Archive of Our Own ^beta

The castle, for once, felt almost serene, quiet in the dead of night. Everywhere was dark, aside from the few braziers the halls had deemed enough to illuminate the kitchen for him.

Cross stood over the coffee maker, waiting patiently (or maybe not-so-patiently) for it to be finished, so he could have his hard-earned cup of joe. Trekking the multiverse all day was hard work, even if he were the one saying it. Not that he was complaining, but it was always wonderful returning home with the satisfaction of a job well done.

He wasn’t expecting to see anyone until after a nap, in the morning, because, well, everyone’s sleep schedules were shit, sure, but usually, they stuck to their rooms overnight. So it was a surprise to see Dust come in as he finally nursed his mug of coffee.

"Hey, Dusty-bunny," he greeted, a smile spreading on his face at the unexpected surprise. Quite lucky, too, because Dust would probably allow him a few cuddles, maybe even pull him into bed for a proper snuggle. He was very touchy when sleepy.

Dust, however, didn’t reply.

And when he lifted his head a little, close enough for Cross to see him properly, he almost dropped his mug.

Dust’s sockets were closed, very clearly asleep, but what caught Cross’ attention, much more than any possibility of sleep-walking, were the— the eye s along the right side of his face, dark and bottomless, green pupils staring him down with a bright glow.

This... wasn’t Dust.

"N-Nightmare...?!" Cross realized, glancing from eye to eye, unsure which one to settle his gaze on, "You— Does Dust know—? Is he—?"

"Oh, he was more than willing to assist me, I assure you," Nightmare said, actually reassuring him.

"I didn't know... that was possible. The um! The body thing, not, not Dust agreeing!" Cross flushed, looking away in shame of his rambling with a purpling skull.

Nightmare glanced down at one of his — Dust's — hands and flexed it, curling his fingers in and out as if he were testing them. "Not with all of you," he admitted, "Mortal bodies are not made for beings of my kind. However, Dust's deep magic reserves allow me this bit of time, before his body starts to reject me."

Or, more accurately, until it starts to unravel, from the inside out, a consciousness overtaken by one that dwarfs it. But no need to fill Cross' mind with such worrisome semantics.

"Okay... Okay," Cross nodded, reassuring himself more than anything, "Is he? Will he be um... okay?"

All four of Nightmare's eyes softened. "Of course. He will wake up in the morning and enjoy a day in, as a reward for doing me such a willing favor."

He'd wake up sore, physically, but Nightmare had warned him of that prior. He'd assured his vessel he'd wake up more rested than ever, a sleep better than he'd ever had, and Dust was more than happy to trade some soreness for a good night's rest. Nightmare would make sure he'd get it.

"You uhm..." Cross chuckled quietly, glancing at him with warmth and adoration. In such a physical body, he couldn't truly feel it as worship, but the sentiment was clear nonetheless and filled the deity with pride. "You really like rewarding us..."

"So I do, yes," Nightmare agreed. He'd thought it had been obvious.

"But you do it for everything..." Cross' features scrunched into a grimace for a moment, unsure of how to voice his thoughts and realizing what he'd said didn't quite fit.

But the god knew Cross inside and out, and understood.

"My dear," Nightmare said, reaching up and cradling Cross' cheek. His head leaned into the touch like a sunflower following the star in its trek through the sky. Despite being physically taller than Nightmare, he was looking up at him, or so it felt, with such raw emotion Nightmare wanted to bottle it up and keep it forever. "You are all such devoted followers. Such wonderful creatures, inside and out. Whatever gods you'd known, been used to, they don't seem to understand the pure value of such devotion, such worship. I strive to let my satisfaction be shown."

"It... It is," Cross rushed to reassure him, breathless and near silent.

"Good. Forget what others would have you think and remember I am your god, and I say you're worthy of my rewards."

The words seemed to hit a chord in Cross and he blinked for a moment as he processed them, realized he couldn't find a fault with the sentiment, and then slowly nodded, sagely. "Okay," he said, allowing his sockets to drift shut and leaning further into Nightmare's hands, still cradling his face. "Thank you, my god."

Impossibly, Nightmare's look softened even further seeing the trust he'd wrought from his mortal. A bit more and he was sure his features would melt right off of Dust's skull, or perhaps he'd melt completely, with how light and unstable he felt. Mortal bodies were so weak to emotion; Nightmare had doubts Dust's body could take even a sliver of his true, vast feelings.

Maybe that was why everything was a bit muted. Nightmare wasn't about to complain if it simply meant the body's natural protection.

Cross fidgeted a bit, glancing all over Dust’s — Nightmare’s — face. The extra eyes scattered across his skull were eerie but kind of mesmerizing, deep green that was almost black, almost-off-putting next to Dust’s real, closed sockets. He couldn’t help but stare. "So… what’s it like? Being in there? In Dust’s body, I mean."

Nightmare chuckled softly, the sound low and smooth. It was very different from Dust’s cadence, lower and rumblier, like honey poured over gravel. "Cramped," he admitted, tilting his head as if testing the limits. He made Dust’s body look like it had no limits. "Mortals are so… small. But it’s nice. Different. I can feel things more… directly. Physical things, at least." One of his tentacles curled lazily around Cross’ wrist. It was cool, and surprisingly soft, and Cross felt a weird little shiver run through him at the contact.

"Uh," Cross hesitated, unsure if he should pull away or not. "That’s… new."

Nightmare’s eyes crinkled with a hint of amusement, one after the other. "Well, you’ve been doing so well lately. I thought you deserved something… special."

Cross blinked, his face heating up. "I mean—I didn’t really do much? Nothing but what you said?"

"Exactly." Nightmare leaned in closer, the extra eyes blinking unevenly at him in a way that should’ve been creepy but wasn’t. "You’re always so dedicated. So… good. It’s wonderful." The tentacle around Cross’ wrist loosened, sliding up to his elbow instead. "You deserve more than just the words I can usually give."

Cross swallowed, his mind racing. His voice was barely a squeak, "I um… thanks?"

Nightmare’s smile widened, and for a moment, Cross felt like he was being pinned under the weight of it. "You’re welcome," he said, his voice almost a purr now, "Now, let’s see what I can do with a body like this."

Before Cross could react, Nightmare leaned in, his hand — Dust’s hand, so small and delicate — sliding around to cup the back of Cross’ skull gently, tracing over the leylines between the vertebrae. Cross froze, unsure if he should push back or lean in. The moment hung there, heavy and warm, charged, until Nightmare pulled back slightly, his eyes — all of them — glittering with something unreadable.

"Unless, of course, you don’t wish to," Nightmare said softly. 

Cross blinked, his face heating up even more. "No, no, I— I’m good. I mean, I’m— yeah. I’m on board. Totally on board. With this. And, uh, anything else." He stumbled over the words, but the look in his eyelights was steady, earnest, everything Nightmare could want.

Nightmare chuckled at him, low and soft, and Cross felt it rumble through him. It didn’t feel like it was echoing from within his skull like this, but that didn’t mean it still wasn’t ethereal. "Good," Nightmare said, his tone warm, almost teasing. He was so expressive with Dust’s face, unlike the shadow figure Cross usually associated him with. "Because I’d hate to think you were uncomfortable. I can’t feel it like this, you know, so you do have to voice any concerns."

"Uncomfortable? Nah," Cross said quickly, trying to sound casual and failing miserably, "I mean, it’s you. It’s— I trust you, Nightmare. Completely."

"Wonderful. I’m glad we’re on the same page, after all."

Cross’ breath hitched as Nightmare’s tentacle slid higher, brushing along his shoulder, up by the collar of his turtleneck and against the sensitive leylines of his neck, replacing the hand. He could feel the cool, almost liquidy texture of it, so different from the firm bones he was used to. It sent a shiver through him, magic prickling under his own bones like static. 

"You’re too tense," Nightmare murmured, cocking his head, "Relax, Cross. Let me take care of you." 

"I— I’m trying... Sorry, not used to this," Cross stammered, his voice breaking a little with a hitched breath. His hands twitched at his sides, unsure where to put them. One of Nightmare’s other tentacles curled around his waist, anchoring him gently, and some tension ebbed out of his shoulders. 

"Good," Nightmare said, his voice dripping with approval like syrup. His fingers traced patterns along Cross’ spine under his shirt, teasing the bones. "There you go. You’ve been so good lately. So good. I think you deserve a little reward. Wouldn’t you agree, for once?" 

Cross’ face heated up, his sockets wide. Nightmare really kept trying to hammer the point home, probably because he couldn’t tell what Cross was thinking. It was equal parts endearing and really, really embarrassing. "I— uh— yeah? I mean, if you think so—" 

Before he could finish, Nightmare’s tentacles tightened just enough to make him gasp. His magic flared, and suddenly, his ecto-body flickered into existence, glowing faintly in the dim light. 

Nightmare chuckled again, the sound deep and warm, watching Cross’ surprise flicker over his features. "There we go. That wasn’t so hard, was it?" 

Cross blinked, feeling a little dazed. "I didn’t even— how did you—" 

His breath hitched again as Nightmare’s hand slid lower, tracing the curve of his hip with something that almost felt like practiced ease. The touch was warm, grounding, and Cross’ mind started to spiral a little. He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t used to Nightmare being so… close. So physical. Even the most physical he’d ever witnessed — the tentacles he’d sprouted from Killer that one time — hadn’t been this solid. 

He had to keep reminding himself it was really happening.

He was used to whispers, to booming voices in his skull, to ghostly touches and feeling like his own limbs were being subtly puppeteered, not... not actual touches. It was impossible to forget it was Dust’s body being used, with how used to his touches Cross was, but it felt distinctly different. Still overcharged like static, because Dust’s magic was simply like that, but a little more elegant, more deliberate flourishes throughout, yet a little hesitant, as if Nightmare was still getting used to the body. He probably was.

Nightmare’s hand drifted lower, sliding past Cross’ waistband with a nonchalance that made his breath hitch. His fingers brushed against the soft fabric of Cross’ shorts, and before Cross could even think to protest, they were tugged down just enough to expose his pelvis and let his cock spring free. Cross froze, his face burning hot as Nightmare’s gaze lingered, curious. He’d already seen all of Cross, of course, but this time, Cross had the added benefit of seeing Nightmare back, witnessing his gaze firsthand.

Cross’ sockets fluttered, half-lidded as he tried to focus on Nightmare’s face — his many eyes, all blinking at him with that same soft, indulgent look. It was overwhelming. Too much. But he didn’t want it to stop, wanted to keep being watched like that forever, embarrassment be damned.

Nightmare’s fingers wrapped around Cross’ cock, and Cross choked on a gasp. The touch was solid, almost too rough, like Nightmare knew exactly what he was doing — and maybe he did. He did know Cross inside and out, after all. Cross’ mind scrambled to keep up, his hands flying to grip the edge of the counter for balance. Horror would actually kill them one of these days if they kept fucking in his kitchen.

"Relax," Nightmare repeated, a touch huffy, as if he wasn't used to repeating himself. He couldn’t tell if his words were getting to Cross like he usually could and it was maddening, made him want to sneer and click his tongue. Of course, he didn’t. His thumb swiped over the tip, claw barely tracing the weeping slit, and Cross shivered, a muted whine escaping his throat. "That’s it. You’re doing so well. Such a wonderful follower I have."

Cross’ face burned from the praise like it always did. "I’m not— I mean— this is—" he choked out, his words tumbling out in a nonsensical jumble. Nightmare laughed, the sound warm and rich and very un-Dust-like, and Cross felt it in his bones. 

"Losing your words already, I see... There might be something to the whole body thing, after all."

Cross’ hips twitched, his body betraying him as he leaned into the touch. He grit his teeth, trying to keep quiet, but a soft moan still slipped out. Nightmare’s eyes — all of them — watched him intently, imploring him with nothing but the weight of the stare, until he lost that bit of patience and tightened his grip, fingers a tight circle as he jerked Cross’ shaft with quick flicks of his wrist.

"None of that," he commandeered, and even without the usual echo of it, it rattled in Cross’ skull like a chant, "I wish to hear you."

Cross’ breath hitched and he hesitantly stopped gritting his teeth. "Nightmare, I—" he started, but the words died in his throat as Nightmare’s thumb dragged over his slit again. His back arched, and a strangled sound got punched out of him, heat pooling in his gut. 

"There you go, much better," Nightmare soothed, pleased like the cat that got the cream. His pace quickened, just a little, and Cross’ fingers dug into the marble countertop. "Let go, Cross. I’ve got you."

Cross’ head fell back, his sockets half-lidded as he gave in, the tension in his body melting under the god’s touch. It was too much and not enough all at once, and he couldn’t help but wonder if this was what worship felt like.

His breath came in short, shaky bursts, intersped with groans and grunts, and his magic fizzed through his leylines like soda bubbles. Nightmare’s grip was firm, unfaltering, his movements deliberately measured, as if he was mapping out every twitch and shudder Cross made. The extra eyes on Dust’s skull blinked lazily, without tandem, watching him like he was some kind of a fascinating experiment. 

His breath hitched as Nightmare’s hand slowed,  thumb rubbing small circles at the base of his cock, just above his balls, driving him crazy. His magic felt overheated, a coil in his gut, hot and electric, bubbling up until he couldn’t hold it anymore. He came with a shaky moan, his body trembling as Nightmare worked him through it, hand steady and sure as Cross spattered it with ropes of violet cum.

"There we go," Nightmare murmured, almost to himself, warmth and approval in his tone, drinking in the look on Cross’ face, the sounds pouring out of him, the jerky twitches as he was overwhelmed. Cross sagged against the counter, his legs feeling like jelly. 

Nightmare didn’t pull away, though. Instead, he brought his hand — still slick with Cross’ cum, fuck — up to his mouth, his tongue — tinted green unlike Dust’s usual purple, fuck — flicking out to taste it.

Cross’ face burned, two degrees away from spontaneously combusting. He couldn’t look away. Nightmare’s eyes — all of them, every single one, he couldn't get it over — stayed locked on him, sharp and curious, and his teeth curled up into a grin worthy of the Cheshire cat. "Hmm," he hummed, tilting his head like he was considering something, "Not bad."

"Not ba— what?!" Cross managed to blurt out, still a little dazed.

Nightmare’s smile widened even further, sharp and amused. "You’re very cute when you’re flustered, you know that?" he teased, in a soft voice. He leaned up, pressing that grin right up against Cross’ teeth.

For a kiss, it was chaste and barely there, over in a flash, but in Cross’ mind, it lingered, like a brand. He reached up to touch a couple phalanges to his teeth, as if that would do anything about the feeling.

"I—!" 

"Yes, you," the god nodded, amused to no end about the stuttering. He hadn’t had Cross like this before, and it could get addictive, he knew. "However, it would be a good time to take Dust to bed now. I can’t keep his body forever, after all, and he needs his rest. Feel free to enjoy the rest of your coffee, dear."

Cross watched as Nightmare twisted on a heel and marched right out of the kitchen, steps light and strangely fluid, while those tentacles curled lazily behind him, draped like a flowing cape. He carried Dust’s small body with the same grace as if he were twice that size, maybe more. Cross couldn’t tear his eyelights away, even after he disappeared through the doorway and behind a corner.

Right. He should... enjoy the rest of his coffee. Right after he pulled his shorts back up, yeah. Yep.

His... ice cold coffee, now.

Yeah. Sure.

He was going to do that.

It would, if nothing else, at least help with the feverish heat in his cheekbones.