Work Text:
Asgore’s throne is magnificent, a work of art in gold and purple that still manages not to overtake the room it resides in, instead blending with the smooth, intricately patterned tiles, the pictures on the walls, the more modern building he has taken up as his residence up on the surface with its large windows on both sides of the room.
It befits him as he sits on it, you think, the splendor of it matching the grandeur of his armour, his cloak, the delta rune that holds the fabric together in front of his chest, his grand size and full beard. Asgore is majestic no matter how you look at him, and it is only in the way he holds his body that the truth lying underneath is revealed; the way his shoulders droop betraying his desire to be not quite so intimidating, the way he smiles showing his kind nature, the way his eyes droop revealing the pain he carries from the times where he felt he had to put his kindness aside for the good of everyone else.
He sits on his throne now with his spine ramrod straight, his trident firmly in his hand, the picture perfect image of a king. He pose slumps fractionally when he spots you as you walk up to him, a sign of his trust in you.
“How was court?” You ask, sliding next to him and resting your hand in his massive paw. It swallows your hand completely when he closes his furred fingers around it.
“A little tiring,” he allows, giving you a soft smile. “We have come far ever since we left the Underground, but we still have further to go.”
You drag your fingers over the soft fur in his hand, feel the individual strands of fine hair against their tips. “Still no progress on those laws?” You ask.
“There is progress. I would like for it to be faster, that is all.” He looks up thoughtfully and continues to speak, allowing himself to share his burdens with you. You like it when he does that, you like it when he trusts you, you like knowing that he doesn’t have to carry all of this by himself. The tension you see in his body tells you that he needs this, that he maybe needs something more too. “It is… not always easy, to deal with the complexities of the human political and legal systems,” he says. “After being the sole ruler of the Underground for so long, it can be difficult to have so many restrictions to consider.” His eyes grow softer, somber and melancholic, as he continues. “Ah, but then it is probably for the best. My reign alone… I did so many things that were - “
You untangle your hand from his and raise it, stroke it gently over the side of his face, over the coarse blonde hair of his beard.
“I know you regret it,” you tell him quietly. He had told you, early after you had gotten together, what he had done. It had put a strain on your relationship for a good while before you had come to accept his past. You don’t approve, obviously, but you have decided to accept him as he his, terrible flaws and terrible past and all.
He turns his head, presses the side of his face against your small palm and breathes deeply, enjoying this simple bit of closeness for what it is.
Asgore never asks for more than what you give him, even now, even when you want him to.
“I apologise,” he tells you. “I did not want to sour your good mood.”
“Hey, you know you can always talk to me,” you say, wanting him to understand that you’re there for him no matter what. You lean forward and plant a small kiss on the side of his face, and then, because you like the way his eyes light up at the affectionate gesture, you plant one more closer to his nose, enjoying his hot breath ghosting over your face, then one on the tip of it, and finally one on his mouth, dragging your lips over fur and the bit of skin that makes up his own lips.
The deep, reverberating rumble that emerges from him sounds almost like a purr and vibrates through your entire body.
“I mean it,” you say, sliding onto his lap. He is so big that one of his legs is wide enough for you to sit on. You hope that you’re not reading him wrong as you settle down. “If you need to talk, I’ll listen. It’s just… right now I get the impression that you need a distraction more than anything.”
He looks down at you on his lap and catches your eye with a quirk of his eyebrow. You know immediately that he caught on - not that you expected anything else. Asgore is far too old and far too experienced to fool for long.
“Oh?” He asks, his voice immediately taking on a light, slightly teasing undertone. “And what kind of distraction were you thinking of?”
He seems to be on the same page. Good. You quickly check the room, but as far as you can see you’re alone with him, he must have ordered his guards out after court ended to catch a moment for himself. You don’t feel bad for intruding on that. He told you he likes having moments alone with you.
“Something relaxing,” you purr, dragging your hand down his face and over his neck until you reach the rim of his armour. You slip your finger underneath it and tease your nails against what you can reach of his clavicle, running it in a feathery touch over his fur and the skin it covers.
His eyes crinkle with the smile that blooms on his face at your playful behaviour, a chuckle escaping him.
“I would not mind something relaxing,” he says, his voice dipping into a low, gravelly timbre that shoots straight to your core. You feel his hand on the small of your back, the large appendage covering that part of your body almost entirely. His thumb rubs small circles on your shirt there, sending a soft warmth into your muscles.
“Good,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss him again.
After all this time of being with him, you know exactly how to unclasp his cloak and armour to reach the soft padding and clothes he wears underneath. His cuirass comes apart quickly under your deft fingers, and he tosses it carelessly to the side together with the attached faulds as you begin to work on his cuisses. They clatter to the floor at his feet and you immediately use the opportunity to run your fingers over the soft fabric of his breeches on his thighs, up until you reach his hips.
He’s already waiting for you, his heavy length straining against the fabric of his clothes.
You lift your hand from his thighs and touch the very tips of your fingers against his throbbing cock, eliciting a shiver from him. Pressing the palm of your hand against the underside of his dick rewards you with a soft groan, low and barely audible were it not for the vibrations it sends through your body.
Looking up to him you find his eyes fixed on you, half-lidded and heavy with desire.
You meet his eyes, not straying for a second, when you slip your hand over the hem of his breeches to bring the soft skin of your hand against his cock. The way his breath hitches is so delicious that you lick your lips in anticipation. His eyes slip from yours down to your mouth, fixated, entranced. You smirk and bite your lower lip while starting to pump him slowly. You can feel him twitch under your hand and see his free hand curl around the armrest of his throne, squeezing the sturdy wood and soft cushioning hard. The other one still rests against your lower back, tellingly still, rigid as he holds himself back so he won’t accidentally hurt you. He’s bigger than you and while his claws are filed, they are still dangerous enough to puncture your skin if he doesn’t watch himself.
With the next up and down movement, you squeeze his flesh just a little bit and his hand falls away from your back. You don’t turn to check, but you’re pretty sure it has found the other armrest, clenching around it like the other hand does. His breath is growing ragged.
You allow your eyes to wander down, take in the way his mouth has fallen slightly open, the large fangs shining in the light of the setting sun. His heated breath washes over your head, causes the strands of your hair to tickle your skin. Further down, the quick tensing and release of the muscles in his neck. Further down, the way his massive chest expands and contracts rapidly with each shallow breath.
Further down.
With a twist of your hand, his cock slips free of his breeches and you revel in the sight, the sheer size of it and the way the precum gathers at the tip, dribbling down slowly to meet your hand where you move against his flesh.
With one last look into Asgore’s eyes, you lean forward to brush your lips against the tip of his cock, soft skin against soft skin. His muscles tense underneath you and he hisses quietly. Balancing on his thigh like this is a little bit hard. You move up your free hand to grab his shoulder, steadying yourself. You press another kiss against his dick and another, before finally opening your mouth and licking the head.
A flutter with the tip of your tongue, followed by a long drag, deliciously slow.
After minutes of near silence, this finally draws a moan from Asgore, something small but with a promise of something louder.
You can feel him shudder underneath you, a tremble that runs through his body from his feet up to his head. Smiling against his cock, you repeat the motion, dragging your tongue against his warm, heavy shaft over and over.
“Ah…”
The sound is still low, but only barely. No matter how much he tries, Asgore has a voice that carries, and his large stature gives him a volume that easily overshadows anything else in the vicinity. You wonder absentmindedly if anyone’s around to hear you.
Probably.
You find that you don’t actually mind the thought.
You wrap you hand around the lower part of his cock and squeeze at the same time you take the head fully into your mouth. He’s too big for you to take much more in than the first few inches, and even that takes you opening your mouth as far as it could possibly go. From here, you can smell his musky scent, his fur and something earthen.
Asgore lets out another deep, rumbling groan as you bob your head up and down, slicking him with your saliva. A wet sound accompanies each of your repetitive motions, loud and lewd in the otherwise quiet hall. It mixes with Asgore’s moans, steadily increasing in volume, and heats up your core to the point of discomfort. You take the hand on his shoulder back down, deciding that steadying yourself is not as important as taking care of that heat. You slide that hand down over your core, moaning yourself at the delicious friction. The sound on Asgore’s dick sends a jolt through him, coinciding with another moan from him.
That was definitely a loud one this time. Almost a shout.
“W-wait,” you suddenly hear Asgore groan out. You pause and look up to him, finding his eyes glazed over, but still intensely focused on you. He unclenches one of his hands from the armrest and gently cups your face, pulling you away from his twitching dick. It leaves your mouth with a wet pop, traces of your saliva still clinging to it.
He uses the leverage he has on your face to pull you into a kiss, deep and long and sweet, the tip of his tongue pushing against your palate, stroking and massaging. He tastes like golden flower tea and honey and himself.
Breaking the kiss, he suddenly wraps both of his massive paws around your waist and lifts you easily as he stands up. You find yourself dangling several feet above the ground in his grasp. What does he have planned?
With a fond smile at you, he turns and sets you down on the plush, velveteen cushion of his throne. You sink several inches into the cushion, feeling as if you’re drowning. This throne was definitely not made for someone of your size. You feel tiny sitting on it.
“Comfortable?” Asgore rumbles into your ear.
“Yes,” you tell him, noticing how breathless your own voice has become.
The scraggy hair of his full beard tickles you when he presses his face into your neck to run his tongue over the sensitive skin there. You find yourself moaning slightly now. Your breath hitches when he slips his big fingers underneath the hem of your shirt and pulls it up, briefly moving away from your neck in order to pull it off you. You lift your arms in compliance immediately. The shirt ends up tossed carelessly onto the floor, and then Asgore is back on you, kissing your neck, moving down to lick your clavicle and run his lips and tongue over your exposed chest.
He finds your nipples and you whine, desperate for him to get on with it after you felt so worked up for a while now.
Looking down you find his eyes still focused on yours.
Always checking if you’re still okay with what’s happening.
You’d love him for that, you do love him for that, but today this is not what you want. You want him to relax, you want him to stop thinking, you want him to let go. You slide your hands over the sides of his face and then let them fall down to your waist, opening the button and zipper of your pants. His floppy ears give a little twitch at the zipping sound and a breathless rumble vibrates through your body from where his lips are still on your nipples.
You smile down at him while you hook your fingers under your waistband and wriggle out of your pants and underwear, slipping out of your shoes at the same time. Coincidentally, your foot ends up brushing against his cock with your movement and he groans against your chest, his eyes fluttering closed for a second. He must be pretty pent up by now. You repeat the motion, more deliberately this time, and grin when Asgore’s breath stutters against your bare skin.
“I know what you’re doing,” he whispers.
“Do you?” You ask him with a wider grin, dragging the soles of your feet along his length again.
Asgore pulls his head back from your chest and you can see his sharp teeth clenching in his muzzle, groaning deep in his throat. You look up and drink in the sight of him. He towers over you even though you sit on his throne, even though he is on his knees before you. The large horns on top of his head catch the light of the setting sun as his head dips back, his adam's apple bobbing as he tries to gulp down the noises that threaten to escape him. His shirt and breeches are dishevelled already, his cock slipped free and standing hard at attention. His massive chest is heaving and each breath is accompanied by a hint of a growl.
You move your foot again and suddenly Asgore is back on you, his nose buried in your neck and hair, breathing deeply. His heavy cock presses against your centre, your stomach and the lower parts of your chest, heated and slick and dripping precum on you, pressing your naked ass into the velveteen softness of the cushion underneath you.
A moan slips past your lips at the feeling. Every time you do this, you wish you could take him inside you, but you know that he’s far too large for that. He’d never fit; this is as close as you can come to actually fucking each other. You rock your hips forwards, desperate for more friction now that he’s on top of you, but Asgore doesn’t move. You move both of your hands onto his dick, stroking up and down in the hopes that he’ll start moving. His muzzle moves from the crook of your neck a little higher.
“Beg me,” he growls into your ear, his voice as deep and gravelly as it goes. “I want to hear you beg.”
“Please,” you moan immediately, “please, fuck me, please please please…”
“Is that all?” His tone is almost dark as he presses himself against you.
“Please, Asgore, your majesty, your highness, please - “
He finally begins to move against you, sliding his throbbing length against your centre and your torso. Your hands find the fur on his chest, curling into the fine, silky hair, feeling the muscles shift with each of his thrusts. Despite the fact that his paws are clawing at the backrest of the throne he’s rocking the thing backwards with each movements, the wooden legs of the throne squeaking against the shiny tiles of the floor.
The sound is drowned in the deep, loud moans that Asgore breathes into your ear, no longer caring what kind of sounds he makes or who might hear him.
Your own, higher moans join his as the hot, heavy cock dragging heavily against your core sends you into a frenzy, your mind blanking out. Each stroke is a line of fire on your skin, building the pressure within you until it’s almost unbearable. His pace gets faster and faster and you grind your hips up to meet him, both of your moans increasing in volume yet again.
A particularly heavy thrust has you reeling, a scream on your lips as that delicious rush of pleasure courses through your body.
Asgore follows only moments behind you, a long, drawn out groan echoing through his throne room as his cum spills over your naked chest and your jaw, mixing with the sheen of sweat on your skin.
He rides out his orgasm with languid motions and then stills. For a few moments, the two of you just breathe heavily, drinking each other in, the smells of fur and human sweat and sex mixing between you. When he pulls his head back from the side of your head it is only to press a gentle kiss against your temple and then your mouth. Only after that does he pull back and look at you.
“Oh dear,” he says, his voice less deep and slightly sheepish now as he takes in the mess he’s made on your chest. “I apologize. Allow me to… do not worry, I will make sure you look presentable - “
Asgore quickly gathers up his cape and uses the fabric to mop up most of the puddle of cum he’s left on you. You can’t help but laugh quietly at his clumsy, earnest attempts to clean you up.
“I think I’d better go and take a shower in my room,” you tell him with a smile, putting your hand on his.
“But on the way there…”
You hop up from his throne, giving the thing a fond look as you pull up your pants. You stride over to where your shirt has landed and pull it back over your head, hiding most of the evidence of your actions here.
“It’s gonna be fine, see? All hidden now. You should make sure you look presentable, too.” You straighten out your hair a bit and give him one last kiss against his bearded jaw. “See you later for dinner?”
“Of course,” he mumbles, looking faintly embarrassed as he tugs his breeches into place and gathers up his discarded armour. You leave the throne room with a smile on your face, closing the door behind you so Asgore can tidy himself in privacy.
The smile freezes on your face when you catch the eye of the guard standing next to the door, the poor dog blushing deeply and trying to keep his composure. He definitely heard everything. You quickly turn away before he can see the smile transforming into a smirk.
Oops.