Prompt: Horror Sans is wasted and kisses Mafia Sans.
Horrortale and Mobtale/Mafiatale Sans do not belong to me. I would appreciate it if someone could tell me who they belong to.
Leo and Glenn (Mentioned), Karma (Mentioned) and Alexander (Mentioned) belong to me.
Vinnie and Psycho Vinnie belong to a friend.
It had been a long, long, long, long night. And, he checked the nondescript watch clutching his bones for a wrist, it had only been two hours. Two hours... Mafia Sans was trapped with Horror Sans (Redeye), Leo (Kit), Vinnie (V) and Psycho Vinnie (Bulldog) for another five hours. Five.
Leo ("Wha' a' ya doin', Kit?"), the mischievous little fur ball, had decided it would be within his questionable ideas for fun to take advantage of Vinnie's tipsiness to dance. His fiancé, Alexander, also a Neko and a deep fox red with small black rings at the end of his tail, was on a business trip. This often caused the smaller male to become bored and lonely, which was where Vinnie stepped in as a close friend.
Knowing each other for nine years really did that to people. Built bridges between people. And species. It was cute, to be honest.
But... Horror Sans was quickly reaching his drinking limit, slurping down his irresponsible shots of jagermeister and immaturely winking at the other Sans from behind the werewolf's back as he twirled his index finger around the band marking him as married. The lucky bugger - unlucky in this case as the werewolf was on the sadistic side - was sunning himself in California with Alexander and Karma.
K. That little, water-loving, six-legged devil. Mafia Sans missed his unruly friend, his crazy and protective attitude, his way of flicking all of the water from a full bath tub and drench the Sans and anyone else in the room, his weird obsession with ripping up light coloured cloth but storing black or dark coloured ones, his every little unique quirk.
A small smile quirked up the corner of the Sans's mouth as he landed on an instance where Karma had destroyed one of Glenn's (Chihuahua) bright blue shirts as he had donned it. Apparently it had been his fav-
"Oi. Druggie."
Raspy and deep, the slurred tone of the other skeleton begged for attention to be paid. Huffing, Mafia Sans spun on his chair to face Horror Sans, his most likely rude reply muffled by chipped, hard and unforgiving teeth meeting his, parting to allow a crimson tongue to invade the open mouth of his unwilling partner.
When he was free again, all Mafia Sans could get out past the barricade of shock was:
"Why tha hell do ya tas' like roses?!"