Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Even if it was in a shipping situation, Ink really liked playing a part.

Don't get him wrong, he was all into ominously guarding stuff —for Ink knew better than to disturb ongoing script, even if he had to silence some active part of him that ached to just gasp, laugh, and cry whenever he felt like those emotions could fit in the scenario— but acting was just… invigorating. Another thing entirely: fun. Entertaining.

By now, it felt almost as natural as breathing— no, definitely way more natural. He had forgotten how to breathe before, though it wasn't like that was anything else but decoration.

“Blue likes to spike those. Alcohol, y’know?” Ink said, smiling with his eyes when Nightmare just looked at him, unimpressed. The party was still early, so it wasn't like he had drunk much, anyway. “Gyftmas is always crazy. You should go to one of his parties at some point.”

Nightmare just wrinkled his nose, getting his glass (filled with punch— a quite refreshing #F46D24 shade) away from his lips. He looked at Ink up and down, as if searching for something he had somehow lost, even if he had seen Ink in all possible poses at some point. “Oh. I wasn't aware.”

“Yup. I think I was… supposed to mention it? Wheeen… your team arrived? I think?” Ink said, frowning a bit as he checked his scarf— right by the tail of it. It wasn't that urgent to mention, so it didn't deserve a space higher up on the meatier part of the cloth. Such was the cruelty he bore. “Aaand— yup. Here it is. Wrote this one in italics. #CF0F2F. Very bright.”

“Must be very important,” Nightmare said dryly. When Ink looked up, huffing amusedly, he just looked away for a second, as if proud of himself. Not exactly surprising; Ink had already somewhat catalogued all his character traits in the space of their mind reserved for the things they just wouldn't allow themself to Forget. He knew what to expect of him. “I’ll inform my team, then. It wouldn't be wise to let any of them become too intoxicated in enemy territory.”

“Awww, don't jinx it,” Ink said. It was clear foreshadowing; an Event would happen any time soon. He’d have to eye the alcohol and its drinkers to document it when it happened. “This is— y’know. It has to go well. The anniversary of the truce is a very important thing, it has to, much more so when it's in Blue’s house! Or Dream will kill me. And then you. And then he’d cry himself to sleep.”

“Ah, yes, the truce,” Nightmare said. Something of a smile got into his expression; almost a smirk. “Are you using me for an info dump, Ink?”

Ah, he knew them too well by now. Kinda scary, in a way.

Ink shrugged. In his defense, he really needed to get the information across, just in case some of Them were watching. It would be pretty sad to leave Them contextless, after all. “I mean, if the shoe fits…”

Nightmare snorted, taking a moment before he seemingly decided to keep on drinking. Accepting the plot unfolding, then. “How depressing, to be merely a device for you.”

Ink just winked at him in response. He went to fetch a glass as well —there were quite a few in the center of the table, inviting people to serve themselves some juice slash other stuff—, filling it to the brim with tequila before he remembered that it was the kind of thing he wanted mixed with other kinds of drinks.

Nightmare took his glass, and dumped at least one fourth of its content into his. Ink looked at the punch mix for a second before he snapped back to the present to grab his glass back. “Here.”

“You're the best,” Ink said absentmindedly, now struck by the choice of just what to put into his drink. Instinctively, his hands reached for the vials in his sash. Paint it was, then. “Are you sure you can't read my mind?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Nightmare said, corners of his mouth twitching. Funnily enough, Ink could see his attempt to hide his smile by drinking more. Pretty pathetic, in a kinda cute way. “I wouldn't let you drink that much, anyway. Much less so quickly. It’d be quite improper.”

Aww. So controlling. It was always fun when those traits showed themselves. He needed to reward Nightmare for that later.

He popped the caps of his pink and yellow vials open —they had already somewhat become his default whenever he was dealing with anything that included Night— and let the paint fall from them down to his glass. It would definitely help with the strong perfume flavor it had, that's for sure. 

“...Would you mind using more pink for tonight?”

What a freak. “Sure.”

It was quite a fascinating thing, to see Nightmare get so excited over things he brought up himself. Had Ink ever said no to one of his odd requests? He needed to check whether he had written about that somewhere on his scarf.

Dunking more pink than his usual Nightmare-accounted dose —which was already quite high, since it somehow always got wasted quicker with him around— seemed to do the trick. Now, the contents of his glass somewhat resembled a fancy looking slime he could have bought from a small business. Except— well, more liquid-y.

He felt somewhat inclined to show the mix to Nightmare for a reason he couldn't exactly point out, the same way a cat would show their owner the lost mouse they managed to catch. Not quite proud of what he made, but something close. He guessed.

“Wanna taste?”

Nightmare seemed to think about it, longer than he thought he would. Finally, he shook his head. He looked to both sides, surely trying to pinpoint just where everyone was before he looked back at Ink, nodding. When his hand reached out for his drink, Ink gave it to him.

Nightmare sipped, face scrunching in distaste before he licked his lips. “...Ah. Strong.”

“Nothing to say about the paint?” Ink wondered, snorting when Nightmare shook his head. “Weirdo.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” Nightmare said; the quirk of his mouth left him unsure if he was joking or not. He gave Ink his glass back, taking a moment to drink off his punch to wash the taste away. He looked to the side, something like guilt clouding his eye. 

Ink wondered what was up with that. “Don’t worry, I won't make you taste more. Yet.”

“How disappointing,” Nightmare said dryly. He looked back at Ink. The color of his tongue was somewhat pinker; a #92ADD6 shade instead of its usual charming #1FCFD2. He straightened his back, tone turning somewhat serious, “it had been a pleasure talking to you, Guardian. Now, I believe I must… take care of what belongs to me.”

Ink snorted. Right. Staying together for too long would be suspicious. They were still in the secret relationship arc; it wouldn't be too fun to ruin it by something so lackluster. “Alright.”

Nightmare gave him a parting glance —the roundness of his eye betraying his true feelings— before he turned around to go check on his gang; more of a power move than anything else. Ink sighed, bringing his glass up to gulp deep and quick in what he hoped was reminiscing of the woe of a wife as her partner abandoned her for war.

He coughed; suddenly reminded of why he didn't do this kind of thing recreatively. He stuck his tongue out, displaying his disgust more as a courtesy thing than anything truly real. “Yikes.”

Ink drank more, of course. Wouldn't want to waste anything he mentioned in his inner narrative.

“Ink!” He heard. It was Blue’s voice, so he didn't think much about turning his head to look at him. He was smiling, big and wide in an expression that could only fit an UnderSwap Sans. “There you are!”

“Heeey, Blueby!” Ink said, unable to help but smile when he hugged him by the ribs, squishing almost short of feeling. Blue let him go just to pat his head, either channeling older brother or owner of a newly obedient dog. Ink pushed him off, satisfied by the way Blue just laughed. “Didn't see you while we were getting the room ready.”

“Ah, yes. I was on the Surface, buying the… good stuff.” Blue winked at him. “The prize of being the only one with an ID.”

Ink didn't feel funny enough to pinpoint how they could have just stolen all the booze instead, so he didn't. Ink closed his eyes, wiping an imaginary tear off his cheek. “Our hero…”

“You got it,” Blue said. There was a moment of silence, and as such, Ink stopped the drama to drink more. They felt his gloved hand grab his shoulder, and as such, they stopped, lowering the glass. They licked their lips. “Ink, you know…”

Ink opened one of his eyes to look at him, confused. Blue’s eyes were still as caring as ever. It was a bit annoying, much more so when Ink knew he didn't need his concern. There were no feelings to look after. “Hm?”

“Nightmare… he’s your friend, right?” How sudden. He must have seen the character interaction from afar. Did Blue hear their banter?

“Ah? Yeah. Sorta,” he finally decided. Not really a lie, but it wasn't like Ink was being completely honest, either. More alcohol went into his mouth as he brought the glass up again. A moment. “He’s actually a pretty funny guy once you go past all the sociopathic behavior and stuff.”

Blue made a hum. “Yeah?”

Oh, so that's how it was. Ink licked his lips, eyes closing as he already started to feel both pink and yellow start to finally do their thing. Word-triggered emotions weren't new, but they still made him feel a bit like a trained dog. “Yup. He’s like… y’know. Neat.”

Blue hummed, considering. “You're not being buddies with him just to get back at Dream, aren't you?”

“What? Nooo. Nope. No,” Ink said, somewhat offended by the idea. If he really wanted to offend Dream, he could have brought out how Nightmare was definitely the cuter twin. This was merely strategy. Advancing the plot by doing the unexpected. “I tell you, he’s nice. He’s fuuun! Fun.”

Blue just hummed at him, eyes squinted. Whatever he saw on Ink made him huff amusedly. Before they could blink, he grabbed them by their arm and pulled. He insisted even when Ink almost dropped the glass; bringing them to stand over the funny looking carpet that refused to be killed —though not for lack of trying—.

“Here,” Blue said, mouth twitching. When Ink turned around, —something inside them already noticed the way Nightmare had glanced at them, attracted by the commotion— Blue just pulled his arm again. Not harsh, but rather playful. “Give me your scarf. You're gonna play The Party Guy.”

“Not even gonna invite me for a drink before?” Ink said, though he couldn't deny that he wasn't that eager to just refuse him. He downed his drink —ignoring the way its burn somewhat lessened into a vague warmth over his face— and put a hand on the cloth on his neck. Alright. So that was a thing that was gonna happen. “Swap…”

“Ink,” Blue said, still lively. Ink wasn't sure if he had caught onto their warning tone —they would definitely kill over their scarf— but the pink kept on urging him to trust because Blue was such a nice friend and he loved him and whatever. Disgusting. “Don’t worry, I’ll leave it in my room. We don't want to repeat what happened for Dream’s birthday, right?”

The memory of having to hand-wash his scarf with nothing but a pinecone was the push he needed to finally take his scarf off; Blue took it just to fold it into pieces in what Ink assumed was to avoid accidentally sweeping the floor. He was so caring. “I still don't know why we had to get Dream off jail the day after. He’s always so…”

“Oh? Oh, yeah. Right. You blacked out for that, haha,” Blue said, smiling awkwardly. He visibly shivered, hugging Ink’s scarf closer to his battle armor. “Anyway, see you later. I’ll get the food ready.”

“Thought Dream was taking care of that,” Ink said, tilting his head. He winced slightly as he felt the harsher part of the alcohol hit. Funky. “Isn't he making like— y’know. The mini sandwiches and stuff.”

Blue patted his shoulder, oddly serious. “He doesn't have to fight his battles alone. That's what friends are for.”

Ink preferred falling for schemes masquerading as promises of protection, personally. But the idea that they would help him if he just asked made him feel weirdly bluish; it mixed oddly with the pinkish tones. “Y’know, I could help, too.”

Blue looked troubled, looking to the side before looking back. His hand left Ink’s shoulder. “Don't worry bout that, Ink. We have everything controlled. Just stay here, yeah? I’ll come back once I’m done.”

Welp, he guessed he couldn't always play the friend role. That was totally okay with him. To show that he was, he nodded, just before he gave him a dramatic salute, “captain yes captain.”

“Pft. At rest, soldier. See ya,” Blue said, smiling at him before turning to reach the stairs. Ink didn't stare at him for long enough to be sure, however. He was alone again.

It was kind of awkward. As such, he decided to go to the table of drinks again. He was going to get wasted anyway; he knew enough to recognize it as a good subplot.

Another glass. Then— well, half of another. It was the strong stuff, after all. His neck felt cold. His chest felt empty. People were dying. The icebergs were defrosting. 

It was kind of boring, actually. Maybe he could play hooky?

“Blue, I can't— ” Ink perked up, recognizing Dream’s voice. It was a bit muffled; like harsh whispers. “What if—?”

“Shush, they're there, and you’ve been —”

He really needed to sit down. Not because he was somewhat scared of the possibility he was hallucinating all the stuff —he was super confident in his senses— but because his vision really seemed off. Like a noise layer on overlay was forever imprinted into his eyelights. Not fun.

There was silence —not really silence, for there was a lot of mutter their ears weren't able to catch on— before they heard steps. Ink recognized the way Blue walked, but still struggled lightly as he just grabbed his forearm and pulled. Blue really liked doing that, for some reason.

To the kitchen they went. There were no doors, so he wasn't exactly surprised when Blue just stepped in between the rooms, like a barrier. Pft. Blue barrier.

“You two—” Blue said, voice tense with the kind of feeling Ink wasn't able to identify yet, “—need to talk.”

Dream’s expression met his when Ink turned his head. It had been some time since— well. They have seen each other a lot, coworkers as they were.

Dream had been his best friend, once. He hadn't been in some time.

Ink turned his head to Blue, somewhat awkward, but he had already given them their back. They were fundamentally trapped in the same room. That was, unless they talked something out.

The realization sobered him up. 

“Ink, I’m—” Dream said, voice strained. Shaky, even. “It's— well. How have you been?”

Aw. So he did care. Was. Was Ink supposed to be upset? His hand twitched, aching to reach the red, just before he finally decided it’d probably wouldn't be the best choice. “Oh, y’know. Have been… there and there. Doing. Stuff.”

“I see,” Dream said. He got quiet then, as if he planned for the conversation to fall on Ink. Was that the way it used to be before? He missed the past. Seemed so simple. If only he didn't—

His fist clenched. He really hoped the feeling deep on his chest wasn't blue. He dug his heel on the ground, preparing himself to sneak in between Blue and the wall. “...If that ’s all, then—”

“Ink, I was wrong.”

That made him stop. He felt like he was going to puke for a moment, but it calmed down when he took a deep breath. “What?”

Dream squirmed under his eyes. It was quite different; Ink remembered him taller. Louder, his words strong in determination as only words could be. “Our fight, Ink. I fucked up.”

“It— It wasn't a fight…” Ink argued, though he knew he couldn't even convince himself of that. It had been ugly. There was a reason why he never asked the Stars for help, when his own weakness came to picture. “It was just a— y’know. Difference in opinions.”

“I broke at least six of your ribs, Ink,” Dream said, a defeated sigh. He took a moment to fix his circlet. “It wasn't— I was out of it and you— you didn't deserve it. Doesn't matter what I thought you were…”

“Dream, y’know I don't feel pain that way. It’s not a big deal, it was just—”

“Please, just— let me finish.” His hand was up. He still wore his gloves, even if he was supposed to be cooking. It was such a Dream thing Ink couldn't help but smile, somewhat confused. “You… I was such a jerk to you, Ink.”

“I mean, kinda?”

Dream raised his arms, dramatic. “I was! And you just— I don't know. We— We’ve been… it feels wrong. And Blue—”

A comment: “ah, so Blue made you do this.”

“He— He made me see reason. I was being a jerk,” Dream said. He looked like he wanted to cry. Something inside him —probably the pink— made him put a hand over his shoulder soothingly. “I was unfair. Very unfair and— and— ”

“I told you, don't worry about— Oh. Oh! You're drunk,” Ink noticed. Dream just nodded, looking uncomfortably close to breaking into tears. He didn't fight when Dream hugged him, placing his chin on Ink’s shoulder. “Tell you what? I’m drunk too.”

Dream sighed, shaky and deep against the triangle of his neck. Ink embraced him back, ignoring the way his circlet dug into his temple. He patted his back in just the way he recognized from the movies.

It was— It was nice. Dream felt warm and solid in his arms. “Dream. Sunshine. I don't— y’know. I had a whole speech planned if this ever happened but I so forgot it.”

Dream laughed, kind of wet sounding, and he separated. They could see eye to eye again. Dream was tall —perhaps even taller than Nightmare, in most AUs— but he always made the effort to avoid making Ink feel short. It was kind of useless since Ink noticed it but he valued the intention.  “...Yes?”

They looked at each other for a second. It felt kind of lighter.

“I just— I always feel so guilty,” Dream said, an explanation. “You're not— what we want isn't the same. I know I can't really… make you change your mind. But you can't change… mine. You know?”

“You always have such a way with words,” Ink said, snorting when Dream pushed him by the shoulders. They patted their arm, feigning to soothe pain that just wasn't there. “I— well. Y’know. I never wanted to make you go all out of character on me. I knew about… us. I kind of expected the thing to explode at some point.”

“Expected the explosion… Like a ticking bomb,” Dream said, smiling when Ink decided to nod seriously in response. “And— well. It exploded.”

It had. It was quite a dramatic thing. “Yup. But think about it like this… Could someone have died in the climax? Realistically?”

Dream thought about it for a second, lips trembling slightly. “I thought about stabbing you. Once or twice.”

“Aww, that doesn't count. I could have let you. Sounds fun,” Ink said. Dream leaned down to hug him again, less strong but somewhat heavier. “You— Yeah. I think— I forgive you, Dreamland. If no one died I don't see why we can't just… y’know. Put this whole thing under Blue’s half-chewed carpet.”

“I still feel so guilty about that,” Dream said. Ink patted his back comfortingly. “I get why alcohol is a sin. It makes weird things to me.”

Ink didn't like the implications going on. He decided not to think too deeply about it, trying instead to get into the topic before he forgot just what the topic was: “I hope you know that I’ll definitely beat your ass if you ever try to interfere with any random AU, though.”

“Then— Then I hope you know that I’ll fight back. I’ll fight for people’s hopes and dreams. I won't— I won't be passive. I’ll fight for what I believe in, even if it kills me.”

“Neat.” Ink could accept that. They hugged Dream a bit tighter, and let him think that they couldn't hear his soft sniffles; the same way Dream was nice enough to ignore the way Ink breathed a bit oddly, unable to let go.

He would have been satisfied if that was the main event going on, if he could dare say. The pink kept on filling any gaps the experience could have; it was kind of sweet. Sentimental like few things were… Maybe climatic? He needed more words, but the sentiment was quite simple: he felt whole.

Maybe too whole. He needed drama. “Dream, I’m fucking your brother.”

“I know you fuck with Nightmare, Ink,” Dream said. Ink choke up, something like dread filling him when Dream just hugged tighter. “Blue told me. You said you two were… friends? Vibrating… vibing. Buddy pals.”

“Uhhh. Something like that, yeah.”

“I’m glad,” Dream said after a moment. “I never… I could never pass through him. He never let me be his brother again, not even— not even a friend. I— I’m glad you could be that for him.”

Oh, he wasn't getting it . Maybe he had to be more direct? He could be more direct. “Eh. Y’know. You’re like a brother in law to me. Kinda.”

The silence that followed —with a clear lack of aggressiveness— was enough for Ink to guess it wouldn't be a realization he could have that day. Dream hummed; confused. “...You're like a brother in law to me, too…?”

Ink snorted. 

They separated again; Dream wiped his golden-ish tears with the side of his fingers. He looked taller again, lighter. His smile was as awkward-looking as Ink remembered. They had missed the look of it, warm and sunny. “Alright. I— then… I believe we're… fine?”

“Yup,” Ink said. Dream patted his shoulders, as if testing if he was real. Like he was nothing but a daydream, like he truly valued the concept of Ink’s existence— He needed to check Blue’s punch, now that he thought about it. “We can— hm. Revisit it tomorrow, I think. We're a bit drunk… I think.”

“You think,” Dream echoed. He shook his head, smiling. “Yes, I— I think that, too.”

They hugged again, a bit more roguishly. Ink pushed Dream’s face away when he hugged him a bit too hard to be comfortable, snorting when Dream just laughed.

As if called by the sound —maybe he was—, Blue walked towards them, his expression softening as he saw how Dream’s smile didn't falter. When he glanced back at Ink’s face, they couldn't help but notice how his smile mirrored Dream’s. 

Blue took a moment, before finally speaking, “do we… Are we okay, now?”

“I’ll duel Dream to death before the week’s through,” Ink blurted, almost falling over when Dream pushed him from the side, “—with knives! There’ll be knives there.”

“You’re literally obsessed with me,” Dream said. He straightened when he heard Blue’s laughter, however, his mock frown disappearing as Blue hugged them both.

Both. At the same time. Naturally, Ink started to squirm.

“That’s just great, guys,” Blue said, barely reacting when Ink tried to get him off by pushing his face away with his hands. Dream, the coward, wasn't struggling; he looked like he was going to cry again. Typical. “Buddies. Friends. My friends…”

“Friends… yes. We’re— We’re all friends,” Dream said, a wet whisper. The group hug got tighter. Ink squirmed, unable to help the way he eventually lost the will to do so; movements getting slower. Feelings. “I’m glad.”

They were Ink’s best friends. “Aww, fuck the duel. I love y'all.”

They kept on hugging for an awfully long amount of time; the only thing stopping them being the smell of smoke. Smoke… smoke?

Blue separated, gasping, “the Mediterranean Pastry Pinwheels!”

Dream gasped as well —both hands getting to his mouth to complete That One Scream Painting reference— and he made his way to the furnace, Blue on tow. “Shit, shit, shit—”

Looking at them from behind, Ink felt compelled to paint some cooking gloves for them —the furnace was very hot. He thought. Guessed. Somewhat deduced—, and as so he reached back for Broomie.

Nothing. He blinked, squinting his eyes before he remembered he left it by the couch when he came. Well.

Giving a parting glance to Blue and Dream —they were trying to put out a little fire that creeped the walls— he decided to go fetch Broomie.

The passing of the limit between kitchen and main room was a bit odd, mainly because Ink noticed he kept on trying to raise his legs higher than needed to walk. His balance was off; somewhat reminding him of how gravity always seemed to get funny whenever Error forced his way through code.

He kinda missed Error, now that he thought about it. He had to visit him again, at some point. Bring some chocolate, maybe. It served pretty nicely as a bribe.

Ink plopped down on the couch the moment he reached it, closing his eyes tightly and breathing the coldness of the air to try to reboot. Odd. Evil.

A moment. He opened one of his eyes to look at Dust; red scarf being the first thing that pulled his attention. Ink smiled at him, all teeth. “Sup.”

“Hello,” Dust said back after a few seconds, hands clenching and unclenching lightly. His eyes went down to stop on Ink’s neck. He looked back at his eyes, hoodie obscuring most of his expression but the quirk down of his mouth. “...Where is it?”

Ink shrugged. His scarf was a very big part of his character design, so he wasn't that surprised when its absence was noticed. He looked up, brushing Dust’s question off with a hand. “Eh. Dunno? I’ll look for it tomorrow and— oh , hey Paps, what's up.”

Ghost Papyrus waved at him from the ceiling, still as funny looking as ever. Just as Ink was about to tell him so, however, he started to get away— Dust had stood up and left, his hallucination (well, their , if Ink wanted to get technical) following him close behind.

What a boomer. Then again, it wasn't like he had a big relationship with anyone from the gang, besides— well. Their leader. He kind of missed the guy already, now that he thought about it.

Ink sighed, getting up just to fetch Broomie —it really liked to lay on the floor unmoving every once in a while—, who was just beside the sofa. Once he had it in his arms, he sat again, putting it on his lap.

“I miss my wife, Broomie. I miss him a lot,” Ink said. He winced when it decided to nag at him, high-pitched and annoying even if their communication resembled telepathy more than anything else. Ink made it stand so he could shake it violently, just in the way one would try to see if the coin that one dropped inside a guitar— “I know my metaphors suck, Broomie. Shut up. At least I have arms.”

Broomie didn't have any clever answer to that. As such, Ink just smirked, shaking his head as a sigh soothed his spirits. He hugged Broomie close, cheek nuzzling into its bristles apologetically.

“Alright, I know you didn't say it with bad intentions…” Ink murmured, eyes closed. If he focused enough, he could feel Broomie’s bristles brush back against his face, welcoming and warm. “My bad, bud. Shaken brush syndrome isn't anything to joke about, hmmm?”

The cushion of the sofa sank slightly, and Ink perked up, separating from Broomie just to meet Nightmare’s face. 

Ink blinked. Nightmare blinked— winked? Could it count as winking?

They saw how he looked away after a moment, glass in hand. Night sipped from his fun-looking cup, —it wasn't clear glass, but rather something Mew Mew Kissy Cutie themed— licking his lips once he felt satisfied enough to get it off. “...Guardian.”

Ink took a moment to look at him; just— to stare. His jacket wasn’t open anymore, the zipper brought up to his neckline. Funnily enough, they could see the hint of tentacles dropping weakly from his back, short and stubby like seeds that grew out wrong.

Nightmare looked back at him, the circle of his eye round and inviting; it always had been such a pretty cyan (a very nice looking #02C2F2!), but the gentle shadows of the room somehow made it particularly appealing. His smirk followed a perfect curve, its angle unique. “Is there a reason for your… less than modest wear?”

Ink blinked, straightening up instinctively. He brought Broomie to his lap, laying it down horizontally. Ink wanted something in his hands; he supported Broomie’s shape with the circle of his hold while his other hand covered his neck protectively. He even had a turtleneck. “Why are you such a weirdo?”

Nightmare just snorted, leaning back onto the backrest. He glanced away from Ink —eye jumping in the room, surely noticing the way the rest were sprinkled all over like spray paint— before he looked back. “Why, I was just wondering.”

He was so cute when he got in the mood to annoy Ink. They blamed the pink, of course. “I— hmm. Y’know… got it off. Just in case stuff gets messy.”

“Oh, just in case?” Nightmare said, almost a purr. It was like the rumble of a well oiled machine; efficient and smooth. Ink shimmied a bit closer, hoping to see whether it resonated in his chest. “I was wondering whether you had a hidden reason behind it.”

Ink saw how he drank just after talking; Nightmare’s eyelight half-lidding as he kept on looking at them while he did so. Ink felt very much seduced: there was a clear intent there, they were sure. In response, Ink frowned at him, putting both hands onto Broomie’s handle and leaning their torso towards him. “Night, think we can get home already? I want to play moon landing.”

Nightmare choked on his drink, punch leaking down to his chin before he wiped it off with his sleeve. “What— Now?”

Ink shrugged. “I mean… y’know.”

The way he seemed to squirm under their eyes was kinda pathetic: it kind of called him to do worse stuff than just staring. Maybe betraying all his friends just to get a bite out of that. Or cooing. Ink hadn't decided yet. “It’s not— you must be aware that it’s still too early for that not to look—”

“—suspicious?” Ink said, tilting his head when Nightmare didn't even nod. He shimmied a bit closer, snorting when Nightmare did the same but to the same side, parallel. They weren't touching yet. “Maaaybe. Do you have a clock? I don't have a clock.”

“Do you fancy me as someone who would carry a clock?” Nightmare wondered instead, eyeing Ink even if they decided to stop trying to get closer. For now. He leaned down just to let his cup on the ground, just in front of the foot of the sofa.

“I mean. You do look like one of those guys that’d have one of those… pocket clocks?” Ink tilted his head before shrugging. “Fancy… you look fancy, y’know? Fancying… fancy. It’s a nice theme, though I’d say it kind of clashes with how you dress like a hobo.”

“You’re… inebriated,” Nightmare noticed, hands twitching when Ink just looked at him. “Are you not?”

“Though I would say it's pretty charming, mostly because it shows how you still follow a specific theme for practical reasons even if it sooo goes against your whole…”

Nightmare just looked at him, a rare look on his eye shaping his expression; oddly similar to fondness. Ink closed his mouth as he saw it be, feeling oddly warm even as—

Broomie was straightened up as someone sat in between them, balancing on its own tip as Ink couldn't help but drop it in surprise.

“Hey guys!” Blue said, smiling at Ink. He looked back at Nightmare, surely smiling at him as well. “What are you two doing?”

“...Nothing of importance,” Nightmare said dryly. His torso leaned forward, just enough so he could show Ink his eye. “Isn't that right… Guardian?”

Ink felt kind of flustered. He shrugged again —putting his whole body into it, as he couldn't quite calculate his body’s movement with how high on paint he was—, shaking his head. “Eh. Forgot.”

Blue just hummed, tilting his head as he looked down at Ink. His gloves were slightly ashy, black on its fingertips. He had some cinder on his face too, now that he saw him well.

How ominous. “Did you fight with the furnace?”

“Oh? Oh! Yes. Kinda,” Blue said after a second, laughing a bit. He took his bandana off just to wipe the stains from his face with it. Ink could try the same with his paint spot, now that he thought about it. Maybe later. “Thought you got… well. Scared. Of the fire.”

“Of the what,” Nightmare said. Ink and Blue ignored him, of course. Though he did admit the baffled look on his face was pretty endearing.

“Nah, I can handle the flames.” Ink winked at Blue, snorting when their finger guns were pushed off his nearness with practiced ease. “Was just gonna— do something? I think? Huh. Where's Dream?”

“He’s playing entertainer,” Blue said. He took a moment before glancing back to meet Nightmare's eye. “Being… you know. Making friends with the gang.”

“Neat,” Ink said. He tilted his head, squinting before he put Broomie on the sofa— it was now balancing on the cushion, looking awfully tall. He brought his hands up, moving them wide and big into an arch. “Gotta charm them to our side. The light side of… not-terrorism.”

“I hope not, they get paid for working hours,” Nightmare huffed dryly, sighing when that just made Blue laugh. “Besides, we are barely able to call ourselves… terrorists, as we are now.”

“Aww. He's sooo funny when he’s full of crap,” Ink crooned dreamily, taking a moment to put a hand on Blue’s shoulder, just to press his forehead over its back. “My favorite sociopath ever. A fan’s favorite...”

Nightmare echoed his words in silence, mouthing them as if tasting the feel of them in his mouth. He huffed, amused. “I need a drink.”

“Try my punch,” Blue said, ignoring the wheezing Ink let out in response at the way he said it with such quick conviction. Blue tried to cover their mouth blindly, his face still pointing Nightmare’s. “It's fruity, tasty—”

“Is it now?” Nightmare said, eye jumping from Blue’s to Ink’s in quick succession, mouth twitching slightly. “How will I know if it's not merely a device in your scheme to poison me, I wonder?”

“Yolo? Have you heard about yolo?” Ink said, leaning back to avoid Blue’s hand. “Or maybe the good old Don't Be a Coward?”

“Ink,” Blue gasped, hand stilling as he took a moment to laugh, turning to look back at them. “Don't say that!”

Nightmare covered his face with a hand as he looked away, expression obscured. He was trembling lightly. “Why, I haven't ever heard of a thing like that.”

Ink wanted to kiss him. The thought was revolting, especially because it didn't appear enough to be this problematic. Blue was still sandwiched between them. “Liar.”

“Bold thing to deem me as, don't you think?” Nightmare said, still looking away. He shook his head. “We’re amicable enough, Guardian. I would never lie to you, not now.”

Pink. Pink, pink, pink, pink—

“ Ink, where are you—?”

Ink stood up as quickly as he could, leaning to the side just to expel paint. Orally. He was trembling when he was done. “...My bad.”

Blue sighed —he felt his gloved hands patting his back—, gently pulling him back to the sofa. His blue eyelights were warm with the gentle care of someone who just knew what to do. “Don't worry. We can clean that tomorrow.”

“Next time you can do that in my mouth,” Nightmare said, mouth straightening into a line after a second passed. Late self-awareness. Blue stared back at him with homophobia in his eyes.

Blue opened his mouth, just to close it right after. He crossed his arms. Uncrossed them. There was a moment before he pointed at Nightmare, voice sharp like when one would command a dog to sit. “No more punch for you, good sir.”

“Awww,” Ink said sadly, straightening when Blue just looked back at him, a weird quirk shaping his mouth. “I mean— I mean. Y’know. It could be like… mama bird and the birdlings? Chicks? You know chicks?”

“Ink, you're drunk. Shut up. Shush,” Blue said, giving him a shove. He somewhat relaxed when Ink just laughed at him. “Don't. Look , I know what you're thinking. I get it. I get the sociopathic appeal. Don't.”

“Pardon?” Nightmare said, staring at them with a weird expression when Ink just laughed harder. “I’m not quite sure of what you're implying.”

“Wait till Blue tells you about his—” Blue covered his mouth before Ink could finish speaking, mouth trembling. He let go just before Ink licked his glove, pure instinct saving him, not for the first time. It was kind of a shame, he really wanted to try the ash. “Whole— fic thingies he wrote about joining the dark side after Dream and I forgot him in the Omega Timeline.”

“It was only once and I was very distraught emotionally!” Blue said, defensive. “And it was— early! Early on! I felt neglected!”

“...You fantasized about joining my attacking team?” Nightmare said, confused. When Blue just nodded, defeated, Nightmare repeated himself, squinting his eye, “you fantasized about joining my… terrorist attacking team?”

“I’m feeling very attacked right now,” Blue huffed, embarrassed. Ink hugged him by the ribs, nuzzling into his shoulder soothingly. “ Very attacked!”

“Are you aware we kill people? I feel like you should have been aware we killed people,” Nightmare said, puzzled. He tilted his head, as if that would have made it make more sense.

“Canon body count, yeah.”

Blue covered his face with both hands. Defeat. Ink prepped his chin into his shoulder just to see it show. “Look, I was in a very specific mood for Murder.”

Nightmare was very cute when he looked like he just saw someone get shot, Ink thought. “Ah.”

“I’m not proud about it, Nightmare. I’m not.” Blue said, voice slightly muffled by the press of his gloves against his mouth. Ink looked away for a second, trying to ignore the Implications. Oh. Oh!

The carpet. There was someone over the carpet— well, someones. Ink blinked. Was that dancing? Could that be considered dancing?

“Bee, look. Dream’s pulling the forbidden moves,” they said instead. Blue stopped to pity himself for a moment as a new subject for that feeling seemed to appear out of nowhere like a gyftmas miracle. It could have been, but it definitely wasn't gyftmas. 

“...He’s not,” Blue said, almost a hiss, perking up as he looked to the center of the room, hands being brought down in a snap. Faint, “...dancing with Killer? No way.”

“Yup. Awful. Go protect our lord and master from that evil guy, Bluenaut,” Ink said, separating —hug stopping to exist—. He shook Blue by the shoulder, leaning in to murmur into the side of his skull like a secret. “Remember that one time the Killer guy pushed you to the mud and hit you with steel bats.”

Blue turned to look at him, and blinked. Slowly. “What. When did that happen.”

“Just trust me,” Ink said. “It was bad. Vile. Disgusting. Awful. Golden flower. Weird route. FIGHT button. All the evil things in this world.”

When Blue didn't get it, Ink just snorted. He conjured all his strength just to try and push him off the sofa. 

“There you go,” Ink said, once Blue got the memo and stood up. To avoid him sitting again, Ink quickly filled the blank he left; leaning into Nightmare and putting his legs into the sofa. “Go show Dream the twist. Don't let him go full shattered or else you’ll get all early fanon on us.”

“...Yes?” Nightmare tried blankly. His arm went around Ink’s shoulders after a second, pulling them closer. “Please do that. As a favor.”

Blue just looked at them with suspicion. He looked like he wanted to cross his arms. “Hmmm.”

“I’ll make sure Ink behaves correctly while you check on my blood-bounds,” Nightmare added. Ink snorted, but finally decided on nodding; putting their hands together as in faithful praying. “No more punch, but… something sweeter. Do you have sugar?”

“Kitchen,” Blue said. He opened his mouth just to close it. He finally crossed his arms, squinting his eyes. “Whatever you do to them I’ll do to you.”

“...Could you not,” Nightmare said, faint. The quirk of his mouth showed the inner trouble stirring inside his mind. Ink wanted to kiss it off. He still blamed the pink for that. Nightmare tilted his head. “But well… I guess I can. Accept that.”

Ink pumped his fist like he just striked a home run. “See, Bluebert? See? Shoo. Do you want Dream to execute a Birthday dot exe? No? No, I don't think so. Go fetch. I hate you.”

Blue rolled his eyelights, though the smile that he still made was all too real. He was so fitting in his friend role. Ink didn't hate him. “You don't. Alright. Have fun. Not too much! But have it. See chu.”

Blue turned around, his steps decisive as he went to fetch Dream before he made another Big Plot Changing mistake that could have very well triggered a bad ending he rather not think about. Ink sighed, relieved.

There was a moment before Nightmare hugged him with both arms, pulling him in closer. Pink. Wait. Too pink. “...So it seems we're alone once more.”

“I’m gonna puke,” Ink said, tone blank. Nightmare clicked his tongue, a sigh leaving him. “Like. Right now.”

“I don't mind if you do, not even one bit,” Nightmare said, a murmur. “Did you… did you know? Some types of birds regurgitate their food as a courtship strategy to show they're suitable mates…”

“I think I love you,” Ink said. He didn't mean to, but he said it anyway. “You're so stupid when you flirt like a weirdo, it's so cute. You're such a funny guy. Your design is so special to me. Your color palette—”

“My color palette,” Nightmare echoed. That shutted Ink up. “I love you too. I want to kiss you. I want to show you around like… like a purse. A well beloved one, at the very least.”

Ink snorted. He put his legs down on the floor just to be able to turn towards Nightmare's face. “Yes?”

“Of course,” Nightmare said. His hands moved, he brought them up to cup Ink’s cheeks. “I want you to know how loved you are. The hours you steal from me by just existing, the way you make me hope and dream for more of you.”

“You're so funny,” Ink said. Pink. He forced himself to swallow. The world seemed to disappear as his own hands cupped Nightmare’s cheeks back. He was leaking goop. “Say it again and— and. Y’know. Look at me.”

Nightmare’s eye was such a haunting cyan. “I love you.”

They started to kiss, a bit clumsy. There wasn't enough tongue to be that obviously romantic, Ink guessed. But again, maybe it would have been for the best. He fought the urge to get on Nightmare's lap.

They separated after a second. Neither of them needed to breathe. It was a bit overkill, so Ink cut it short. Their mouths met again, messier. Paint, punch— oh, goop as well. That was nice.

Ink licked Nightmare’s lips just to catch the taste. They parted, and Ink felt cold. He was smiling still, however— the could feel the curve of his mouth, dumb and wide. Like he just caught a FUN event happening without any code manipulation going on.

“...Ah. You didn't,” Nightmare said, disappointed. “There wasn't— there was no paint…”

Ink started laughing, putting a hand over his mouth to try and muffle the sound. “Shut up. You're such a freak.”

“I thought I was an opportunist,” Nightmare said. Argued. Was it arguing? “You’ve deemed me so, all this time.”

“Character development, baby,” Ink said, making finger guns. He looked to the side, stopping when he saw Dream staring at him. The same just-saw-someone-get-shot look in his eyes. Must be genetic. His mouth did a weird thing. “You got updated. Changed. I messed up your core traits and— Guess what.”

“...what?”

“Bet,” Ink said. He stood up, grabbing Nightmare by the arm just to pull him up. “I still wanna ride the carousel, y’know.”

The blush on Nightmare’s face almost made them forget what was going on; there was a frown on his face even if he smiled. Somewhat confused. It was cute. “...Yes?”

“Y’know it,” Ink said. When he walked backwards, Nightmare followed, close. They were somewhat running out of time. “Let's hide in the kitchen sink. Blue’s abnormally tall kitchen sink.”

Nightmare snorted, but he followed him all the same. Ink could hear Dream starting to walk— boots sounding on the wooden floor.

It was a thing about trying to avoid triggering character events.

Step and step brought them together to the kitchen. Ink could see the way Blue stepped just in between Dream and them. They were talking calmly. He could hear the exact moment where they broke into laughter.

Ink let Nightmare’s arm go just to go for the drawers. Golden flower tea, coffee, salt— some moldy looking monster candy, too. Or maybe they were just mint flavored?

“Ah, it's— it's abnormally tall, indeed,” Nightmare commented, turning his back to him. Ink found the sugar, and as such he started to go for the spoon. Got it. “Common for a Sans’ house.”

“Yup,” Ink said. “C’mon, open the… door? Fun looking door? Kitchen sinkers.”

Nightmare snorted, but he did it all the same. There was a hidden room in there— they would have found Mew Mew there, if this was a classic-leaning AU. Or if the Player here had never reached the Pacifist Ending. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh. You got it,” Ink said. He pushed Nightmare inside with one arm, entering the room right after. He closed the door with the same arm, as the other one still held the sugar close, like one would cradle a dead child while on their way to see some basic-looking flowers. “See? Like a Dark World. We even got a Night right here. Ominous.”

“You're quite odd,” Nightmare said. He eyed the thing Ink was carrying, and took it from him instead. Now he was the one carrying it like a mourning sibling. “It's… dark.”

“Darker than dark…” Ink said. Enigmatically. He looked to the sides, squinting. “...Think there's mold?”

“I hope not,” Nightmare said. When Ink turned around, he didn't look that bothered. Nightmare leaned down just to leave the sugar on the floor. He straightened. “Shall we continue?”

“Heck yeah,” Ink said. He winked at him, the only warning before he pounced. Nightmare, of course, caught him right before he fell, holding him up and to the wall in a single turn. It was a bit like a dance, almost. Just what he expected.

All part of his evil plan. (Scheme?— No, scam? Was he supposed to say the title now?)

“...Hm. Wait— wait, wait, wait, we don't want to bring the rating up,” Ink said, right as he saw Nightmare’s face get closer. He saw him squint right before Ink pushed his face away with a hand. “This is like… a fade to black moment. Give it a minute.”

“Why are you so fond of making me wait, Ink?” Nightmare asked, puzzled. He still smiled, however, even if it was very much accusatory. Pretty pink. “One would think you enjoy my suffering.”

“What? Nooo, I just think it's funny to follow predesigned tropes for Their enjoyment! And— well. Y’know. It's kind of hot to raise the anticipation and all that.”

They kissed again.

A beat. Nightmare’s lips felt hot against his own. Ink cupped his cheeks, somewhat satisfied by the way his face felt warm in his hands. When Nightmare opened his mouth in a sigh, Ink dared their tongues to touch; his hands curled on the back of Nightmare's neck.

Nightmare pressed them tighter against the wall —leaning forward, holding Ink by the back of their femurs—. When they separated, Ink felt Nightmare's agitated breathing hit his face, warm and slightly damp like a summer breeze. 

They didn't even need to breathe. Though it wasn't like anything they did was necessary. Technically.

“...I missed you,” Nightmare said. He tilted his head slightly, as if surprised by his own words. His temple pressed against Ink’s. Together, they felt burning hot. “Did you miss me?”

Ink laughed, the sound repeating when Nightmare adjusted his arms just to bring them higher on the wall. Their legs wrapped around his waist —the arch of his feet digging on his sacrum—, definitely more helpful than just letting them dangle. “Pft. No? We were away for like… y’know. Twenty minutes top.”

“A very long time,” Nightmare said dryly, voice muffled against Ink’s jaw. He leaned back, right before nearly headbutting Ink as they brought him closer by the hold they had on their neck. He didn't sound as dry when he murmured, “Kiss me.”

Ink did; open mouth meeting open mouth. It somewhat resembled a fight —one for dominance!—, up until they bit down on Nightmare’s tongue, forcing a groan deep from his throat. His hold on Ink’s thighs tightened, somewhat forcing them apart as he slotted his hips in between their legs.

The grind between pelvises made Ink sigh— hands twitching as Nightmare finally separated the kiss, heavy. His mouth found the corner of their lips, barely a graze, before it followed a trail down. The lick of his tongue against Ink’s jaw felt burning hot, so they couldn't help but whine.

“Hush,” Nightmare murmured, taking a second to nuzzle against Ink’s jaw. When they smiled back, a bit shaky, he licked again, burying himself on the tall of their neck. A purr, “You're warmer than usual.”

“Hm… I’m not,” Ink murmured back, back arching when Nightmare kissed his covered neck. He could feel the shape of his mouth, open and hot against the angle of his vertebrae. “It’s the… y’know. You're imagining it.”

“Are you suggesting I’m delusional, Ink?” Nightmare murmured, something like a playful lilt in his voice. When he leaned back, Ink followed, giggling in surprise when that just made him headbutt the blank besides Nightmare's head. “How impolite.”

“Aww, shut up,” Ink said, still trembling slightly with the force of his glee. It seemed he needed more finesse than what he could conjure then; he leaned in to the side, nuzzling messily against Nightmare’s cheek like he had done to him not long ago. “Where’s the heavy weaponry, anyway? I feel like the troops should be here by now.”

Nightmare took a moment, the distracted grind of his hips —bone against bone— only proving Ink’s point. “The what and who.”

“The ecto, silly,” Ink said, unable to stop himself from snorting when Nightmare just looked to the side, as if pondering it. “The— the y'know. Y’knooow! Fanning up? Turning the lights on? Jumpscare?”

Nightmare clicked his tongue, eye snapping back at Ink. “...Ah, of course. Is it not on?”

“No?” Ink tried. He looked down. “Nope. Dickless. You're like a Ken Doll down there. Speculative fanart failed us.”

“...It may be the alcohol,” Nightmare said, licking his lips when Ink took advantage of their nearness to kiss his cheek, just beside his nose. Then his chin. “The magic is reacting slower and— could you please reach my lips?”

“I’m trying,” Ink said, hands switching to Nightmare's shoulders. He frowned slightly, leaning in slowly. “I just don't wanna—” Ink licked his lips, nuzzling Nightmare’s nose before giving him a peck. Not enough but it would do. For now. “—kay! Kay. Here. Mwah.”

Nightmare looked like he had just seen a snowflake melt on his tongue, eye round. It was a funny look on his face. “...Barely sufficient.”

“You're so silly, Moonshine,” Ink said, tilting his head to one side before doing it to the other. “C’mon, put me down. Either we get something off or this’ll get real awkward.”

Nightmare didn't follow immediately— content with simply staring down at Ink as if he didn't hear him. He leaned forward, squinting his eye as if recriminating. “...Why. As soon as you let me go.”

“Pft. Let you go? You're making it sound like I’m—” Ink blinked, remembering the way he was still hugging Nightmare’s hips with his legs before laughing. “—alright. Alright. Yeah, that's fair. Just gimme—”

Their arms found their way around Nightmare's neck when he made a sudden move, like his legs lost strength— the tense gasp soon turning into laughter turned anew when Nightmare hugged him tighter, the bounce of him returning into position with ease only making him laugh harder. “Pardon? I didn't quite catch what you said.”

“You’re such a jerk,” Ink managed to say, more than amused, turning his head to the side when Nightmare nuzzled against him again. He eased his hold on Nightmare's hips —it had turned embarrassingly tight in the faint drop— one leg dropping to try and get his toes on the ground. “Smut’s over. You don't deserve it.”

Nightmare didn't even look apologetic, simply leaning down as if to allow Ink to reach ground. The way his hands couldn't reach his waist reminded Ink that his own ecto wasn't quite on yet. “Hm? I believe you're lying to me.”

“I mean, I am. But— y’know. Playing along wouldn't kill you,” Ink said, smile trembling when he finally managed to get both feet on the ground and Nightmare's hands were still on him, cradling his pelvis. “Say sorry! Apologize. Apologize to me.”

“I love you,” Nightmare said instead. Ink couldn't argue against his choice of words, so he didn't feel particularly guilty by the way he pulled Nightmare in for a kiss, more tongue than lips. Arguably more romantic than a mere kiss on the lips. He barely resisted the need to bite: simply letting him trace the shape of his fangs even if he could feel them itching to sink down on him.

Just as Ink was about to let the demons win, Nightmare separated, panting lightly. His hands traced the bumps of Ink’s ribs before he looked up, tugging on his sash. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to know what Nightmare was on about; Ink nodded, letting go of his neck to bring his arms up.

Nightmare took his sash —letting it drop to the floor in a way that was less than elegant— before he took his top off, grabbing onto the golden edge to pull it up and off Ink's head. It dropped unceremoniously to the ground, sharing the same instant in which Nightmare leaned down again to give a quick nip to Ink’s neck. A lick followed his words, “Your ectobody isn't on, either.”

Ink let out a disbelieving huff, sighing when Nightmare licked again. His hands went for Nightmare's jacket, fiddling to try and grab the zipper, even if it felt like it kept on slipping out of his grasp whenever he managed to graze it. “It's a… Mmh. Y’know. Work in progress.”

“I could turn it on for you, if that's what you wanted me to do,” Nightmare offered, his voice a deep purr that somehow made Ink shiver in something that wasn't quite coldness. “...Do you enjoy the idea, my paramour?”

“You can't even turn yours on. Shut up,” Ink said, head tilting to the side when Nightmare went for another bite. It didn't hurt, but he could feel the echo of it all the same, its branding warmth. He finally managed to get a hold of Nightmare’s zipper, and he tugged it down, slipping his hands in between the back of his shirt and jacket to warm them up. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up… ”

Nightmare’s hands sneaked their way inside Ink’s shirt, shutting him up in expectation, a weird mix of nerves and excitement making him dizzy. They didn't go up, however, simply resting in the blanks. Testing. “Ah, so you do enjoy the idea.”

He knew them too well. “Hmm… hm? Hmmm…”

Nightmare laughed against his neck, warm. He leaned forward, gently pressing Ink back onto the wall, as if to cage them in. A rumble, “Can’t play coy now, Ink? Why, I’m betting that if I was to see your eyes now, at least one of them would be shaped as a human soul.”

His face felt suspiciously warmer. Ink blamed the pink. “Yeah?”

“Of course,” Nightmare said. Ink felt him lean back— there was no sure way to tell, for he had closed his eyes to avoid looking at his smug expression. “If I’m right, would you give me a prize? It’d be only fair.”

“Depends on what you’d want as a… y’know. Boon and stuff,” Ink said, eyelids trembling when he felt Nightmare's hands go up, thumbs tracing lightly against one of the pairs of his ribs. “Maybe— ha. A kiss?”

“I deserve more than a kiss,” Nightmare argued, leaning in to kiss Ink’s cheek— he was a bit clumsy, forehead touching Ink’s temple before fixing his position. “I want more of you.”

“You’ll definitely get that, though,” Ink said, unable to help the need to open one eye to look at him. “How about… hmm. Two kisses. And I’m being generous.”

Nightmare smiled at him with the curve of his eye. “Of course.”

They kissed again, slower. Lips met their pair, simply pressing against each other, tantalizing. When Ink separated, his eyes met Nightmare's own.

Their mouths met again, tongue sliding against Nightmare's in something less of a fight and more of a dance, movement meeting movement with practiced grace. Ink felt the way Nightmare licked their lips when he was done, keeping them buzzing.

“...I saw the heart,” Nightmare explained, humming when Ink nuzzled against him. “It was shaped like a square.”

Ink snorted, covering his mouth with a hand after he did so, startled. “You’re not supposed to tell me that.”

Nightmare smiled at him. He looked somewhat smug, even if Ink could tell he was trying to go for more of a naive look. “Oh, I’m not?”

“Nope,” Ink said, lips twitching. He brought his hand down, grabbing at the space where his scarf was supposed to be before he brought it down instead, unsatisfied. “You’re so weird.”

Nightmare stepped back, smile widening when Ink followed close behind. He had taken his hands out from Ink’s shirt, now simply using them to smooth down the wrinkles of his jacket. “I have a feeling it's not really a complaint. Or is it?”

Ink didn't deny it, “Well, it was definitely a comment.”

“Ah, so it was not.” Nightmare's eye followed him as Ink cornered him to the wall with some well calculated steps, the line of it shaking a bit when Ink didn't touch him directly, simply fixing up the hood of his jacket. He turned his head to the side, eye focusing on Ink’s hands, a weird look crossed his face when they finally settled on his hips.

“Still no ecto?” Ink said, smiling when Nightmare just rolled his eye. “What? It's a nice question to have. Maybe you don't find me cute anymore. Have you thought about that?”

Nightmare let out a disbelieving huff, eye squinting lightly as both of his hands rested on Ink’s shoulders. His voice was oddly playful when he said, “I want to impregnate you, Ink.”

“As a friend?”

Nightmare’s laughter caught him off guard, the sound oddly carefree in a way it wasn't most of the time. He took his hands off Ink’s shoulders; doubling over slightly before recomposing himself, pressing the higher curve of his spine against the wall. His amusement hadn't quite died off when he said, “Worse.”

“Worse? It can be something worse?” Ink said, feigning scandalized surprise only to let it drop when Nightmare laughed again, unable to help but join in. Ink took a moment to hug him, hands encircling his chest, and buried his head on his collarbones; choosing to ignore the way Nightmare was quick to settle both hands on his sacrum. “Damn.”

Nightmare didn't answer that, simply shaking as his laughter didn't quite die off, like it was just waiting to be rekindled again. He shook his head when Ink kissed his jaw with a bit more strength than needed, clumsy.

Ink was unable to fight their desire to sneak in a little lick —just to have a reminder taste of the thin layer of goop by Nightmare's neck—, snorting when that made his hips snap up; clothed bone clashing against its homologue in something that was less than fun. “ Yikes.”

Nightmare didn't seem that bothered, simply letting out a little sigh when Ink’s hand fell down, palming the flatness of pubis and ischium through his pants, testing whether it had suffered something worse than a little bonk. His pelvis tilted, as if inviting them to touch. Nightmare didn't sound particularly convincing as he took a moment to murmur, like an afterthought, “...Ow?”

“...’Ow’? Don't tell me it hurts,” Ink said, snorting again when Nightmare just nodded, solemn. He felt kind of guilty, in a funny way, so he didn't resist the call to kiss Nightmare's jaw again, soothing pain that wasn't there. Ink nuzzled against it when he heard him laugh again. “You're getting kind of giggly.”

“I don't giggle,” Nightmare said, somewhat defensive even as Ink could feel the pull of his smile. “You're just… amusing. Fun. Entertaining.”

“Uh-huh.” Ink tilted his head, pulling back slightly just to see Nightmare's face, soft and sunny. “Cutie.”

Nightmare snorted, the line of his mouth trembling slightly as if fighting not to prove Ink’s words true. He looked away; if they didn't know any better, Ink would assume he was feeling shy.

“The cutest guy in the whole world,” Ink added. Nightmare started trembling a bit more visibly, smile twitching in place. “Moony, silly, Moonshine, Bunny—”

“Don't ‘bunny’ me,” Nightmare said. The way he tried not to laugh made him sound somewhat distraught. “That's incredibly undignified.”

“Why? I think it fits. What if not with the whole thing you do when—” Ink’s attempt to pantomime was stopped when Nightmare cupped his cheeks, squeezing. “—when you— y’know. The thing when we're done and you—”

Nightmare pecked his lips. Ink blinked; an instant before he kissed his lips again, painfully quick. When Ink opened his mouth to say something about it, Nightmare put his mouth to his, and as such they kissed again. Messy. A parting lick made Ink whine, more for show than anything. “...If you don't use it I’ll contemplate not addressing you by title, Guardian of the AUs.”

Ink squeaked at the epithet, the sound morphing into more of a disgruntled hum when Nightmare kissed the edge of his nose. “I’m gonna throw up.”

Nightmare tilted his head in thought. He licked his lips before leaning down, the lap of his tongue trailing down from Ink’s chin up to his upturned mouth, hot and heavy. “Oh, please do.”

Fortunately, Ink managed to keep all the paint inside. However, the way their ecto finally turned on instead was a little more than embarrassing. “You’re so weird, could— could you not.”

“Could I not what?” Nightmare said, letting their cheeks go. He kissed Ink’s nose again, huffing amusedly when they turned their head around. “Is it really such a crime for me not to want any of your paints to go to waste?”

“You're such a freak, Nightmare. Go back to being a terrorist. Jail. That's what you deserve. Jail,” Ink blabbered, his hands twitching as he withdrew them to his lap. He looked back at Nightmare, frowning slightly to hide his flustered expression. “Get— stay on the wall.”

“Why, of course, officer,” Nightmare said politely, laughing when Ink just pushed him back to the plane of the room by the chest. “How violent you are. And how early in the night, too.”

“Stop. Where’s your— demure manners! Coyness! Where's your kinda traditional-prudish-feeling dirty talk?” Ink huffed, his ecto tingling with annoying insistence. The smile he couldn't get off his face didn't help. “Where is it? You're breaking my— you're breaking my immersion!”

“Why, I was under the belief you enjoyed when I thought out of the box,” Nightmare argued. To be honestly fair with himself, the way Ink was fiddling with Nightmare's pants definitely didn't help with the allegations. “Besides, I wish to indulge myself. Your baffled expression is nothing less than lovely.”

“Stars, shut up.” Ink’s eye twitched slightly as the strings of Nightmare's clothes didn't quite obey his intentions, slipping out of his grasp like water. He sighed, grabbing the edge of his pants before bringing them down. Soon, he was kneeling; face meeting Nightmare's pelvis. 

The pelvic bone.

Ink opened his mouth before closing it. Then twice. He looked up. “Night, y’know I want dick, right?”

Nightmare was looking down at him with a round eye. “Why, yes. You’ve been quite explicit.”

“Then why is there no dick here?” Ink said, troubled. He snorted when he saw Nightmare tremble, like he wanted to laugh again. “Am I a joke to you?”

“Of course not,” he said, airy. His words melted down into a sigh when Ink leaned forward, nuzzling into the pubis. His hand settled on the top of their head, petting him like he was a particularly loved cat. “I could conjure— hm. Give me a minute or so.”

“So looong…” Ink whined, taking a moment to hug Nightmare’s thighs. He opened one of his eyes —he didn't quite remember when he closed them— and murmured, “If it's not on in ten I’m gonna start meowing.”

“Is that a threat? Why, I would never— ” Nightmare's voice pitched higher as Ink chose just the right moment to start nibbling on his ischium— right before Nightmare pushed his face off with a gentle shove. “Ink.”

“Mreow?” Ink said, starting to laugh when Nightmare just looked down at him, unimpressed. He nuzzled his hand when Nightmare tried to cup his cheek, mimicking the strong purr of an affectionate cat.

“Menace,” Nightmare said, embarrassingly fond. “One would think you enjoy acting in such an unashamed way.”

“Bet,” Ink said, headbutting Nightmare’s hand away to lean forward once more, clumsy. The lap of his tongue reached the lower angle of his pelvis’ bone, teasing the blank where the pubic symphysis would lay were they humans. “I can be a bit shameless sometimes. As a treat.”

“A treat for who, exactly?” Nightmare murmured, one of his hands reaching over his eye, the cyan of it leaking through in between his fingers. He moved slightly, pelvis angling as if he contemplated the idea of grinding against Ink’s open mouth. “...Show me your tongue.”

Ink huffed, amused —the cold air on Nightmare’s bones made him shiver— yet obliged all the same, leaning back slightly to open his mouth, eyes half lidded. His tongue poked out, iridescent against the low light.

The contemplative hum that came from Nightmare's throat, low and deep, was a bit more than attractive. It made Ink’s ecto tingle, the heat of his magic searing the bones underneath until he couldn't help but squirm in place to try and soothe its burn. “Lick.”

Well, it wasn't like he could say no to that . Ink leaned forward —nose catching onto the in-between of both pubis— tongue grazing the limit where ischium ended on the pelvis. He felt Nightmare's hips twitch; yearning for more of him, so Ink indulged.

His hands twitched, so Ink brought them up —his thumbs passed through the twin hollows of Nightmare's pelvis— and pulled, bringing the angle of him close and tight against his face.

The next lap of his tongue made Nightmare shiver, a brief gasp of air leaving him when Ink just pulled again, keeping him still. His tongue felt heavy, almost numb with the feeling of the goop coating it. 

“Ink,” Nightmare breathed, the starts of a whimper leaking through when Ink just pulled again, toying with how far he’d let them push him. One of his hands landed on Ink’s head, keeping it there.

Ink just hummed in acknowledgement, eyes drifting up to see the flush of Nightmare's cheeks through the in between of his onyx fingers. He licked his lips, smirking up at him, eyes curving up. “Aww. Don't tell me it feels good.”

“Of course it does,” Nightmare sighed, eye squinting as he looked down at Ink. His hand was brought down, uncovering his blushing face. “Anything you’d do would feel good to me. Get up.”

Ink stuck his tongue out at him.

Nightmare just looked down at them, mouth trembling slightly. He leaned down, hands going behind Ink’s head before grabbing— they couldn't help but snort when Nightmare pulled them up by the shirt like he was a wet cloth, dragging them up until they had no choice but to stand again, a bit shaky. Their legs had somewhat gotten numb. “...Ah, you're definitely heavier.”

Ink huffed amusedly at the choice of words, barely twitching when Nightmare's hands trapped his waist, hesitating when they didn't find the usual blank. “Must be the ecto.”

Nightmare squinted his eye at him. His hands palmed Ink’s abdomen before he hugged their waist, pulling them in in a smooth glide. An odd tone in his voice, he murmured, “You should have told me it turned on.”

Ink whistled, looking away before Nightmare bonked his head with his own. He blinked, smiling when his eyes met Nightmare’s own; a hint of something like worry clouding it. “My bad, Moonshine. However, I did say I wanted dick and all that jazz.”

Nightmare kept on staring at him, expression trembling slightly when Ink leaned in to kiss his cheeks. When they pecked his mouth, something like the shadow of a smile finally came back to his mouth. 

“Stop sulking,” Ink murmured, snorting when Nightmare just squeezed the angle of his magic, almost playful. “Look at me— nah, actually, look at it. It’s on, you're touching it, we can do stuff.”

“...Why, we can. It’s— I just find it so… charming when you try to motivate me,” Nightmare admitted, voice low. When he tilted his head to one side, Ink followed, kissing the place where his other eye would be, had his design been less edgy. “Do you really believe I need your encouragement, Ink?”

“Maybe not,” he said, considering. To cheer people on— to cheer Them on was more of a reflex than anything truly conscious. Ink wasn't exactly sure when Nightmare started to compute as someone somewhat close to Them, in his mind. “But you like it. I don't care about what you need, but what you— y’know. Want. I like… giving it to you. It’s fun. And stuff.”

Nightmare's hands drifted down; they squeezed Ink’s hips, as if inviting him closer. When he followed —almost pressing himself fully against his body—, he felt the edge of Nightmare's knee stopping him.

“Aaand—” Ink stopped, squinting their eyes. They rested their hands on Nightmare's shoulders, pressing the triangle in between their thighs against his femur, somewhat heavy. “—Y’know.”

“I don't,” Nightmare said. His eye looked down, analysing the way Ink pressed down against his thigh before looking up. His leg moved, somewhat digging into the clothed high of Ink’s inner thighs. “May you… enlighten me?”

But Ink had already forgotten it. His head leaned down as he forced himself to watch Nightmare’s femur— only to find cyan ecto covering it, at last. It felt inviting, branding hot against Ink’s magic even if the cloth of his pants made the possibility of them touching impossible.

“How quiet,” Nightmare purred, voice low. He pulled Ink closer by the hold he had on his hips, settling him more comfortably over the angle of his legs. “Are you not in the mood to talk?”

“Shoo. I’m focusing, now,” Ink said, hands twitching before he brought them down, settling on Nightmare's waist to bring himself closer. The grind of his core against his thigh made his breath hitch, the friction of his pants smoothing the warmth down into a gentle buzz. “Focusing— focus. Yeah.”

Nightmare snorted, one of his hands leaving Ink’s hips just to grab his butt —flexing his thigh while raising the knee as if to give Ink better access to his leg— and tug, pulling him closer, allowing him to slot his thigh between his own like a long lost puzzle. 

The next grind of Ink’s hips made them sigh, somewhat shaky. The view of Nightmare's ecto was hypnotizing in the lowlight, its glimmer got obscured by Ink’s pants whenever his hips moved up. The friction made something inside him settle low on his ecto, resting within his pelvis like a beating heart.

A mouth pressed against his lips, hot and damp. Nightmare’s tongue met his own before he could react, the gentle hint of a sigh inviting him in. It burned him— the vibration of Ink’s whimper being swallowed by the hunger of Nightmare's kiss.

They separated, barely an instant, before Nightmare leaned down again, the weight of his mouth pressing against Ink’s jaw, his cheek. He could feel how Nightmare's leg moved, grinding against Ink’s ecto, firm and steady.

A bite on their neck forced a whimper out of Ink’s mouth, airy. They forced themself closer to Nightmare's body, pelvis twitching back against the insisting weight of his leg before Nightmare forced it to stay there with the hold on his lower back, guiding Ink’s spine to bend.

His rocking turned into more of a rutting— Nightmare pulling him back to place whenever Ink moved out from position. He drowned on him; the way Nightmare kept him close as if preparing for the idea Ink would try to push him away, even if his hold on Nightmare's hips was surely painfully tight.

They moaned, shaky— barely a sound before Nightmare kissed them again. However, this time they knew what to expect; their tongue grazed the cyan of Nightmare's mouth, slick and insistent.

He bit them; the edge of his teeth made Ink whimper against his mouth. They separated again— the rustle of their clothes against ecto the only noise besides the harsh breathing that never quite synchronized.

His ecto tingled, warm. It forced his hips to move by themselves: made the idea of stopping touching insufferable. He felt Nightmare's hand press against his neck— it guided his eyes up. He saw the way Nightmare's mouth quirked up into a sly smile, angling his eye up like a half-moon. “Let me undress you.”

Ink whined when Nightmare moved both his hands to his waist again, holding him in place when he let his leg drop back in place to a simple stance. He pressed himself against him again— Ink could feel the shape of Nightmare's ecto digging into his stomach, hot and hard like a burning sword.

“Unless, of course, you don't want us to join,” Nightmare breathed after a second; his full body shiver just making him press tighter, hotter against Ink’s white shirt. “Give me a minute, love. It’ll be barely a moment.”

“Your minute is way too long,” Ink breathed back, voice pitching higher as in a whine. Nightmare pressed his cheek against his skull, warm. “Can't you like— break it? Or something? Slash it with the— y’know. Y’know!”

“My tentacles are… well. I’m not sure when they’ll respond to me again,” Nightmare murmured, a sense of amusement settling in the low tone of his voice even when Ink could hear him hum when their hips grinded together. “Do it for me, Ink. I promise to be quick.”

“Fuck.”

“That's the idea, yes. Yours, at least, unless your behavior has been for nothing but show,” Nightmare said, hands slipping under Ink’s overalls, widening the circle of its waist. “It’s not often I hear you swear. Do you need me that much?”

“Night, what part of grinding on your leg like a dog you don't get?” Ink huffed, feeling somewhat flushed when Nightmare just chuckled, melodic. “Do you want me barking? I can bark.”

“You're adorable,” Nightmare purred, once his laughter died off. He hadn't covered his face, so Ink would see the fondness in his face; unfitting. “Come here.”

Before Ink could react, Nightmare turned both of them around, a few well placed steps getting Ink’s back against the cold wall; it made him shiver. Nightmare leaned down— getting his hands off his waist before he grabbed Ink’s overalls by the pockets: he tugged them down to the point Ink had to kick them aside to avoid tripping on them.

Nightmare looked up at them from where he kneeled slightly, smiling at them with the quirk of his eye, hands drifting up to trace the silhouette of Ink’s thighs, covered by his socks. When he stood up — cornering Ink against the wall— he offered them his knee again, hands busy with the hem of his jacket.

Ink stopped watching him take it off to take the offer of his thigh, however— he heard Nightmare’s groan when the heated lips of his ecto touched his thigh, rainbow meeting cyan. The glide was easier, this time; the wetness of him helped the movement of his hips while his hands on the wall gave him enough leverage to avoid worrying about holding onto Nightmare while he was busy fixing his clothes.

“Ah, I can feel you dripping on me,” Nightmare commented, one hand landing on the place beside Ink’s waist on the wall. When they looked up at him, they could see the smirk on his face; the uncovered sight of his sweater, jacket on his free hand. “So you are needing of me, after all.”

“Arf,” Ink said dryly, his mouth twitching when Nightmare laughed again, face uncovered. His jacket dangled on his hand, messy. He couldn't help but wonder why he didn't drop it; his touch would be so much better on him. “I think I’m horny, silly. I only bark when I’m horny.”

Nightmare laughed again, more controlled. His lips twitched; Ink felt them do so when he pressed them against the corner of Ink’s mouth. “Yes? I’ve never seen it. I could bark, too.”

Ink snorted, his hips stilling when he turned his face to the side; Nightmare kissed his neck, heavy and clumsy. “Pft. Nuh uh. It’d be OOC. Sinful. Worst thing ever.”

“I could bark in spanish,” Nightmare said against his neck, setting himself on the ground more steadily when Ink couldn't help but laugh, pushing him off in bafflement. “The onomatopoeia itself is particularly distinguished. Way more respectable than its english homologue.”

“Creators, you're drunk, shut up, shoo,” Ink huffed, ignoring the way Nightmare just laughed again, pressing himself closer to them. “Don't you dare. Don't you dare.”

Nightmare smiled at him with his eye, tilting his head. “Don’t be so dramatic. A simple guau has never killed anyone. ”

Ink laughed again, whole body seizing when they had to push Nightmare's face again as he tried to give them a kiss. Instead, they let him grab his hip and squeeze with the hand that had been on the wall, letting him close. 

“Your little snorts are the cutest thing,” Nightmare said, bolder in the way he knew Ink wouldn't keep him apart for long. He nuzzled into their cheek, opening his mouth just to tease a bite he knew Ink would let him give. “Your freckles… they look like little stars.”

“Smooth,” Ink managed to say, voice muffled as he brought a hand up, palm pressed firmly against his mouth. “Geez. Turn down the charm. You're killing me.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Nightmare said, suspiciously close to a whine. Ink looked back at him, eyes squinting when he met Nightmare's own. Their smiles mirrored each other. Ink let his hand drop, just to let Nightmare see. “I would never.”

His hand moved, brushing against Ink’s shirt before he brought it up; settled heavy against the ecto of his stomach. Ink hissed against the cold —the cloth riding up enough that his lower back touched the wall—, and Nightmare's hand stilled, stopping the flow. Again. “Night, c’mon, blue balls—”

Nightmare withdrew both his hands, stepping away. “Give me a minute.”

Oh, that was red. Ink was definitely going to kill him with his bare hands. “Your minute sucks we’ve gone through this event thrice at least—”

Nightmare threw his jacket at his head and Ink stilled; going motionless like Nightmare just threw him water. Black. His hands stayed raised. Confused. He was still blinking blankly when Nightmare took the cloth out of his head.

He was all smiley while doing it, too. Ink pointed at him with the index finger, making sure to embody the tone of someone who just saw his dog chew on their shoes. “You’re such a bastard and I hate you.”

Nightmare snorted. He smoothed the jacket, making sure the hood was on the right side as well as the sleeves. “Of course. C’mere.”

“Don't c’mere me, you have a clear character voice,” Ink said, keeping the tone. He obeyed all the same. When Nightmare signaled with his hand —palm parallel, index going in a few loops—, he turned around. He heard him snort. Ink added, “Don't use contractions like that, it ruins my immersion. You don't want to ruin my immersion.”

Nightmare moved him around, turning to the side slightly. He stopped for a second before he messed with the sleeve of Ink’s white shirt, making him hold the edge when it stretched to its intended form. Then, he made Ink pass his arm through the sleeve of his jacket— it was still warm. “You're not the owner of me.”

“I’ve been inside you,” Ink scoffed, offended. He let Nightmare guide his other arm to go through the sleeve, the warmth of the jacket protecting his back. “You’ve been inside me. We’ve been inside each other at the same time like the ouroboros—!”

Nightmare hugged him from the back, squeezing both sides of Ink’s hips to make him squeak, surprised. His thumbs dug into the ecto, teasing the place where it met the pelvis bone. It made him laugh; a useless reflex that Nightmare only seemed to enjoy when it came out of him. “Hm? What are you saying? Stay on theme.”

“Pft. I’m staying on theme!” Ink argued, pushing his hands off. He looked back, smile trembling in place when he saw the smug expression on Nightmare’s face. He felt twitchy and warm. It should have been annoying. He huffed, putting the hood of the jacket on just to avoid looking at him, staring at the wall. “Freak.”

“Please. I could be a freak,” Nightmare said; Ink snorted, bringing their hand up to cover their mouth. Nightmare’s hand touched their bottom, the seam of their thigh; their gasp was muffled by their palm. “I didn't make you take the socks off, didn't I?”

Of course it was a sex thing. The realization made Ink laugh again; he didn't fight it when Nightmare hugged him again, the weight of him comforting against his back. “...I knew you had a thing for that.”

Nightmare’s thigh found its way between his legs, a reminder. Ink’s hands reached the wall; his back arched instinctively, waiting for contact. When he tried to look back, the hood of Nightmare's jacket blinded him from the character behind.

Nightmare’s fingers teased their pussy, and Ink whined, breathy. They arched their back more insistently; convincingly , they hoped. His hand felt hot and blurry like something taken out of a fever dream. A whine, “Nightmare.”

“Hush,” he said. The gentle hiss of his voice made Ink squirm, press himself more firmly against his hand. The pads of his fingers passed through his clit; Nightmare huffed when Ink bucked his hips, a whimper on his lips. “Give me a minute.”

Nightmare's fingers slid through Ink’s lips— smooth and slick. Their words got swallowed by the feeling, coming out as a whimper instead when Nightmare's fingers pressed together like a fan, pads pressing against their clit while palm and phalanges massaged the whole extent of Ink’s sex.

Nightmare’s dick pressed against Ink’s lower back, hard and heavy. The cup of his hand seared him with warmth that wasn't quite there. A purr, “is this what you’ve been desiring, all this time?”

His fingers were undoing; they followed the insistent sway of Ink’s hips, uncaring whether he squirmed or not. “Yeah, right, yes, yes, yes."

“Hmmm. I’m not quite sure.”

His fingertips circled Ink’s clit, prodding. The brisk pace of his breathing was all he could hear, from time to time. His head slumped down for a moment, only to perk up when Nightmare withdrew his hand with teasing slowness. “Night.”

“Ink,” he said. The drag of him on his back felt like torture; it poked him just to grind against the curve of Ink’s lower spine. The groan that reached their ears only made them squirm, a reminder of just what he was lacking in him , inside him. “Your fingers. I want to see them.”

The press of his own fingers against his wet pussy reminded him he still wore them— his pinky finger pressing against the meat of his thigh. It felt messy; he felt the need to withdraw his hand, only for Nightmare’s own to keep it there with a gentle press of his fingers.

“If you ever feel like you're going to fall, tell me,” Nightmare said, a murmur. His hand withdrew again, it went up, grabbing the hem of his jacket to ride it up to his waist. A bit cold. “There’s no need for me to tell you what to do now. Isn't there, my love?”

Ink’s hand moved, hesitating for a second before he brought it up— his fingers felt clumsy, almost nervous in the way he circled the head of his clit. His hips twitched, bucking up before he forced them in position, keeping his back arched. 

It felt like electricity. He felt Nightmare's cock— he felt the tip of it poke his butt, digging into the ecto until it refused to yield anymore. He felt Nightmare hum, a low noise directly from the throat. “Keep yourself open for me.”

Ink moaned, low. He could feel the way Nightmare throbbed; the way both ectos reacted to their nearness. He licked his lips; he moved his hand, fingers spreading to present the heat of his ecto, inviting. The way Nightmare separated —as if it had burnt him— only made him whine.

Nightmare's hand settled on his ass, the pad of his thumb pressed against his entrance, and the whine turned into a whimper. It didn't enter him, not yet, but it felt close enough Ink could almost feel it. Nightmare's voice was low, somewhat amused, “Look at you. Is this all for me?”

Ink let out a shaky sigh when Nightmare's finger finally went inside; it felt like the touch of a memory. Their hips moved on their own when Nightmare pressed down, as if he had wanted to touch his fingertips with his own through the layers of magic. “Creators.”

Nightmare clicked his tongue as he heard them talk; his thumb started to move, massaging just the right spot, electric; he didn't stop even when Ink started to whimper again. It felt like he was leaking, like his form couldn't quite maintain its solidity. He corrected, “Mine.”

Nightmare's thumb withdrew — barely a second or so—, only to be replaced by the shape of his middle finger, arched inwards towards Ink’s sacrum. He felt so deep; the mere idea of it made Ink moan again. Stretched thin, just so Nightmare could fit himself into the concept of them. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“Good.” His finger moved, threatening to get out just to enter them again, slow and steady even if Ink could feel themself clench down around him, needy. There was a hum, warm; they could recognize the fondness of the tone. “Oh, you're on the tips of your toes.”

Ink hadn't noticed; however, they couldn't force themself to get on their heels again. They hummed in acknowledgement when Nightmare put his free hand on their thigh, squeezing.

Ink heard him sigh: Nightmare took his middle finger away, pressing the tip of it —alongside the annular finger’s— against them. “Tell me you love me.”

“Love chu,” Ink murmured, voice breathy. He felt as if Nightmare's words could eat him; swallow everything that made him. He felt as if he would let them. “Night, love you.”

It was enough of a plea. Both fingers were swallowed by him —he could hear himself opening for them, wet—, the curve of them making them rest by the angle of Ink’s spine. “As do I.”

Nightmare didn't move, fingers settled comfortably even when Ink squirmed, shaking his head from side to side, unsure how to react. His weight shifted on the balls of his feet, going up when Ink’s torso leaned towards the wall. Middle and annular finger spreaded inside— stretching the walls of him. “Night.”

He felt empty; Nightmare's hand made him aware of just what he could allow, invite inside him. Ink felt the hollow even when his fingers pressed together, teasing to get out before they delved deep inside him again.

His thighs pressed together— he needed more. Ink’s own fingers moved, circling clumsily on the throbbing spot of his clit, hot. He clenched down on Nightmare, heard him groan in response. “Need you."

“You have me,” he rumbled; his fingers withdrew, and Ink sighed, deep and shaky. There was a moment before his hand reached around, the weight of it pressing against Ink’s clothed abdomen, steady against the way it moved below it. “Let me see you.”

The blur of movement barely registered on Ink’s mind; they had already turned around when they noticed themself moving, clumsy. The view of Nightmare's face was enough to force them to kiss him, welcomed by the way Nightmare leaned down with the same thought.

Synchronized, for a moment. Ink stepped back as Nightmare cornered them to the wall again, their hands cupping his cheeks while Nightmare’s own hugged them by the waist, pressing his cock against the give of his ecto. He grinded against them, hard and heavy, burning hot.

Ink could taste themself on Nightmare’s mouth, bitter. They wanted to taste more of him. They separated; barely a second before Ink tugged Nightmare’s face down by the hold they had on it, kissing it with their mouth open. He let them —tilted his head, even— inviting Ink to bite.

Ink let his face go just to grab his shoulders; they bit on his neck, huffing around a mouthful of the sweater he still wore. They separated, tongue out in distaste.

“Night."

Nightmare started to laugh again, breathy. Ink couldn't even be upset, much less so when he took a moment to bring his turtleneck down, leaning towards them and tilting his head, inviting. “...Allow me.”

He loved him. 

Ink bit down, groaning against the bone of Nightmare's neck when he felt his hips buck against Ink’s own. The lap of his tongue soothed the mark he had left behind, the indent of his sharp canines on vertebrae. Nightmare's hands reached his hips and squeezed.

“Fuck me ,” Ink breathed against his neck, almost an afterthought. He arched his back, pressing all he could of himself into Nightmare's torso, inviting. “Silly, Moonshine, Nightstar, fuck me. With your dick. Now.”

Nightmare chuckled, the sound muffling into mere shakes when Ink threatened to bite again, mouthing his neck. His hand reached for Ink’s thigh, bringing it up besides his own. “Of course.”

His cock pressed a bit more firmly against Ink’s abdomen, the grinding a bit clumsier. Ink held onto the wall, waiting. He could taste the paint in his mouth; it tasted metallic when he looked up at Nightmare’s eye, troubled. “Night.”

“I— Give me a minute,” Nightmare said after a second. He squinted his eye, cyan brought down before their gazes met again. “We don't seem to fit.”

“You're such a nerd, kneel down. Get down! No, like—” Ink had to take a moment, a hand pressing against his mouth as he couldn't help but start to laugh, the sound somewhat noisy. “We’re halfways in, just— pft. Just—” 

Nightmare's confused face didn't help them, a vague smile quirking his mouth up, shaky. He didn't even look that embarrassed; not even when Ink calmed enough that they couldn't help but kiss his jaw, messy. “Yes?”

Ink huffed, amused. “Yes. Just— follow after me. Don't let me fall.”

Nightmare brought their thigh higher, holding it up with practiced technique. “I would never.”

Ink leaned more of his weight into his suspended thigh— getting onto his tip toes. Nightmare kneeled as he caught the memo— holding himself onto one hand. The tip of his cock went in, and Ink sighed, sharp. It mirrored the low sound of Nightmare's moan.

Ink tilted his hip, hands on the wall to keep his balance. Nightmare pressed himself closer, more accessible— Ink held onto his shoulders with the hand of his grounded foot’s side.

Nightmare sighed as he started to move, slowly getting inside, filling the emptiness his fingers made him aware off. He hummed, soft, and Ink’s head went back, the hood of his jacket muffling the contact. 

A whine. He felt Nightmare's hips touch his own, snug. He was finally in. Nightmare's mouth was on his cheek, refreshing in its hotness. His words were damp against his face, “...now what?”

“Get me to the wall and— lift me up,” Ink breathed, eyes closed when Nightmare kissed the high of his cheekbones, the lids of his eyes. Nightmare kneeled down slightly —he could feel the threat of him slipping out—, putting a hand on Ink’s butt, firm. He licked his lips. “Yes.”

Nightmare shifted his hands, pressing Ink against the wall for support before lifting them up by the seam that limited thigh from bottom. Ink’s legs settled around his hips, hugging it tight; a reflex he couldn't help but indulge in as he took a moment to hug Nightmare's neck.

They kissed again, messy; Nightmare’s hips grinded against his, stirring the mix of them. A moan left Ink’s mouth, it echoed the groan that came from Nightmare's throat. His clothed back met the wall as he was held there.

The moment stretched, long. Nightmare's tongue brushed against his, less of a battle and more of a dance. He felt the way Nightmare traced the edge of his teeth with confidence. He knew Ink wouldn't bite.

Nightmare’s hips moved back—he was withdrawing, cock slipping until only the tip was in— before they snapped back into place, sharp. The dirty sound of it made Ink whine, the headiness of it swallowed by Nightmare's mouth. There was no sudden movement after, the grind of hips together making him fuzzy.

Ink couldn't even tell when the kiss separated: the sound of Nightmare's voice, the warmth of it over his lips made him open his eyes. “You feel like liquid fire.”

“Nerd,” Ink breathed playfully, voice hitching into a whine when Nightmare bucked his hips again, sharp and deep. His own pelvis tilted as it could, unable to help but try to find just the spot. “What kind of weirdo even says—?”

Nightmare kissed him again— tried to, at least. His mouth reached the corner of Ink's lips instead, wet. “You like it.”

“Lies, mischaracterization—” Ink murmured, their hold on Nightmare's neck tightening when he moved his hips, shallow. His voice broke, breath being stolen out of him, “—woobification, even. Disgraceful.”

“I can see you smile whenever I get smart with you,” Nightmare argued, voice low, contained. He was trying not to moan, Ink realized. “You like it. Don't play coy with me.”

Ink huffed, tilting his head to the side just to make sure Nightmare saw the way he rolled his eyes. “Psht.”

He felt the way Nightmare huffed back, amused. “Psht? I hope you're aware I could drop you.”

Like a reminder, Nightmare's hips moved again, heavy, meeting the slight angle of Ink’s pelvis; he was still holding them up by the thighs, pinning them back when Ink thought of squirming. Almost all of them were touching. 

Ink shook his head.

A hum. Nightmare didn't continue talking, hips moving again, keeping the momentum. The slap of ecto against ecto was particularly noisy, the sound ringing in the room like a bell. His breath hitched, triggered by the way his spine bended by itself.

A third thrust made Ink whimper; the sound shaky and unsteady when Nightmare held him in place, still. His abdomen pushed up, the faux muscles flexing before he forced them to relax. Getting out of tempo, another jerk of Nightmare's hips made him repeat the noise, high pitch.

Nightmare made him bounce in his arms —fixing the weight higher—, the only warning before he started to thrust heartedly into him, cheek pressed onto Ink’s own; movements quick and clumsy. 

His hold on their thighs tightened when they couldn't help but do a full body jerk at one of his thrusts, static blinding him for a second. “Ink.”

The sound of their name snapped them back to reality. They had forgotten to breathe; a gasp forced the air back into his lungs, turning into a hiccup when Nightmare fucked his way into the same spot that made them seize. They felt like they could fall, legs tightened around Nightmare's waist.

He kissed him, the hollow of Ink’s mouth inviting Nightmare's tongue in. The heat of it swallowed Ink’s moan, yet it still felt loud. He felt full, paint churning inside him like static waiting to spark his way out. He felt himself flutter around Nightmare, hearing the moan that came out of his mouth like an echo.

Ink bit down on Nightmare's tongue just to hear it again, alluring. He wanted the sound to eat the noise of their joining, messy and wet as it was. Nightmare growled instead, forehead pressing against his own as he pushed, heavy; the weight of him squishing Ink until he was half-sure he was going to imprint the shape of him into the malleable form of his ecto.

Nightmare cursed into their mouth; Ink could barely make out the words. He let go of one of Ink’s thighs —letting it tighten around him— just to sneak his hand inside both shirt and jacket. The heat of it made them shiver, goosebumps trailing by Ink’s side before it stopped by their ribs, fingers dipping into the edge, tracing the scars.

“Night,” Ink moaned. It was barely a word: the hint of a sentence was erased by the next thrust of his hips, insistent. It felt like molten lava; Ink could almost feel it dripping down their thighs. Nightmare's hand cupped the angle of them, the idea unbearable. It felt intoxicating.

A cough; it felt metallic, bitter in his mouth. Nightmare kissed him, licking into the black paint that dared to leak into his chin. Swallowed. Embarrassing.

“Night..."

“You're so pretty,” Nightmare breathed against his lips. Their mouths pressed together, a tease. Ink whined against Nightmare's expression, the sound long, stretched thin. “Look at yourself. Look at what you do to me.”

Ink moaned again, a bit more sensibly. He didn't know when he started shaking; the movement would restart whenever Nightmare moved just right. A kiss to his cheek. To the black of one of his vertebrae, wet against his neck. He felt sticky, hot.

Nightmare moaned against his neck, low and breathy. It turned into a growl —his hold on Ink’s thigh tightening into something capable of marking his faux skin—, rumbled against them until Ink could see it behind his eyes. It was quicker, now.

Ink could only hold tighter, already feeling it coiling, collecting low into the heat of his ecto. His thighs tightened around his waist; the feeling messed with his head. Too good to be bearable. He needed more. He wanted more.

His back arched— angle stopped by the wall, by the way his skull pressed against the plane of it.  A mewl came out of his mouth, breathless: it was kissed out of his mouth. A voiced sigh.

It felt like something snapping; the heat of his ecto dispersing like smoke. It ate him whole, static clouding his senses in waves— and repeating, like the effect of the drop of a rock on water. It tingled, the magic of his ecto sizzling like fire.

Again . He moaned into Nightmare's mouth, torsos pressing together. He loved him. It felt— it felt senseless, something without rhythm or reason.

Ink gasped, body arching again. He had forgotten how to breathe, the air forcing itself into his lungs. Was he shaking?

It was hard to tell. He felt the weight of him, the insistent jerk of his hips against the angle of his own, seeking. His cheeks burnt, way too hot. Squished—

They were kissing again, Nightmare's pelvis finally stilling. He felt the throb of his cock, the way it twitched. It felt warm. It felt warm.

The vibration of Nightmare's moan echoed his own, they couldn't stop kissing. Senseless, Ink didn't let them. His arms felt weak, yet they brought them together all the same. Nightmare didn't seem to mind, pressing against him like gravity itself forced him there.

They grinded their hips— just to test the way Nightmare's hot cum was still deep inside them, thick and heavy. A whimper: Ink couldn't quite tell whether it came from their lips or his. Their voice came out somewhat raspy, “Stars. Off.”

“Shit,” Nightmare breathed against his mouth, unrelated. The harsh sound of it was enough to make Ink laugh, a bit clumsy. “ ...Yes , of course. How do we… disjoint?”

“Liiike… hmm. Just kneel again, let me— y’know…” Nightmare pressed him against the wall, letting Ink slide down with him. Gravity. It made both of them hiss. “Stars. Yeah, like— like that.”

“Shit,” Nightmare repeated, forehead pressed against Ink’s temple. He kept on carrying them by the thigh, only letting go when Ink’s free leg touched ground by the ball of his foot. When his sex finally slipped free from inside Ink’s, they both hissed again, somewhat loud. A mirror. When Ink looked up, he found Nightmare's eye staring back at him, half-lidded. 

Nightmare would have wished for them to stay joined longer, now that they thought about it. It didn't make much sense for them.

Instead of saying anything about it, Nightmare nuzzled their nose. The lack of space between them was confusing. They felt hot. “...how are you feeling?”

Ink brought his other foot down, using his hold on Nightmare's neck as support as he felt his legs shake like a newborn deer’s. He was leaking: he could feel Nightmare’s cum sliding down his inner thigh, guided by gravity. It was kind of annoying. He answered, voice dry, “Y’know jello? Something like that.”

Nightmare huffed, almost a laugh. Ink was still hugging his neck, so they didn't comment on the way Nightmare kept on cradling the side of their ribs like he could find something there. He withdrew his hand, however— it joined its other one in the efforts to hug Ink closer for a reason they didn't understand nor appreciate. “It’s more… floaty, for mine.”

Ink felt blank. He could recognize the absence of the usual foolish wish to kiss Nightmare's face until everything that made him unique disappeared. That was weird. A blink.Two blinks. “...Ah. Gimme a sec.”

Nightmare let him go as Ink leaned down, semi-crawling to where his sash rested on the ground. Kneeling, he took the pink vial off and gulped whatever it was left of it down— it filled the hollows, making him feel like a normal person again. It also, however, made some impulses reappear with a vengeance. Was it cuteness aggression?

“Hm.”

“Is something wrong?” Nightmare asked, it almost resembled a purr in the silence. He stepped closer, settling a warm hand on top of Ink’s head. It felt like the sunlight. Ink turned his head up to look at him, just to blind himself on the fondness of his eye. “I could help you stand back up, if you wished. I know how… shaky you get.”

“Awww,” Ink said, touched. He felt like he could cry just to test how Nightmare would react to his tears. It took him a second before he decided to frown, instead. “Silly, get down. Now.”

He snorted, withdrawing his hand. “Pf. Get down? What am I now? A terrorist?”

“You are a terrorist,” Ink argued. He tilted his head before pointing down to the floor with his index. “Lay down. I want your head on my lap.”

Nightmare opened his mouth before closing it. Twice. The baffled expression of his face, overtaken by fluster, was endearing. Charming, even. “Hm?”

Ink looked down, stretching his torso to reach for his top. He smoothed it down, folded it until it was a neat, somewhat semi-voluminous square. He readjusted himself, settling his thighs over his calves. He put the top on his lap, patting it invitingly. The idea of seeing Nightmare’s relaxed, sleeping expression made him vibrate on site. “Moony, c’mere.”

“Ink, we— it's cold. Get up. We need to put our pants on.”

They looked up at him.

Nightmare's mouth quirked down. Then up. Then it stretched into a nice straight line. He coughed, controlled, and said, “I’ll help you with that. Then— well. I will oblige, if you desire it with that insistence.”

Ink pumped their fists, beaming up at him just to see him squirm in place, unknowing of how to react. “You're the best.”

“It’s just— leaning on you. I don't see why it has so much appeal,” Nightmare admitted. He brought his hand down; he had covered the lower part of his face to avoid Ink seeing his mouth. “Am I not… heavy?”

“You’re just right,” Ink said, determined. He pumped his fists again. “You remind me of… paint. Heavy. Room temperature. Nice. You're nice.”

“Hm.” Nightmare didn't seem that convinced. His tilted head was particularly cute.

“Aaand I love you. I wuv chuuu,” Ink said, bringing their hands up and wide, like an arch. Nightmare kept staring at them. Ink stared back, squinting their eyes. They snorted. “Okay, geez. Figures. Just c’mere already, we can make it a five minutes thing so I can sit on your face after or something.”

Nightmare perked up. “Well, if you insist.”

Chapter Text

There was no real telling in the dark, and yet Nightmare already knew that morning had come. He knew it by the way he felt his body stiffen— the hint of soreness spreading down his ribs and down into his ecto, settling low on his back. Annoying, much more so when his aura felt foggy, barely able to let him notice the echo of presence outside of the room.

A groan left Nightmare’s mouth. He put a hand over his mouth to try to control the feeling of everything moving. His other arm stayed in position, palm unable to leave the ground with the hold Ink had on it. When Nightmare insisted on moving it, they just huffed, muttering something before nuzzling into the triangle of Nightmare's shoulder.

They were still on the floor, Nightmare realized. He was still sore. He saw his own hand move, following the clue of its presence down to his still conjured abdomen. It felt like dread, when his palm followed its path side to the iridescence of Ink’s ecto and light to their back.

Their ectobodies were still on. And it was already morning. Nightmare sat up, ignoring the way Ink stirred as his arm left the space in between theirs; it felt like loss.

“...Night?” Ink murmured, groggy. They were still wearing his jacket— Nightmare felt the echo of it over his sweater when Ink followed him, sitting up slowly. They wiped their cheek with the side of their palm. “Geez. Couldn't you just be more sneaky with the whole leaving on the morning deal?—”

“Ink,” Nightmare said. It was enough to make Ink stop talking, of course. “How much of yesterday do you remember?”

There was a moment of thought. Nightmare could see the gentle silhouette of Ink’s face in the darkness, the only light visible being the weak glow from their magic. A frown. “...The anniversary?—”

Ink threw up. It was expected, so Nightmare just leaned over slightly and patted the space between their collarbones until there was a stop to the action.

The paint looked darker than dark in the corners of Ink’s mouth. “Creators. We fucked under Blue’s sink.”

“His abnormally tall sink, yes,” Nightmare said dryly, putting his hand on the wall to assist himself up. No trousers on him made it so he could see the rainbow hues of Ink’s magic in the shade of his ecto-covered thighs. There was nothing to be done about the magic mixture that had already settled in. “Could you—?” Ink gave him his pants without much thought behind. “Ah. Yes, thank you.”

The silence that followed was only slightly concerning. It wasn't like he had much time to contemplate it while he was much busier finding his shoes. The feeling of his thighs touching fabric was particularly unappealing with his ectobody still active, so he made the effort to turn it off even as he could feel the echo of its magic still alive and strong.

Once he was done putting his shoes on, he leaned down to fetch Ink’s overalls, turning around to offer them to their owner. He tilted his face slightly when Ink just stared at their clothes blankly. “If you may?”

Ink finally snapped back to the moment, his hand fetching the overalls and tugging. They fell onto his lap, the edge of them pooling on the floor. Head bowing down to stare, he looked contemplative. Nightmare flicked his forehead.

“Ink,” he said. They stared up at him, something like vague confusion in their eyes. “Get up, won't you? I could help you with that if you still feel unwell.”

“It's not— y’know.” They put their overalls under one arm, his free one lifting up, hand grabbing onto Nightmare's own when he offered it. “I’m thinking.”

“Oh? I wasn't aware that was one of your many skills,” Nightmare teased, smirking when Ink shrugged. He pulled them up— basking in how Ink released a surprised hitch of breath as he was standing on two feet once more. “There you are.”

Ink squinted at him. Their hands were still touching, palm against palm. Funnily enough, Ink was still wearing gloves. “You look smaller when you don't have the jacket on, y’know that?”

“Well. Someone may have stolen it from me while I wasn't at my full capabilities," Nightmare said dryly, eyeing the way the cloth itself was hugging Ink’s shape instead. Cyan— Ink’s own ectobody looked blue; the magic mixture was visible on him as well. “It’d be wiser if you clothed yourself before I decide to go look for any culprit.”

“Hm? That wasn't what you said yesterday,” Ink said. And yet, they obliged. Nightmare lent him his arm even as Ink let go of it, grabbing his humerus to keep their balance while they put a leg inside the inner hollow of their overalls. Their socks were still on and high, so he was able to see the way the shape of them hugging their thighs got swallowed by the brown cloth. When he looked up, Ink’s eyes were already staring back.

Ink smiled an unimpressed smile. It felt knowing.

“Freak.”

Well. He may have been at fault for staring. Nightmare looked away to avoid seeing the yellow-orange hues of Ink’s eyes.

Ink hugged his neck, pulling him down. It was easy to let them peck his mouth, so it was only natural for him to also ignore the way they laughed as he did. When Ink hummed against the corner of his mouth, like the start of a promise, it sounded like a purr.

Nightmare's hands met their back, already missing the texture of the golden edge of Ink’s top. They were still hugging him close, so his murmur was enough, “Ink?”

They headbutted him. “Hm?”

“My design.”

Ink separated, if only slightly. They were grinning. “Want the jacket back?”

“I want you to wear your own,” Nightmare said. It took him a moment before he added, “for reasons.”

“Huh. Reasons,” Ink repeated. They tilted their head to one side. Then the other. “...Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

They let him go. Ink’s eyes looked up at him then down; just a moment as they got his jacket off themself just to hand it back. While Nightmare busied himself with fixing the jacket’s sleeves, Ink turned around, keeping still for a moment before they walked over, picking something off of the floor. They crawled a bit to fetch something else.

Nightmare put his jacket on, briefly indulging in the light warmth that still clung to it before zipping the clothing to trap it inside. Hands on the pockets, he saw the way Ink got up and promptly took one hand out to grab the sash that was offered to him.

It was reasonably heavy in his hold. When Ink finally put their brown top on once more, he didn't hesitate to give them the sash back. “Remember to turn your ecto off.”

Ink looked up at him. “Ah?”

“Your ectobody,” Nightmare repeated, slower. Ink’s growing horror on their face wasn't much help. “It did not turn off while we were sleeping, so you must—”

“Night,” they said. Ink put their hands on his shoulders. “The mix. Nightmare, holy shit.”

“Language.”

Ink shook him a bit. Exclamation mark and a spiral. He was starting to feel a bit nauseous. “Night. Night. Everyone's still outside.”

Ah, so it was a thing about the magic mixture. “We’ll be fine as long as you don't blush too deeply.”

“Night. You're an oil spill. You look like a rainbow. You are a rainbow,” Ink said. They shook him again. “You’ll doom us all. Soulless pacifist ending style.”

“Pardon?”

Ink let him go, turning around just to put both hands on their skull. They walked from one side to the other, almost maniacally. Nightmare missed the sight of their scarf swaying behind them with every step. “We— No, you need to sneak out.”

“Why, yes. And I would,” he said. It'd be better if no one saw him, after all. “I was the one that brought my team here, however. I can't just leave them here. It'd be suspicious.”

Ink stopped pacing. “I can portal them your way once you— y’know. Lock yourself into your room or whatever,” Ink said. They turned around to face him. They pointed at him with a finger. “It can be… hm. We could say it was a friend thing. I’ll say you asked me to because you felt bad.”

“Are we friends, even?” Nightmare said. When Ink just looked at him like he was daft, he huffed, light. “If someone asks, we ended up on very good terms yesternight.”

“Yes, yes. You get it,” Ink said. They made an L with their thumb and index, pointing it at him like a charged gun. Their hand changed position as it reached for something on their neck, only to drop when it realized there was nothing there. “Okay. Okay! We have it. We got this.”

“Most of this, yes,” Nightmare said. There was also the overlying problem of Ink also sharing his hues— he did, after all, look colder color-wise, even if the darkness of the room didn't allow them to see it with clarity. “Come here.”

Ink blinked at him. When they did not make a move, he was the one who walked forward instead. Ink grabbed his wrist when he tried to reach for the purple vial of his sash.

It was hard not to smile. “I was just wondering how you’ll react when your friends notice the way you're blushing green.”

The phrase seemed to do the trick— as Ink did a face, the corners of their mouths twitching while the hue on their cheeks deepened a few tones. Their grip on his wrist tightened a bit before it relaxed. “Pf, what? You’re such a weirdo. It wouldn't even be green, it'd be cyan.”

So the capacity to be self aware enough to feel shame was still there, complemented by a tendency to blush. That could be a problem. Or would be, if Nightmare didn't know them better. “Show me your tongue.”

Ink crinkled their nose.

“Ah. I believe that works, too,” Nightmare said. “Can you feign sadness? How about woe?”

“Okay, now you're just saying stuff to annoy me.”

“The magic mixture is there, Ink,” he insisted. “In the case you cannot hide it from them, then— well. We could disguise it as something else. So tell me, could you act distressed?”

“I mean…” Ink let go of his wrist, after a moment. They did not battle when Nightmare cupped the angle of his cheek. “I can cry. No promises about the eye color, though.”

“My brother is colorblind,” Nightmare said. “He kept insisting the summer grass was the color of the sky when we were children.”

Ink lifted an eyebrow. He opened his mouth, seemingly about to protest, and yet no word came out. His mouth closed. He looked to the side and then down, a breath: “Holy shit.”

“Language,” Nightmare said reflexively. He shook his head. “That only leaves us with the UnderSwap Sans. Do you believe he may feel a need to intrude, if he sees your… tones?”

“Blue?” Ink said. “Our Blue? Nah. I’m sure he’ll keep it in. He’s not really the type to… y’know. He’d only want to help if stuff looks too dramatic.”

“Let us give him no reason to think it does,” he said. He kissed the high of Ink’s cheekbone just to let him go. “I’ll walk you to the door, if you feel ready. As much as I enjoy speaking to you, Guardian, I believe your presence would be better enjoyed with those of your kind.”

“Pf. Back to Guardian already?” Ink said. They leaned up for retribution of their own, pressing a kiss against the corner of his jaw. “Huh. Alright, buddy. So I see how it is.”

“I’m no ‘buddy’ of yours,” Nightmare teased. They started to walk to the long door— the craftsmanship of it, specific and elegant, was rather obscured by the fact it belonged to an abnormally tall kitchen sink. “Now, if you may.”

“Jerk,” Ink said, light-hearted. They looked at him up then down, their eyes crinkling slightly when they finally reached Nightmare's own. “See you later?”

“If the Stars allow us,” Nightmare said, tone well kept. The double meaning seemed to not have been lost on Ink, as they smiled up at him with the curve of their smart eyes. He saw the way they walked towards the door, palm pressed against the wood.

The door opened with a crackling sound, for a moment— and Ink stepped outside. Then he went back in, mouth pulled into a straight line. Their eyelights were thin like a cat's as they looked up at Nightmare. Their mouth moved.

“Blue’s there.”

Nightmare put a hand over his face. By the time he was looking for a way to silently close the door, he could already hear the steps of someone coming closer.

They did not breathe— not even as Blue stepped his way inside. Nightmare could vaguely distinguish the burning feeling of his relief.

Blue stared at them, for a moment; eyes jumping from Ink’s figure to rest on Nightmare's eye. Then back to them. “...Ah, so here's where you two ended up last night.”

“Heeeyy, Bluebird,” Ink said, hand reaching up to the blank over his neck before he let it drop. He put a hand on the wall and leaned into it. “Sup? How’s the hangover treating you? Did someone die?”

“I thought you did,” Blue confessed. He bit the inside of his cheek when his eyes stopped on Nightmare. “I— well. We're eating late breakfast now. C’mere, you two.”

Blue stepped back, staring when neither Ink nor Nightmare followed. He tilted his head, shaking it before he smiled, less strained. A sigh.

“...Okay. We’ve got coffee. Everyone's there already.”

“Blue, I mean—”

“Ink,” Blue said. He turned to look at them. His smile seemed to stretch oddly as his hands redid the knot on the back of his bandanna. “I’ll come with you to fetch your scarf after we leave Nightmare on the table, right? Host manners.”

Ink side-eyed him. Nightmare reworked the zipper of his jacket, making sure it was kept up and high by his collarbone. He was supposed to talk now, he realized. Even so, it still took him a second to answer, widening the distance between his palm and body to signal them to walk, “It’d be my pleasure.”

The transition to the brighter lighting was particularly painful, as Nightmare was quick to notice he was more sensitive to the harsh white light in his weakened state. If Ink felt the same, he didn’t mention it; instead following the UnderSwap Sans outside with the kind of resolution a parting soldier would have while traveling to a ship made for war. Nightmare couldn’t allow himself the same kind of behavior, so he let one of his hands go up to shield his tired eye from the shine of the lightbulb on the ceiling.

Blue turned around just as they passed a burnt-looking oven. “Nightmare, we’ll— ah.”

His eyes widened, the only warning before Blue walked forward to push him back by the shoulders, brusque if not for the way he kept pushing him back on his steps, steady. Nightmare was too surprised to stop him; so he let him do so. His back reached the wooden plank of the door of the sink.

Ink notoriously didn’t intervene, simply turning around as if to ignore whatever was happening. However, Blue didn’t let him. Almost a hiss, he whispered— loud enough to make him consider whether he was trying at all—, “Ink ZephyrTop, come here right now.”

“I mean, I’m already—”

“Ink,” Blue repeated. He took a deep breath, and he looked back towards Nightmare. His hands were right beside Nightmare’s shoulders, caging him in. Surprisingly, he didn’t know what to say. “...Nightmare. Nightmare. Buddy. Listen. I’m sure you know just how this—” He gestured vaguely. “—looks like?”

Nightmare straightened his back. It was hard to look down at Blue, even if his height didn’t rival Nightmare’s in any way. He did not expect him to notice anything, as both their ectobodies were unsummoned. And yet, Nightmare could not visualize anything else he may be referring to. Like pulling out a tooth, he said, “...It may be a classical example of magic mixture upon extended magical contact between close individuals.”

“Yes? Yes?” Blue mouthed. He opened his mouth, brows furrowed— and closed it, after a moment passed. He took a step back, making the space between Nightmare and him widen once more. He put a hand on his face just to let it drop right after. “Okay. Okay! You two are grown men, no-stripes adults—”

Ink looked at Nightmare, for a moment. He passed a thumb by his neck slowly before shaking his head. His arms made a cross. Nightmare made a face.

Should he kill him?

“—I just— well. You two did make out mid-party, but I didn’t—” Swap muttered. He had both hands on the kitchen counter, now. He looked down at the hint of ashes with the semblance of an indebted man. If Nightmare focused, he could feel the gentle mix of concern and something more spiked. His words mixed between each other in his low volume. “—but nooo, it had to be now. You two couldn’t keep the feelings in until… later? Couldn’t you?”

Nightmare sharpened the edge of his tentacle as he slowly withdrew it from his sore back. Slow, like falling sand, he slithered it—

Blue turned around just then, and Nightmare looked to the side, crossing his arms. Plan abandoned, he quickly tucked them in with something of a muffled sound. “Okay. Okay! Nothing to do now. Nightmare.”

Nightmare looked back. Blue was undoing his bandanna, stretching it with both hands once he was done. His eye squinted ever so slightly as he saw the shaking grin in his mouth. It shone white. He nodded in acknowledgment. “Blue, from the Stars.”

“Yes. Okay. Listen, I’m going to be honest with you. You look like a bubble,” Blue said. He looked to the side before shrugging. “Dream cannot know this. You get that, right? He can’t. But you do look like you got friendly with Ink.”

Nightmare looked at himself, the sleeves of his jacket making his goop opaque. It was merely seeable by the unnatural wet-like tone of his clothes. “Do I, now?”

“It’s the face,” Blue said. “It just— it has a weird color shine. Ink can explain it better. Ink?” There was a moment of silence; which Nightmare took advantage of to hurriedly cover his skull with the hood of his jacket. Blue turned his head back to where Ink was playing deaf and blind, looking to the side with a hand over his cyan blush. Blue snorted. “Or we can do nothing at all, I guess.”

“Now, now, now. Don’t say that,” Ink said. It lacked his usual energy, though Nightmare would lie if he said it lacked charm in its shade of shyness. Ink’s hand rested on his nape, something of an awkward smile on his face. “Blue, my awesome, amazing, magnificent friend, we— uh. What were we talking about again?”

It took Blue a second to answer. And yet, he didn’t sound hesitant as he said, “I’ll help you two. Dream can't know you two fucked.”

Nightmare started to cough, unraveling the knot of his arms to press a fist against his open mouth. “Was there a need for you to say that so openly?”

“So you two did tango,” Blue murmured, though it seemed to be more for himself than anything that truly needed an answer. “No, I didn't have to do that.”

The frankness of that felt a bit intimidating, so Nightmare didn't say anything in response. He did glance at Blue as he walked closer, looking down at him at his full height.

“Anyways— First of all: Nightmare, you're a rainbow. Come here,” he said. He didn't let Nightmare move, however, as he already was in front of him. “Bandanna.”

The sight of Blue’s gloved hand fisted on the bandanna wasn't enough to get him to understand what he was trying to say.

“Your face is goopy, I assume it's magic based? Anyways— it looks like a rainbow when the light shines on it. Put it on,” Blue insisted, pressing the bandanna to Nightmares hand. He let go when Nightmare finally grabbed it. “Now with that clear— look at me.”

He already was, of course.

“If you even think about sabotaging this— about sabotaging us, I’ll kill you, yes?” Blue said. When Nightmare just looked down at him, he repeated, voice slow and measured, “I’ll tear your tentacles out your back and I’ll make you swallow them. No chewing.”

“Ooh, kinky,” Ink said. He feigned madness when both Blue and Nightmare stopped to look at him.

Nightmare opened his mouth, before closing it. “I would not dare, Star.”

“Blue,” he said. His own name sounded odd on his lips. A sigh softened his factions. “Look, I’m covering for you. We drank together in the same room. You can call me Blue. I like to believe everyone has something good inside them— I— so. Please don't disappoint me. I don't think you're that evil. Besides the terrorism.”

Nightmare thought about disputing the terrorism claims, but he soon found out that he felt no need to do it. Instead, as he downed his hood, his hands busied themselves with tying the worn cloth of Blue’s bandanna around his neck.

Blue turned around to face Ink, who had been looking at the exchange with a weird look to his face, as if unsure whether to keep being a witness.

“Ink— hm. We’ll talk in my room. We still have to fetch your scarf,” Blue said. He put a hand on their shoulder. His voice lowered ever so slightly, “This whole…” His free hand gestured towards Nightmare before it turned into a fist. “...nightstand thing. Dream doesn't need to know. It already happened, there's nothing we can do about that.”

Ink and Nightmare shared a look.

Unbothered, Blue continued, “Look, it's not that bad, considering the circumstances —really, these kinda things happen a lot— but you know he's still kind of hurt about your whole… situation. Right?”

Ink nodded blankly in response.

“Good. Good. I’ll take the blame for you if push comes to shove,” Blue said. “Let's not push it that far.”

Blue looked back at him. He did not bother to clarify whatever he meant with that— but instead gestured for Nightmare to walk closer, and spoke, “I took too much time here. Sorry, but I really need to get you to the table. Dream was wondering where you were.”

“Certainly,” Nightmare said tersely. Family matters were still vigent, after all. “I’ll take my leave as soon as possible, I hope you're able to understand.”

“I’ll distract Dream if he gets too curious,” Blue said. “Tea or coffee?”

“...Coffee,” Nightmare said. He saw how Blue nodded, solemn. “No sugar, if possible.”

Blue lifted an eyebrow before nodding. He walked to the counter, opening the drawer before taking something out of it. A sealed jar of coffee grains. “Dream’s aura is off. Say you went out to get something to drink— I asked Ink, but you insisted on going just to make sure he didn't get the wrong label.”

He was quite smart. Nightmare received the jar in his hands. “Of course. The bandanna?”

Blue winked at him. “You were cold and I offered.”

Well, moderately smart. Nightmare nodded, unwilling to see a gifted horse by its teeth. He put the jar in the triangle of his elbow, fixed his hood up —turning his head side to side just to test how likely it'll be for it to fall down— and sighed.

Blue handed him something else, soon after. The label on the top gave him enough of a clue. When Nightmare looked at him, Blue just shrugged. “Wet wipes. Just in case you two… you know. Feel dirty.”

“Ooh. I do feel sticky,” Ink said from the side. They glanced at Nightmare before fetching one of the light towelettes— pinching its edge and changing its hold from one hand to the other as they took off their gloves, exposing the black hue of their metacarpals. It was used to clean their hands, and was promptly put inside their pocket once done.

Nightmare handed them another wipe so they could clean their face as well, and took out more wipes to clean himself, leaving the coffee jar on the counter. He dropped the used ones —tinted black— in the trashcan, hidden besides the kitchen sink. He also dropped Ink’s own as they handed them after taking them out of their pocket.

Blue saw everything happen with an unreadable expression, mouth thinned into a straight line. When Nightmare just lifted an eyebrow questioningly, Blue shook his head and placed a hand on his nape, contemplative. He said, “...Okay. Okay. Ink?”

They perked up at the mention of their name, one of their eyelights a bold question mark. “Hm?”

“Let’s go already,” Blue said, signaling for them to come closer. His eyes fell on Nightmare's face. “Again— I’ll try to distract Dream so you can make your leave with your team. Try not to act suspicious.”

It was quite an obvious thing to say, all things considered. Nonetheless, Nightmare nodded, readjusting the bandanna tied around his neck once more just in case. He took the jar of coffee. “Of course.”

Then they started to walk; getting outside the kitchen to finally settle on the living room. The first thing Nightmare noticed was the fact that the table —once full of food and drinks alike— was now absent.

The second thing he noticed, as his head followed the movement of Ink and Blue, was his brother. He was sitting by the head of the misplaced table, while Nightmare's own team sat on the couch, facing it. Dust showed no sign of seeing him, while Killer grinned at him and waved. The height discrepancy looked quite absurd.

For everyone but Horror, that is. He just stared at him —his full height still visible even as the seat was too low to properly eat— as he finally sat, facing his team. He left the jar on the table, careful enough to avoid Dream’s eyes a seat away.

“Nightmare,” Dream said in quiet acknowledgement. Something in his tone wasn't quite warm, but it was not hostile. It was something like confusion— his feelings were unreadable to him as they always were, simply reading as a vague positivity, lemon sour. “I was under the impression that you left last night.”

“I did not.” Nightmare saw the way Ink and Blue continued to walk— barely able to fit their way behind Dream’s chair, following a path up the stairs. He looked down to the table to avoid meeting Ink’s eyes. It was filled with food he recognized from last night, and some he did not. Leftovers. He took a lone, empty cup and brought it closer by its plate.

Wordless, Nightmare opened the jar —briefly appraising how it was, indeed, bright, new and unsealed— and put down half a teaspoon of coffee into the cup. He hesitated for a second, before adding another full spoon.

Nightmare stood up, taking the kettle. He was adding the hot water when Dream spoke again, “That's Blue’s scarf. I didn't know you two were… close.”

Nightmare stopped. When he turned his head, Dream was smiling, the same kind of expression he'd have when, as a child, he accidentally tore the page of one of his books. “We are not.”

“Ah. So you don't want to talk about it,” Dream said. Something in his tone made Nightmare roll his eye in something he couldn't describe as anything other than instinctual. He sat again once his cup was filled with water, already dark with the beverage. “That's alright. We all have our secrets.”

“I don't know what you're trying to imply,” Nightmare said, courteous. He was still in a house that wasn't his own, after all. He leaned forward to take some of the snacks that were on the main plate in the center of the table. Miniature sandwiches; Nightmare just held them in his hands, hunger not quite awoken. “The idea that someone could think I deserve kindness is odd to you?”

Dream did not respond, but Nightmare could feel the weight of his gaze on him. It felt quite aggravating, irking him. Nightmare soothed a yawn with his palm, looking down at the coffee as he waited for it to cool down enough to choke on it without burning his tongue.

He eyed his team as the silence stretched, the three of them just carefully avoiding his gaze. They must have sensed his bad humour and acted accordingly, he realized. Still, the silence of the room started to become somewhat oppressing. They would have started to speak by now.

As if reading Nightmare's thoughts, Dream talked, however, “It was merely a comment, I hope you're aware. It was… hm. Blue and you… Both disappeared eerily early. Maybe you found out that you were kindred souls? You two were talking last night.”

But Ink was also there. Nightmare couldn't help but wonder whether the clear omission of their name was a calculated effort. He avoided seeing him. “He’s… a fine gentleman. Although he seems to have a bit of a knack for prying into things that shouldn't interest him.”

Dream huffed, his positivity flickering like a candlelight. “I’d say you liked him if you didn't say the last thing.”

“Well, yes, I indeed do. Nuance is a beautiful thing, is it not?” Nightmare said. His coffee was still hot. “Not that I expect you to understand such a thing.”

“I can get nuance,” Dream said. When Nightmare turned to look at him, he was smiling. A show of teeth Nightmare knew too well. “So, you're friends now?”

“Brother—” Nightmare tried, his index twitching as he tried to settle on a word choice. “—I’d say you should mind your own business. Is this how you usually speak of your hosts while eating on their table?”

“Only when they're my friends,” Dream said. He took a sip of his drink; coffee, Nightmare was sure. He always had a feeling his brother would still share his good taste, even as they were grown. “How about Ink?”

“...What about them?”

“Ink also disappeared,” Dream said. He squinted his eyes, as if trying to peek at the filtered sunlight through a window glass. “Were they with you?”

His mouth twitched a bit, and he looked away despite himself. One of the mini sandwiches found their way inside his mouth, and winced as he swallowed, throat dry. The coffee was still burning hot, so he couldn't even soothe the ache of his mouth with its warmth. He weighed his options, before settling on saying, “...For a little while.”

Dream did a little hum, high pitched and insistent. It continued on until Nightmare turned to look at him, mouth stretched into a thin line.

“What?” He said. It was hard not to hiss, something inside him already revolting like a thousand snakes. He felt his cheeks hotter, with the weight of what went unsaid. “What now, brother of mine?”

“Ink said something funny yesterday, Night,” Dream said, careful in his wording. He leaned forward on the table, face serious even when Nightmare could see the traitorous shine on his eyelights. “Are you trying to steal them away from me?”

“He's no object to steal.” Of course he tried. It did not work, and as so, he had to conform. Not that it could be said, of course. A saying left his lips, the mutters of an old man as he tended to a little kid’s injuries, “Don't you know that the Leaves of Her who Feels it All at Once snitch on those that can't keep a secret?”

“They told me—”

“Is this a tantrum of yours, Brother?” Nightmare interrupted. He took his cup, and sipped. Unsugared coffee, just hot enough to be barely annoying in the tongue. “Are you worried I will do as you say? So distrustful of your skills to make your leadership something appealing?”

“—They told me, Nightmare. Brother,” Dream continued. “That they like you.”

That made Nightmare stop, the quirk of his mouth doing something he couldn't quite recognize. “...So they did.”

His team was looking at him, now. Killer was still smiling, his lack of eyelights revealing nothing, while Dust's own stare felt somewhat knowing. Horror— Horror simply stared, hunger in the crimson of his eye. He had not touched his plate yet, waiting for them all to finish as he usually did.

Nightmare ate another of his sandwiches in silence, after deciding there was nothing interesting to see. “I will not steal them from you, if that's what you're worried about. Is this not a truce? Why would I even try such a thing?”

“They told me they fuck with you?”

Nightmare opened his mouth before he closed it. He turned his head to look at Dream, eye wide in fluster. He frowned. Then relaxed his expression. Nightmare toyed with the gesture of his face, baffled enough he was basically blank. “Ah?”

“Ink. They said—” Dream closed his mouth, looking at the gang as if reminding himself they were there. He coughed, making his voice higher pitched while impressing the mediocre attempt of a french accent on words and tone, “Oh, Dream. Your brother— Oui, I fuck with him. He’s so… handsome. Like a gentle firefly’.”

Oh, so he was attempting to humiliate him in front of his employees now. That was a very mature thing to do. “He would not say that.”

“I mean— he's my friend. I say he talks about you like that. With his friends,” Dream said. “You wouldn't know because you're not his friend. Right?”

“Dream,” he said, voice calm. He toyed with his spoon, gently removing the vast color of his coffee. “Your lack of social awareness stopped being charming the moment you turned seven.”

Dream’s aura flickered again. “Hm? What? So you don't like him?”

“He wouldn't say gentle firefly. Do you think he's obtuse?” Nightmare said. He vaguely pointed at Dust, just to make sure there was a barrier between whatever Dream was trying to attempt and his own consciousness. “Do you consider him dense, Dust? You're a good judge of character, aren't you?”

Dust blinked, frowning. “I—”

“Brother,” Dream said. “Ink was obviously referring to your bright demeanor and blinding charm. I thought you knew what a metaphor was?”

The need to kill him was overwhelming. “That's a simile.”

“Guys,” Blue said, as he went down the stairs. When Nightmare looked up, he saw Ink following close behind, scarf on hand as if holding it was needed while the long tails of cloth trailed them. “Hope I’m not interrupting?”

“You're not.” “Oh, no.”

Nightmare and Dream looked at each other, ice and fire. He looked away to break the spell of stillness, shaking his head as he brought his cup up to sip more of the bitter coffee. He needed to calm down— much more so when Nightmare felt as if any trace of annoyance would devour its mind and soothe it into nothing but emotions. A worse side of himself he'd rather not think about.

Blue sat on his side —away from Dream, facing Dust on the sofa— while Ink took the empty space between twins, silent. The lack of chatter felt unnerving; and yet Nightmare couldn’t help but appreciate the sight of Ink’s downturned eyes, their almost demure demeanor charming in its rarity. The triangle of their eyelight was a gentle purple.

“Ink,” Dream said, softer. When Nightmare looked up, he could see his smile a bit more carefully done, the line of it shaky like an inexpert artist’s trace. “Did you sleep well? We had you something prepared to sleep but— uh. We couldn't find you? Broomie's there, though. Upstairs.”

Ink blinked, the eyelight changing colors effortlessly. They straightened up, a natural smile getting into their faces. “Yeah? Sorry. It's been— y’know. Blacking out. Wild night. Crazy stuff happening.”

“Oh, yeah?” Dream said. He stopped for a second to stuff a pastry into his open mouth, chewing. A second after swallowing, he added, “Maybe next time. What was that thing you said yesterday?”

“Oh, the fight to the death with knives?” Ink said. They looked down at their scarf, squinting as they read. “I wasn't serious with that. I don't even own that many knives.”

“I do,” Killer said ominously. Nightmare knew it was true. “I could show you sometime.”

“I was just wondering where you were," Dream said. His smile started to look odd again, sharp and unfitting like a fox’s grin. “Y’know. I looked for you.”

“Aw, really?” Ink said. They glanced at him while Nightmare had to fake insanity. “I was with Blue.”

Dream lifted an eyebrow, but before he could be done Blue coughed, nodding. “Yeah. All night long. Doing cool guys stuff.”

“And you didn't invite me?” Dream said. He didn't look particularly hurt, much less so when Nightmare could see the knowing smile he directed to Killer. It was unsettling in a way he could not describe. “I can be cool too.”

That was something Nightmare doubted. He sipped more of his coffee, looking away. The moment it was done, he’d take his leave.

“Though it's kind of funny,” Dream continued. “Nightmare said Ink was with him. So you three were together?”

Blue looked at Nightmare with an expression that somehow felt both cold and hot. He did not find it in himself to feel the depth of his emotions with the reach of his weakened aura. “...Yeah. He was a party animal. Ended up sleeping under the sink.”

Nightmare’s eye twitched, and he refused to give his brother the satisfaction of seeing his face.

“And you gave him the bandanna,” Dream said, not really a question.

“Yes,” Blue said, his tone carrying a lightness only honesty could conjure. He smiled. “And Ink was there.”

Ink blinked. When Nightmare looked at him, he could see the way he was messing with his own lone cup, paint settling on the bottom of it. Blue— blue and cyan, a hint of purple. “...I think? I forgot.”

There seemed to be no satisfaction in Dream's eyes as he repeated, “So. Night. You spent the night together with Blue. After kissing Ink.”

What.

Nightmare glanced at Blue, his wide eyes matching his. There was no aid to be given— not from him, at least.

“I— Well, I have no memory of such a thing ever happening. Alcohol does— it does horrible things to me,” Nightmare said, trying to keep his tone blank. He straightened up just to shake his head, fingers curling on themselves. “Who?”

“Ink. Night, I saw you kissing Ink. I’m sorry for bringing it up but that was a thing. Everyone saw.” Dream said, hands going up before they faltered. They took their cup and downed it in one go. “You're smiling. Don't lie to me. Did you confess? Ink, did Night confess to you?”

“Confess what?” Ink said. There was something like a frown on his face, the start of a blush getting on his face. It was cyan— not rainbow; the magic mixture still settled in. He toyed with his scarf. “There was a thing to be confessed? I dunno. I forgot.”

“Ink,” Dream said. “Ink, c’mon. Broomie saw.”

As if suddenly reminding something, Ink turned around— stopping when whatever he tried looking for just was not there. Ink looked like he wanted to cry a bit, nose scrunched together as if perceiving a bad smell. “Dream…”

“I was with Ink,” Blue said. Everyone looked at him. “And left him at— uh. My room. It was when you all went to get more drinks. I left him sleeping there and— well. Well, you know.”

Dream opened his mouth. He closed it. “Oh? I’m not following.”

Blue put his arm around Nightmare's shoulders, tilting his head to nuzzle his shoulder. Nightmare was too shocked to react. “Well. Tell ‘em, Nighty.”

“What.”

Ink downed his drink in one go, seemingly not even bothering to mix it with water nor any of the soda available on the table.

Blue squished him a bit tighter. “Aww. Don't be shy, baby. Honey. Baby. Baby?”

Was this real life?, Nightmare wondered. He himself was still too stunned to speak. A vague disconnection between what was happening and what he thought was to happen was clearly visible, like a beast of two heads.

Blue sighed. He stood up, hands on the table. “...Dream, I fucked your brother.”

“Blue, sit down. You didn't,” Dream said. Blue sat down, defeated. “So sex happened. That was a thing.”

Like a sleeper agent; Ink sniffled as the paint finally seemed to hit just as Dream stopped talking. The sound was soft— barely enough to be hearable, but it still shocked Nightmare awake from his stupor. “...Dreamy, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Ink, I’m not— did you drink too much…—” Dream stopped himself, mouth twitching, “—...alcohol? It's okay, I’m not upset with—”

“I fucked Ink,” Blue blurted. There was an almost maniac look in his eyes then, as if he somehow got the answer of a puzzle he spent years figuring out. “Ink fucked me. After they kissed Nightmare, I went to comfort them both because he was too shy. And I made love to them in my room.”

Ink blinked his tears away, for a second. Leaned to the side and threw up on the floor— missing the carpet. It could be cleansed later.

Dream opened his mouth, then closed it. There was something like horror in his expression. “What.”

“You know— my— my car bed. There were pillows, and I locked the door and— we kissed but, as a friend thing. As pals do—”

“Blue.”

“Nightmare watched. There was a chair. A chair— you know chairs?”

“I was also there,” Killer called out. Nightmare felt so revolted with the situation itself he felt no real need to shut him up. “Good shit.”

“Blue,” Dream repeated, a hand on his forehead. “Killer. Stars, shut up. Shut up right now.”

Nightmare slowly reached for the sugar— movement slow, like a cat about to pounce. Just as he was to reach the sugar, however, Dream grabbed his wrist, tight and strong.

Dream did not hesitate to squeeze the bones underneath his grasp; simply sighing when Nightmare's eye widened at the insistent pressure. “Let’s just— let's start again. Brother.”

“...Yes?” Nightmare tried. He fetched the sugar and brought it to his chest when Dream let his arm go. “What is it now?”

“You kissed Ink last night. Don't even deny it. I know you did,” Dream said, slow. “I’m glad. I’m happy for you two. I know you’ve been pining for him for some time.”

“I have,” Nightmare said, slow. His chest felt light, somehow. As if something had stepped away from his sternum. It may also had been the relief hitting once his hand was freed, as he had seen his brother crush trees with his bare hands before. “I— I have, have I not? They're just lovely.”

Ink started to bawl, the sound almost robotic thanks to their total lack of aura. Dream patted their back, patient even as Ink started to cough vantablack. “And Blue did not fuck you.”

He winced. “His ectobody was never anywhere near me, no,” Nightmare said. He stopped for a second, hand twitching in place. “Not to say he’s not… appealing.”

“Awww,” Blue cooed. Nightmare promptly ignored him, putting a hand on his face and sighing deeply.

“I just spent the night with Ink talking, among other things. We fell asleep under your friend’s abnormally tall kitchen sink.”

“See? That wasn't hard,” Dream said, almost playful in its song-like quality. “And yeah— Ink never compared you to a firefly. He uses different metaphors.”

“That's still a simile,” Nightmare argued. He put a hand on Ink’s lower back, absently stroking the angle of it as Ink’s sniffles subsided. “They're both poetic elements but they're quite different once you know what they mean and how to use them.”

“You're still so pedantic,” Dream said, pensive. “If you think of leaving, you still have to fetch Cross before. He’s asleep in Stretch’s —Blue’s brother— bedroom.”

Nightmare lifted his eyebrow, and looked towards the gang, everyone but Killer avoiding his gaze. His mocking smile wasn't lost on him. “Cross also came here? I thought he wasn’t willing to… assist the celebration.”

“I convinced him,” Dream said. There was something like a blush settling on his face as he lost himself in thought. “...And went to your mansion to go fetch him. We drank together and… stuff. Uh— though not in that order.”

“What,” Nightmare said, faint. He decided to avoid thinking about it, so he just shook his head, the hoodie still settled on his head, restricting the movement moderately. He hummed before he downed the cloth, revealing his head. “...Nevermind. I have no need to know.”

Dream stared at him very thoroughly, eyes focused and a frown on his brows. His stare jumped from Ink’s bothered flush— cyan in color and vibrant, up to his face. It was hard not to know what he was looking at.

“What.”

Dream kept on looking at him, and whistled, long and exaggerated. He felt his face burn with something that wasn't quite anger, but it was close.

He grabbed one of the burnt Mediterranean Pastry Pinwheels —charred black and hard as stone— and let his muscle memory take over.

Nightmare threw it to Dream's forehead; wincing as the shot took off his circlet. There was a moment of silence as Dream just stared wide eyed at him, the only sound perceivable being the muffled clank of the golden accessory as it fell by the edge of carpet and naked floor.

“...Huh,” Dream said after a moment. He touched his forehead, frowning as he felt the lack of the additional weight he already perceived as second skin. “Night?”

Nightmare stared, all the while. His empty face bothered him. Something like dread crawled up his spine. “Yes?”

“I fucked Cross.”