve it until the bite had been wrung out of Red, and no way to suppress it when two very hungry, predatory pairs of crimson eyes were watching him so intensely, so intently.
Sans clung to Red's hips for dear life and moaned around him, grinding the flat of his tongue against the broad underside pinning it down.
Above him, Red squirmed and shuddered, still trying to make his wrists bruise in the shape of Edge's hand. Edge held him as still as could be, only the occasional jolt or quiver reaching Sans at all. That was no small feat; Red was hardly a pushover. Being reminded of how strong (how dangerous) Edge was did little to help the growing wetness in Sans's soon-to-be-ruined shorts.
Sans watched Red through half-lidded sockets, swallowing around him. He lingered there, curling his arms around Red's waist so his hand could paw at his ass -- or where his ass would have been. Red had chosen this time to leave the back unmanifested, his sacrum bare to the air.
Sans felt for the foramen, slow, tentative probing until he felt the edge of the holes. He knew he had the right place when he felt Red buck, and had to swallow the sudden flood of pre. Sans grinned around his mouthful, teasing those sensitive little ridges without quite sticking his fingers in.
"you teasing bastard, suck me like you m- oh, fuck you..!!" Red's last words came out stuttered and coarse, closer to what Sans wanted out of him, but not quite there yet.
Sans hummed, like he was considering the pros and cons of complying. He kept teasing at Red's sacrum with slow strokes, little energetics digs, switching from the holes to the flat planes of his anterior and back again. Red tried grinding into his hand, into his tongue, but between Sans' strategic position and Edge's iron fist, there was nowhere for him to go. Sans knew he was doing his job right when he was forced to swallow the deluge of pre sliding down his throat, Red's curses and snarling unable to denounce the throbbing heat of his trapped dick or the sparks of magic that buzzed under Sans's fingertips.
Sans hummed in satisfaction, which only spurred Red on.
"-like you mean it," Red spat.
Sans grinned wider around his mouthful of dick. Also penis. A dick's penis. Now he was laughing.
"WHAT IS SO FUNNY?" Edge asked, keeping his voice even.
"you stop to answer him and i'll choke you out i swear-" Red was practically foaming at the mouth.
Sans swallowed more of Red's magic, hooking his fingertips into Red's foramen as he braced for what he was about to do. His other hand gripped firmly at Red's hip, as much for balance as to keep himself from finger fucking himself into distraction.
At the end of a silent, arbitrary countdown that ended up skipping a few numbers, Sans began to fellate in earnest, bringing all of his skills to bear from long years of denial and shameless oral service. He pulled every trick, stringing combos with perfect timing. Sans made giving head a god damn art form, and he was in a headspace to admit it to himself.
He was going to suck Red's soul out of his dick, then hand it to Edge and watch while he rode Red into the ground.
As soon as Sans got serious, Red's bitching cut off like someone flipped the record over, going from his hateful, spiteful growls to something softer. "fuck..!" Said like he couldn't make his tongue move right, like he was trying not to salivate, like the world was suddenly spinning around him and he couldn't tell up from down. Sans loved hearing that. He didn't need to look up to know Red's eyelights were slightly off-center, that his face was filling in with color, that his jaw was hanging open just enough that if he kissed him, he could slip his tongue inside and take claim from the inside (much like Red was claiming Sans from the inside, coating his inner walls with his cum as he climaxed, scorching him, leaving streaks of a painless burn behind as he swallowed what he could and let the rest leak out as decoration).
Sans didn't need to, but he looked up anyway, wiggling in that little puddle of smugness he had managed to pull together. Nothing increased the surface tension of pride quite like your bedmate's jizz dripping down your chin. The way Edge and Red were watching him (Edge with that restrained hunger and unrestrained admiration, Red with his begrudging bliss tinged with something softer that neither one of them were keen on putting a name to) made his neglected clit throb, made Sans briefly regret his position and how he wasn't able to grind down on anything, just weep slime uselessly in his shorts and be sad about it. He used to be able to handle that fine, but Red and Edge had spoiled him, made him needy.
But while Red may have come, Sans had no intention of stopping yet. He slowed, drawing out Red's orgasm the way he liked, moaning around him. It was only an intermission, however; Sans wasn't going to stop until Red was a useless mess or he tapped out.
After a few more swallows, Sans pulled off to give himself a break to breathe, licking something warm and damp off his teeth he was pretty sure was going to leave pink stains for hours.
"RESPLENDENT," Edge praised, "DO YOU NOT AGREE, BROTHER?" As if the complement wasn't aimed at Red: at his sweat sparkling ivory; his heavy breathing; his teeth that could probably rip through flesh and bone like tissue paper, that left the prettiest bruising when they were nice enough to do their job on Sans. Like Edge wasn't thinking Red drenched in sweat and delirious from the afterglow wasn't goddamn artwork.
"heh. yeah. looks damn good with a dick in his mouth." Red pretended not to notice, like he always did. His voice sounded as raw as Sans' throat felt, breathless.
"guess i better put it back then, huh?" Sans quipped, licking the swollen head that still bobbed next to his face.
Red jerked, biting back a shout that devolved into raw laughter. "what ya trying to do?"
"drain you like a juice box so when edge gets the whip out you wont have anything left to bleed."
There was a stunned silence. A not-so-insignificant amount of liquid beaded at Red's tip, sliding down his length artfully where it throbbed. Red's face darkened in color. There was a heated flare in Edge's eyelights as well.
"kill me with cummies, sansy," Red slurred.
"AND YOU RUINED IT," Edge said, not meaning it at all (or at least not entirely).
With a smirk, Sans licked the excess pre, then once more deepthroated Red with enthusiasm, his fingers teasing at his still bare sacrum.
It was going to be a long night.
Red loses track of how many times he comes long before he is given license to stop. The smell of burned something is gone, erased and overwritten by the musk of sex and Sans and Edge. His shoulder and neck ache and throb where Edge's teeth had made themselves at home, his wrists two loops of perfect bruises where he struggled enough to have made them bleed if he had had the skin to break. His sacrum throbs, scratched to hell by overeager fingers that he never wants to stop touching him. His dick is more strained pain than pleasure, but the hum of Sans' whimpers traveling through it wrings another weak climax from him, draining the last of his energy.
Red never considered that pain could be soft and slow, that his masochistic tendencies could be perversely sated by such gentle attentions. He never bothered to try, and he never let Edge bring it up.
When Sans pulls back again to pant wetly for air, Red doesn't have it in him to object. Hell, he cant even bring himself to snark about that whipping he was promised.
The way Edge's grip changes on him tells Red he knows he's done. Edge's voice is a low drone under the ringing in Red's ears, but he doesn't mind; he can tell it's Edge's voice, and it's calm, and alive. That's enough.
Sans pulls back, and Edge eases Red off his aching patella to lay on the bed. He takes Red's coat, but leaves his sweaty shirt for the time being. Red doesn't care. He's too tired, too doped up on afterglow, to even bite him for the kiss he leaves on his temple (as if Red deserved that kind of tenderness).
Red knows he's left to himself for a while, he can mutely hear Sans moaning from a little ways away (getting fucked, most like, and it says something about how tired he is that Red doesn't even care he's missing out). They haven't left the room, he isn't alone, he knows they're safe.
He wants them closer though, and he just manages to make a noise that might have articulated such if his tongue had done its god damn job.
It's no more than a few minutes later that a warm, equally sweaty body is pressed against Red's back. He smells Sans, feels the collar around his arm press into his chest where it's draped, and when a gloved hand joins it, Red can finally sleep.