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The bounty hunters had gotten worse.
Not just persistent — organized. They’d learned routes, patterns, even the way the group split up when cornered. Every encounter lately ended in running, scrambling, or narrowly avoiding capture by seconds instead of minutes.
Tonight had been no different.
They’d been forced off the road and into the city outskirts, lanterns cutting through the dark as boots pounded behind them. Mugman and Boris managed to break off first, ducking into a narrow alley between two shuttered buildings. The space smelled like damp stone and old trash, but it hid them well enough.
They waited.
And waited.
And waited.
Mugman checked the street corner again, jaw tightening.
“…Irresponsible idiots,” he muttered, already stepping out before Boris could stop him.
He was gone long enough that Boris started pacing.
So when Mugman finally returned — staggering slightly — Boris relaxed for about half a second before realizing why.
Cuphead was slung over Mugman’s shoulder like a sack of flour.
And Bendy… Bendy was tucked under his other arm, hanging limp.
Mugman dropped them with zero ceremony.
Boris barely managed to catch Bendy before the demon hit the ground.
“What the hell is up with them?!” Boris asked, staring down at the dazed grin on Bendy’s face.
“They’re high,” Mugman said flatly.
Boris blinked.
“…They’re what?”
“THC darts. One of the hunters was using them.” Mugman rubbed his temple, exhausted irritation bleeding into his voice. “Both got hit before they even realized.”
Boris looked down at Bendy again.
The demon was giggling quietly at absolutely nothing.
“…Oh no.”
Cuphead snorted from the ground.
“Stars’re movin’,” he murmured, pointing at a wall.
There were no stars.
They didn’t stay in the city.
Too dangerous.
They pushed into the woods until Mugman deemed it far enough — far enough no patrol would bother combing through the trees at night.
Camp went up quickly.
Bendy and Cuphead were sat beside the small fire, leaning into each other, whispering nonsense and laughing like they’d discovered the funniest joke in existence. At one point they spent nearly two minutes staring at a pinecone.
Boris sighed.
This was going to be a long night.
After a silent, mutual agreement, Mugman and Boris decided neither wanted to share a tent with their brothers.
Mugman took watch.
Boris took the other tent.
The idiots got their own.
Inside, the lantern cast soft orange light across the canvas walls.
Bendy lay on his sleeping bag, staring up at the ceiling with unfocused eyes. His tail slowly swayed back and forth, occasionally thumping the ground.
He turned his head.
Cuphead was curled on his side, eyes closed but clearly not asleep — his straw flicked every few seconds.
Bendy scooted closer.
Poke.
“Hey, Cups,” he murmured, grin lazy and crooked. “You sleepin’?”
Cuphead groaned and cracked one eye open.
“I was tryin’ to… before ya decided violence.”
Bendy hummed thoughtfully.
“…Nah.”
He shifted closer, pressing into Cuphead’s side and wrapping an arm around him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Cuphead stiffened slightly — but didn’t move away.
“Your sleep can wait,” Bendy muttered, voice softer than usual.
His breath brushed Cuphead’s neck.
Cuphead’s shoulders twitched.
Neither of them processed the decision making happening — or rather, the lack of it.
Bendy leaned in.
A slow line of kisses pressed along the side of Cuphead’s neck.
Cuphead sucked in a breath.
“Bends—”
The protest never formed.
Bendy’s fangs dragged lightly across his skin, not biting, just tracing. Curious. Lingering. His tongue followed the path lazily.
Cuphead’s hands found his shoulders — gripping.
Not pushing.
Holding.
His face flushed deep red, head light in a way that had nothing to do with the dart anymore.
Bendy moved upward — jaw, cheek, corner of his mouth.
Their eyes met.
For a long moment neither spoke.
Cuphead moved first.
He grabbed Bendy’s collar and pulled him down into a kiss.
Bendy froze for half a second before melting into it completely, a low clicking purr vibrating in his throat as he deepened it instinctively. He shifted, climbing over him without breaking contact, settling atop Cuphead as if that’s where he belonged.
The world outside the tent didn’t exist anymore.
Just warmth.
Pressure.
Breathing that kept forgetting its rhythm.
Eventually they separated, both catching air in small uneven breaths.
Neither pulled away.
Cuphead tugged him down instead, wrapping his arms around him tightly, pressing their foreheads together.
“Don’ go,” he mumbled, already half asleep.
Bendy snorted softly, tail flicking once before curling around his leg.
“Wasn’t plannin’ to.”
They fell asleep tangled together — comfortable, steady, content.
____
Morning came with birdsong and sunlight bleeding through canvas.
Cuphead woke first, squinting up at the tent roof.
“…Why am I sore,” he muttered.
Bendy groaned beside him, rolling onto his back.
“Ugh… headache…”
They both sat up.
Paused.
Looked at each other.
“…Did we do something dumb?” Cuphead asked.
“…Probably,” Bendy replied.
They shrugged simultaneously.
Outside, Mugman and Boris were already packing up — blissfully unaware.
And neither of them noticed the faint marks along Cuphead’s neck.
Or the way Bendy stayed slightly closer than usual the rest of the day.