Flipping the script(swapfell)part 1

chapter 9

Glorious.

It was the only adjective suitable for what Sans experienced with Papyrus—glorious.

Despite his initial hesitation on the matter, once Sans began, it was like half of his mind shut down while the other half—the part that only came out under duress and inebriation—took hold like a rabid beast and refused to let go until it was satisfied.

He thought he'd be more disinclined after hearing the first smack of bone against bone, but what he heard was akin to the most beautiful music, with Papyrus's cries being thrown into the timbre that egged him on further, deeper into indulgence.

And indulge he did.

The past two weeks' worth of repressed anger and frustration was taken out on the willing skeletal frame, and with a vengeance he didn't even know he possessed. He hit, he scratched, he bit, he squeezed, pulled, and verbally abused to his soul's content, the dam gates open and the flood having not stopped anytime soon.

And Papyrus took it. He welcomed it all, vocally and verbally urging Sans on, pulling tight on the leather straps that secured his wrists to the bed until his bones creaked, fighting past the restraints to be closer to Sans, to lean into the blows and bites. Even when the tears poured out of his eye sockets and Sans's degrading words struck him like physical blows, he still begged Sans for more until he was unable to verbalize anything anymore.

Sans's lucidity returned sometime in the early hours, finding himself curled around Papyrus's larger frame, the younger Skeleton's bones littered in scratches, bite dents, cracks, and bruises. Injuries that HE inflicted. Injuries that would take a good amount of medicine and healing magic to fix.

But seeing the absolutely contented expression on Papyrus's sleeping face, like a child without a care or responsibility in the world, he couldn't help but feel....PROUD. Pride at himself for bringing Papyrus to this blissful state. Pride at Papyrus for being so strong and heady, taking it all like the champion he was. Proud at them both for allowing this to happen and letting themselves to enjoy it.

Sans sat up and stretched, feeling as though all the weight in the world had been lifted off of his shoulders and making him feel light as air. He smiled at Papyrus and quietly slipped out of bed, going into the bathroom to fetch the medicine for Papyrus's wounds and wash up for the day.

After drying his skull free from crusted-on tears—he had admittedly become a bit overwhelmed himself in his indulgence—he took a few moments to stare at his reflection in the mirror. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something looked...different. His skull shape was still the same...the crack over his left eye remained unchanged...his eyelights were tired but healthily glowing...so he wondered exactly what it was.

Unable to pinpoint it and writing it off as needing his coffee, Sans grabbed the medicine and tossed the towel on the rack, heading back into his bedroom and seeing that Papyrus had turned on his side and was reaching out to Sans's side of the bed whilst still asleep.

It almost made Sans want to go find the camera, it was so endearing. He sat back down on the bed and gently applied the medicine to Papyrus's chips and cracks, putting a second layer on the ribs and pelvis, where most of the damage had been dealt. It amused him to no end that Papyrus slept through it all, and wondered when the last time he saw Papyrus sleeping so deeply with his guard down.

Too damn long, that much was for sure. Papyrus deserved this rest.

Sans glanced at Papyrus's cell phone on the bedside table, reaching over and setting it to silent before putting it back where it was. Papyrus was going to be getting his sleep, no matter what.