Edit: fixed typos
Hi, been a while, loads of shit happened so I'm not gonna explain it all again, but since I'm stuck on Secret Gaygents and I reread my conversation board and got inspired by something I joked about a couple times before taking seriously, this is here instead now.
Sorry again that I've been gone so long, hopefully this chapter is an okay comeback.
Not beta read, nothing here is, but also not reread, so feel free to let me know if there are any typos, additional warnings I need to add or any other issues anywhere.
Love y'all, hope you enjoy.
Warnings for sexual content, it's not heavily detailed but it's there and it's not exactly short, guns, blood, Sans being a dick, and major character death
Human Underfell
The moon casts everything outside in an ethereal, pale blue glow. Grass glimmers as it sways in the gentle breeze, a few cicadas humming out of sight. The almost-empty barn is quiet, peaceful, in the night.
The ladder to the hayloft stays firm, a clear contrast to the creaking wooden floor at the top. Dozens of haystacks provide the perfect shelter, although the stray strands don't make for the most comfortable surface to lay on. They rustle and dig into soft skin through material, the sound mingling with soft, adrenaline-fuelled giggles and clumsy movements as Mettaton tugs on the neck of Papyrus' shirt, pulling him down with him. As expected of young forbidden lovers, it seems, it doesn't take long for the chaste, quick kisses to deepen and the air to get heavy.
Soft panting breaths fill the space as hands and lips roam, squeezing and sucking and biting like there's no tomorrow. The thrill of potentially getting caught - again - races through Mettaton's veins, his skin burning beneath his partner's touch. Pleasure and anticipation sing in his blood as Papyrus' sharp teeth close on his neck, fingernails teasingly darting across his stomach and waist beneath his shirt. He arches his back up slightly, repositioning his hips to make his boyfriend's fingers catch on the waistband of his ripped jeans.
"Already so needy." Mettaton bites his lip at the teasing, Papyrus' voice chipped and rough around the edges. "The fun hasn't even started yet."
With a final quick dig into his waist with his nails, Papyrus decides to indulge him for once, fingers skirting across his hips and towards his fly. True to his expectations based on previous encounters, he has to force Mettaton's hips down into the wooden planks with a firm hand against his stomach to stop him from going too fast. Typical Papyrus, wanting to savour every excruciatingly long moment from the beginning of the teasing and foreplay to the second he falls asleep with his boyfriend napping in his arms, fully satisfied. Call it what you will, Mettaton decides it's simply torturous - they'll have plenty of time to go as slowly as humanly possible once Papyrus is in.
The floorboards creak out a warning, and both parties still, hardly daring to breathe. As much as the possibility of being found together excites them both, Papyrus' brother Sans walking in on them for the third time within the six months of their relationship (which Sans didn't need to know started because of a particularly good first hookup two weeks before he found out the hard way) would not be enjoyable for anyone. As shitty as the world can be, Mettaton would prefer to walk out of here with his life tonight, something Sans would undoubtedly take great pleasure himself in taking.
The grass swishes outside, the cicadas eerily silent.
Papyrus cranes his neck, just able to see out of the window from his higher vantage point, his and Sans' house clearly visible. Nothing seems off.
He lets his hands continue wandering, thumb slipping beneath Mettaton's waistband, drawing a strained, quiet gasp from his bitten, kiss-swollen lips. Papyrus draws his focus away from the window at the sound, eyes back on the gorgeous form spread out for him like a feast fit for a king. He leans down to tease the hickeys he left earlier, feeling Mettaton's body tense and relax under his skin.
It doesn't take long for Papyrus to have him gasping and whining, no matter how many times Mettaton insists it won't happen again, that enticing bright pink flush gradually bathing his face and neck, making its way down towards his chest, heart pounding, bottom lip clenched between his teeth until he draws blood, eyes glazed over and rolling back. The sight of it all, of his beautiful, usually bratty boyfriend in this desperate state, could easily be enough to bring Papyrus to his knees in seconds.
His need to be freed from his suddenly suffocating jeans is interrupted by wood creaking again. He takes the chance while he's up to check the view from the window once more.
Alarm bells immediately blare in his ears.
That pale glow from the moonlight turns creepy, bone-chilling, when he spots his older brother making his way towards the barn, deep-seated frustration evident in his stormy gait. The worst part is easily the hunting rifle under his arm.
"We gotta get you outta here." His urgent tone is enough to bring Mettaton back to reality, panic setting in. Grace and poise are thrown out the window in favour of being quiet but fucking quick as the two descend the ladder from the creaking hayloft, each sound like a desperate, worried scream, every nerve ending on fire, yelling at them to run, just fucking run.
The far door of the barn slams open far too soon.
A mad dash follows the sound and sight of Sans' arrival, a furious roar in his voice smothering scrambling footsteps and the sharp, clean cocking of the gun. The first shot tears through the air, somehow mere inches from Mettaton's blind right side. He and Papyrus barely make it through the opposite door before the second gunshot rings out. Sans' deafening shouts become garbled background noise as they mix with the desperate pounding of Mettaton's heart, blood pumping in his ears in time with each step.
Pain rips his leg apart from the inside out, closely followed by another air-shattering bang. He tumbles to the ground, emerald strands now coated in a dark, shiny layer. He feels deeply sick as he grits his teeth. Papyrus is at his side in seconds, pulling sharply at his opposite arm, trying against hope to get him back on his feet, further from his brother.
The grass along with Sans' heavy footfalls betray his slow approach, dragging out his target's suffering. Somewhere in Mettaton's mind, he feels the distant sensation that an injured deer might feel watching as the poacher makes their way over, a rabbit watching the wolf. His chest shakes with every uneven, pained breath.
It distantly registers in his mind that Papyrus is desperately trying to reason with his brother, syllables merging together. He trips over the letters in his frantic state, heart aching and mind racing at record speeds. Sans spares a glance to Mettaton, laying limp in the tainted, red-glazed flora, teeth clawing at the air as he struggles for oxygen, fighting to stay awake, alive.
He lowers the gun.
With a scoff, he turns and trudges back to the barn, hunched over and running his fingers along his weapon.
Papyrus is once again kneeling beside his boyfriend, eyes wet with tears, fear evident on his face as he rambles, whether to himself or Mettaton, neither of them are quite sure.
"It's gonna be okay, we're gonna get you to safety, we'll get help. You're gonna be okay. I promise. You'll be okay." Mettaton holds his cheek to stop the first tear from reaching his jawline, fighting to keep his own face dry. His voice quivers. "I promise."
"Papyrus."
"I can't let you die."
With Papyrus' hand in his own, Mettaton manages to get to his feet, body shaking uncontrollably, his skin suddenly cold.
"I know."
A final bang cuts everything short.
