I hear a voice say: "don't be so blind!"
It's telling me all these things, that you would probably hide.
Am I your one and only desire?
Am I the reason you breathe,
or am I the reason you cry?
"You're going to get yourself killed."
"What?" Papyrus jumps at the sound and narrowly avoids getting a spear to the face. His boots grind against the ground and leave furrows in the snow as he slides back.
"I said, you are going to die if you keep this up." Undyne repeats, preparing another attack and launching it with lethal accuracy.
He brings up a wall of bones to deflect, feeling the sheer force of her hits thumping against his magic all the way to his soul.
"Keep what up?" He asks, even if he knows the question will probably annoy her..
When the hits stop and he brings the wall down, she's right there in front of him.
"Don't play dumb, Paps, it doesn't become you." Her fist shoots out but he catches it easily, gloved hand gripping her similarly clad forearm. "As a matter of fact it doesn't become anyone."
She swipes her foot to trip him up, and almost manages to do so, his balance lost when she pushes her legs against his.
But Papyrus has been here before and regains his footing in an instant.
An instant too late, as her next blow hits him square in the chest plate and throws him backwards, toppling him over straight onto his behind.
"Not to mention, it annoys the shit out of me." Undyne bares over him, claws at her sides and a slightly displeased look in her eye. But the manic grin betrays her generally good mood.
"You're distracted, and it's going to get you dusted. Not to mention it makes you look like a lost child. Fucking pathetic!"
When she outstretches her hand towards him, it takes Papyrus a moment to actually take it, eyeing it warily instead.
And when he does take the offered appendage, he makes sure to keep his body tense. As if expecting her to start attacking again any moment.
"That's more like it." Undyne says, pulling him up and throwing a hand around his shoulder in a gesture of friendship that almost breaks his clavicle.
Papyrus grunts something none-descriptive, waiting for her to actually ask before spilling anything.
He might avoid the conversation all together this way. Also, Undyne doesn't like it when her guards talk unless spoken to.
"So, what's got your panties in a bunch, bonehead?"
Papyrus shrugs her off harshly, the unprofessional address signaling training is now officially over.
"Does it fucking matter?" He asks, truly trying to gauge if she wants to hear an answer or if she's just being a nosy asshole.
With Undyne you never know.
"Look, I get it. You're trying to put on the tough act. I know this shit by now." She raises her hands in an almost apologetic manner. "And normally, I couldn't care less what the fuck you get up to in your off time. But..."
She approaches again, getting almost too close for comfort, but Papyrus doesn't budge an inch. Because that would be showing weakness.
"But when anybody messes with my guards, their business becomes my business. And I don't play nice."
Her face is so close to his, Papyrus is pretty sure he'd be able to smell her stinking fish breath, had he the organs required to do so. He starts laughing instead.
"Is that what this is about? You worry about that fucking dog couple? Truly, Undyne, you disappoint me."
Her face scrunches up in a disapproving furrow for a few seconds, before the glint in her eye is back and her usual grimace reappears.
"Pfff, yeah, as if I care what some tight-ass like you may think." She cracks her knuckles carelessly while talking, a habit which irritates Papyrus to no end. "Seriously though, what was that all about? I have better things to do than deal with two whining bitches like them on my doorstep."
"It was nothing." Papyrus answers, just a tad too quickly. He forces his voice into a casual tone which he hopes sounds convincing. "They were out of line, I put them in their place. They should know better than to mess with my things..."
"Your things?" There is an obvious edge of humor to her tone. "Well, maybe you should keep a closer eye on your things, then. Or put a leash on him."
An unexpected heat rises in Papyrus's face at the mental image, but he pushes it down immediately.
"I don't tell Sans what to do. I'm not his fucking keeper." The tall skeleton crosses his arms stubbornly, but Undyne is still grinning at him.
"Whatever you say, Paps. But you do know your words and actions are not exactly matching up right now?"
He doesn't even grace that with an answer, just stares back at her defiantly.
"Look, I'm actually saying this as a friend and not as your captain, ok? Know what you get yourself into. Because if you go about this wrong, it will be the end of both of you."
There is sincerity in those words that makes Papyrus advert his gaze, even if he knows he won't heed the advice.
"It's not worth it, Paps. Caring about somebody like that, I mean. It's not worth it. It's not worth anything."
"Does Alphys know you think that?"
It's out before he can think about it, another testament to how distracted he is right now.
In the blink of an eye, she is on him, one fist curled in his scarf and another tight around his wrist.
It hurts, and he's dimly aware of how easily she could snap the bone in two.
"Don't." She hisses, and he can count each one of her jagged yellow teeth as she does so. "Don't go there."
"What? You're going to tell me it's any different?" He can feel his eyes glowing red, magic swirling at the surface, but Undyne doesn't seem intimidated in the least.
"It is different. It also nearly destroyed me." Her hand tightens even more and the pain shoots up his arm unpleasantly, but he doesn't so much as flinch. "Don't make the same mistakes I did."
With a monumental effort, he pulls his arm loose, entire bone aching. Undyne releases him with a shove and a huff.
"You're the second person to say that to me today." Papyrus remarks idly, jaw set firm.
"Oh yeah? Guess it's obvious to everyone that you're a fucking idiot." Her voice sounds almost tired.
Then she snaps back into her usual manic disposition, aggressive aura and all.
"Same time tomorrow. Don't be late or I'll snap your neck. Guardsman dismissed." She waves at him to go, and he does, not feeling like trying her patience anymore than he already has today.
When he's almost at the mouth of the cave, she calls out to him again.
"Oh, and Paps? Don't cause anymore trouble."
The sheer look in her eyes says more than any words ever could.
Sans is still in bed when he hears the front door open and close. He debates in favor of just staying under the covers and ignoring the world for a little while longer, but decides against it.
When he comes to the landing he looks over the railing, watching as Papyrus brushes of the snow from his armor onto the doormat, where it slowly starts melting.
His brother looks up and catches his eye, and Sans involuntarily prepares for a screaming tirade about him not being at his post.
But nothing is forthcoming.
"You're home early, boss." He tries, and Papyrus looks away, starting to brush off snow again.
"The training was done." He says simply, before swiftly making his way into the kitchen.
Sans descants the stairs, noting it is almost noon. He slept in longer than usual, for some reason. And he's not even properly rested yet, his head feels like a fucking brick.
The sound of cutlery pulls him out of his reverie and he follows his brother into the kitchen.
He is eating the lasagna from last night, cold. The microwave has stopped working since Papyrus took it out into the forest to make a human trap and the blasted thing got covered in snowfall, a few weeks ago.
Sans helps himself to the what is left in the container, eating straight out of the small plastic box.
Papyrus shoots him an irritated glance but doesn't comment.
"How's your head?" He asks suddenly, and Sans almost chokes at being addressed in such a fashion.
"It's fine." He blurts out curtly, then adjusts his tone "I mean, it just hurts like hell, but... It's fine. Could be worse."
Then, in an almost contemplative tone, he adds: "Could be dead."
His brother's fork stops just inches from his mouth. He looks at Sans for a second, then continues eating. Sans files this reaction away for later.
"What happened to your arm?" He noticed the way Papyrus held it the moment he came in. Rigid, preferring to keep it close to his body.
Papyrus seems surprised that he's aware at all, but doesn't hesitate when answering. "Training."
They eat in silence for a few more moments, and Sans would almost call it comfortable.
"You know Alphys, right?"
Sans startles again at the suddenness of the question. His brother rarely ever asks him anything, certainly nothing of this nature.
"A-Alphys? Yeah, sure, I know her." He doesn't dare look up from the container, fearing eye contact may somehow break whatever spell it is that is causing them to have a half-way decent conversation for once.
"Do you know what's been going on between her and Und- the captain?"
"I wouldn't know, boss." He pokes at the pasta with a fork. "I mean, I don't really know her that well. We're more like uh... acquaintances?"
Papyrus sighs disappointingly. "Of course you are... How do you even know her at all then?" His brother raises his head and they end up meeting eyes after all.
"I-I don't know." Sans can practically feel his own awkwardness radiating in the air. "Don't I know everyone, bro?"
Papyrus tilts his skull, then continues eating as if nothing happened, not even acknowledging Sans' choice of nickname.
Papyrus doesn't like dirty dishes, and always washes them immediately after eating. Today is no different.
Sans hurries to finish his meal, so his brother will wash the container also, otherwise he'll be forced to do it himself.
Or get yelled at again if he doesn't.
He brings the small plastic box over to the counter, throwing it down next to the sink, and sure enough Papyrus flicks it into the soapy water.
Sans almost asks his younger brother if he needs any help. He remembers very distantly a time in which it was not unusual to offer his assistance in such a mundane tasks.
He doesn't though.
Mainly because he feels like there has been enough family-bonding time for one day, better not to try his luck.
Besides, he's lazy and doesn't really want to help.
But when he turns to leave, a sudden dizziness befalls him. The world spins in an almost sickening fashion, as if it simply decided to stop being steady.
Sans pitches backwards, vision going disturbingly crossed, and he has the vivid image of breaking his skull open on their off-colored tile kitchen floor.
What a way to go out.
But his head never connects. Not with the floor at least.
There is someone at his back, breaking his fall gently.
It's still hard, as hard as the floor would be. Armor.
Sans feels the soft fabric of Papyrus's scarf against his upper vertebrae. He feels the cold metal against his back. He feels lanky arms encircling his ribcage and grasping his elbows.
The first thing he notices is that the hold is wet, from lukewarm water those hands had still been submerged in mere seconds before. Sans should probably thank Undyne someday for honing his brother's fast reflexes.
The second thing he notices is that the hold is bare, bone against bone. Sans has just come from bed, hasn't put on a hoodie yet, clad in nothing but his shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt. Papyrus has taken off his gloves to do the dishes.
The third thing he notices is his brother's soul, so close now that he can practically feel it through his back. The heat starts rising into his cheeks almost immediately too, embarrassingly so.
Papyrus notices of course. He pushes Sans back to his feet and distances himself from the smaller skeleton in one swift motion.
His face takes on the perfect image of disdain, though there is a notable red tinge to his cheekbones as well.
"Don't fucking do that, Sans!"
"Sorry, boss." Sans grins again, golden tooth glinting in the harsh kitchen lights. "I just saw there was work to be done here, so I thought I might as well give you the slip."
And with that remark he makes himself scarce as fast as his short legs will carry him.
He goes back to his room, seeing as Papyrus isn't going to gripe about his absence of work today, he might as well take advantage of it.
The dizziness persists, and Sans also realizes why he slept so much tonight. He might need to be a bit more careful or this stupid head wound will come back to bite him in the ass.
He lays on the mattress, dirty blankets bunched into a ball and discarded somewhere in a corner of the room. The ceiling is about as interesting as it ever was, but he tries to count the cracks to distract from the agitation in his chest cavity.
An almost uncomfortable burning has taken residence there, a feeling of unrest that insists he do something, anything to elevate it.
It is a feeling Sans recognizes, but hasn't felt in a long time.
But ignoring it certainly doesn't seem to be working.
After stubbornly trying to suppress it some more, he gives up.
His magic manifests itself almost effortlessly, as if it knows exactly what it needs to do.
And for the first time in longer than he can remember, Sans touches himself.
Slowly, languidly, sliding his hand up and down the length while trying to muffle small whines and whimpers at how sensitive he has become after going months without.
He wonders what brought this on.
Had it really been that long since he had physical contact? Had he just become so affection starved, that a simple touch could elicit such an extreme response?
Or was it more?
His soul pulses at the notion. It certainly knew exactly what it was reacting to.
And as he steadily builds up to that delicious point of no return, that edge that he will gladly throw himself off of to chase the rapidly building pleasure, Sans is thinking about his brother.
He thinks about those hands on other places than just his elbows. He thinks about them touching him all over, phalanges rubbing over his ribs and his spine.
He thinks about that voice, that almost complacent tone during lunch, the different sounds Sans could evoke in him.
And when he reaches his peak, still far too soon as far as Sans is concerned, it is with his younger brother's name on his tongue.
Sans feels the sins crawling down his back.
And it's the most alive he has felt in ages.
And so the sin begins...
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