Well, its October. The kinkiest time of year, according to some people. In honour of this, I decided to write a scene I've been wanting to do for a long time. Consider this a distant future chapter to Tangled Like Spaghetti. There are vague spoilers for that story in here, but it shouldn't matter.
Give the skele some love ^.^.
You had wanted to visit Paris since you were a little girl. It was the clichéd City of Love, City of Lights, where all dreams came true and everything was so much more romantic. You dreamed of attaching a padlock to that infamous bridge, throwing the key into the Seine, and kissing your prospective partner at the top of the Eiffel Tower, signifying your everlasting love. Eating croissants and drinking coffee in a tiny cafe on a rainy day, reading a book or writing a novel like the artsy hipster you wished you were. As time went on and you matured, that dream vaded to a fond longing that you stuffed in the back of your mind to make room for real life.
Then came that failed adventure. The underground quest that never was. The crush you never had, the charming, beautiful person you never met. Except you did, and only you knew about it. The life that ended, before time was rewritten and you were shoved away before you could make amends.
It took a long time for you to want to travel again. To forget the sweet beginnings of a relationship that never happened, to stop comparing every suitor to someone who no longer knew you. You worked to fill the emptiness, and when that didn't work, you hopped from bed to bed, trying to find something that would compare to what you never had.
And then the monsters had come back. A small child had accomplished what you hadn't been able to, and the mountain had opened.
In the years that followed, the world eventually settled from the shock and life went on with a little more diversity than it had before. It wasn't easy for anyone, but for you it was a special kind of difficult. It took a lot of effort to not seek out the person you wanted to see most in the world.
Ultimately, you failed. But that's ok.
Now, you stand with him on the bridge overlooking the Seine, locking a padlock onto the overcrowded railing and clutching his hand in yours. With a grin, you hand him the key and tell him to throw it.
He does, and you laugh in glee at the resulting splash.
"Now you can't get rid of me. Not unless you're able to find that key again."
As half-expected, he takes this seriously. You consider letting him believe it.
France was the second country to legalise monster/human marriages, right after Japan. Like that came as a surprise to anybody. America was on it's way, and it looked like things were going well in the debates, but you didn't want to wait that long. And besides, Paris had been the first honeymoon choice, after all.
Papyrus was almost as eager as you to visit the country. You agreed that it would be a good idea to have a proper ceremony once everything was ok in your home country, but for now, you wanted that piece of paper to wave in Sans' face. Ok, and maybe you were excited for a proper honeymoon, too.
So you pack your bags and fly out, booking the cutest looking hotel in your price range and bringing your sexiest lingerie. You lock your lock, kiss in the Eiffel Tower, and picnic on Mont Blanc. You sign your papers in a pretty, flowing dress that compliments your eyes. And when you're enjoying a celebratory lunch in the most adorable cafe the Latin Quarter has to offer, you stumble upon the most perfect wedding gift for your monster beau.
An email pings your phone from one of the several tourist websites you're signed up to, and out of curiosity you open it. As you skim the lists of restaurants to try in Paris and the upcoming events for the next week, your attention is drawn to the colourful bottom banner. The one with announcing a name that you had heard many times.
The last tickets for Mettaton's secret sessions were still available.
You had heard about him doing these kinds of things, introducing his music to the world in small increments. He had already taken off in America, but his popularity was still in the growing stages in Japan, Australia, Spain and Germany, the previous secret session locations. He would expose himself to a small amount of people, encourage pictures and social media, and within a few days the country be obsessed. You didn't know how it worked, but you know we he was good.
You book the tickets without telling Papyrus, only mentioning that you have a surprise for him later that night. You know he'll be ecstatic.
And he is. The moment you walk into the hotel and are directed to the room, which has posters of his face decorating the walls, it's all he can do not to jump up and down shrieking. As it is, he thanks you profusely and fidgets for the entire time you wait. When Mettaton comes out, with Napstablook and Shyren trailing behind him, Papyrus grabs your hand and makes a high pitched noise in the back of his throat. You can't help but laugh at him.
The session is intimate and lively. Mettaton talks to everyone in the audience, asking names and whether they live there or are holidaying. There are a few monsters in the audience, French citizens that were already big fans, even some that Mettaton recognises and greets. When it's Papyrus's turn, he flushes deep orange and squeezes your hand, unable to speak.
"His name is Papyrus," you answer for him, "and as you can see, he's a very big fan."
"I'm flattered, darling." The robot winks at your new husband and greets you also. "And who might you be, love?"
"I'm _, his wife. We're from America. Also a huge fan. Love your hair!"
"Is my hair the only thing you like?"
You smile, tongue between your teeth. "Ah, now that would be telling..."
Mettaton laughs and continues on, and you let yourself admire his dark pink suit, shapely legs, and perfect hair. It's easy to see why Papyrus likes him. You briefly wonder what that suit would look like on your bedroom floor, before also wondering what it would look like on your husband. You like both visions just a little to much.
When audience interactions are done, the music starts. You've already heard most of it, a mix of electronic jazz, dubstep, and blues. At one point he gets out a guitar and sings what must be a new song. The melody is slow and sensual, and you find yourself squeezing Papyrus's hand just as hard as he's squeezing yours. You're not sure what to make of this.
Afterwards, everyone lines up for selfies. You guess this is why he keeps things small and intimate, as the line of people is pretty long as it is. You decide to wait till last.
You make small talk as you prepare for your selfie. He asks how long you've been in Paris so far, and how long you're going to stay. You ask what his plans are for the rest of the night.
"I was just going to have dinner at a lovely little restaurant I found the other day. I really recommend it. In fact..." He pauses, and looks both of you up and down, then glances around in case anyone besides his friends are listening. "Since it's your honeymoon, why don't you come with me?"
You can almost feel Papyrus's soul imploding, and you're not going to deny the excitement that shoots through you as well. Dinner with two incredibly sexy monsters... what more could you ask for?
Of course you say yes.
It feels like a dream, being ushered out the back of the building into a limousine with the star of the Underground. Napstablook and Shyren head off in a separate car, claiming fatigue and the inability to process human food, which makes you sad as you had wanted to chat with them as well. Mettaton keeps the conversation running smoothly, not even blinking an eye at Papyrus's nervous silence.
All too soon, you arrive at the restaurant, which is in no way simply 'lovely' or 'little'. One word that comes to mind is 'opulent'. He sees your awed look and assures you that, no offense intended, but he knows this is too pricey for general folk and everything is on him. You thank him, not even trying to argue.
You're shown to a table immediately, and Mettaton orders for everybody in French. You find this incredibly sexy, absently noting that you'll have to get Papyrus to learn it now.
The food arrives. It is sublime, as expected. Champagne is poured and keeps flowing steadily, and Papyrus starts to open up as he drinks. Not by much, but enough to answer questions almost coherently.
You're not worried by how affected he is by the star's presence. You've known for a long time that Mettaton is his long-time celebrity crush- you should, with how much he's raved to you, starry-eyed on the couch, about the eyes and the legs and the hair. The smooth voice and the magnetic personality and the consideration for others.
Maybe the crush was a little more than celebrity. Maybe his reactions are a little more than star-struck.
You're ok with this.
Everything glitters- the champagne, the chandeliers, Mettaton's eyes. You watch the way he talks, gesturing and smiling, brushing that perfect hair out of his face with those shiny gloves. Papyrus watches too, slack-jawed and flushed orange with alcohol and attention from his idol. It would be funny if he wasn't so relatable. How are you not drooling? It's like the alcohol has opened the floodgates of your suppressed thoughts and is urging you to act them out.
You're both hanging onto every word from the robot, and it's clear he relishes the attention. You wonder how he would react to a different kind of attention.
You take a sip and roll the bubbles over your tongue, leaning forward on the table.
"So, Metta, have you experienced everything humanity has to offer yet?"
He glances between you and Papyrus, then down at your purposely exposed cleavage, quirking a mischievous grin.
"Well... Not everything... Although I may have come pretty close."
"I bet you have so many stories to tell. Some even not appropriate for this setting, hm?"
He blinks, and you can almost hear him wondering if that was a come-on.
You glance at Papyrus, wondering if you're going to regret your next words and things you're implying. But he's still flushed, still enamoured, to the point where you're reminded of the way he looks at you during your bedroom activities. Well then. Time to go for the metaphorical jugular.
"It would be hard to find something you haven't done yet, but we could try. Together." You reach for Papyrus's hand, tracing soft circles on the bone as you flash you best bedroom eyes at Mettaton. "Wouldn't want you to miss out on the full human experience, would we?"
He holds your gaze for a long moment, processing your words and the (hopefully) heavily implied message. You stare right back, examining the face of metal and flesh, with the perfectly pouty lips, long eyelashes and sparkling pink eye. He glances at Papyrus, to your intertwined hands, to your cleavage, back to your eyes. Then he waves the waiter over and asks for the bill.
"Would you like me to accompany you back to your hotel?" he asks casually, and inwardly you dance for joy. Outwardly, you lean back and smile.
"That would be lovely."
Rating will rise with the next chapter. Expect it next week.