Flipping the script(swapfell)part 1

chapter 11

And Sans never ran out of things for Papyrus to do...on the contrary.

He kept a list.

Sans was home first today; he got to go home early a LOT of days now, much to his enjoyment. He preferred it that way, especially since at lunch he'd found something very interesting for Papyrus, and wanted to be ready when his little brother came home.

Changing into his OTHER clothing was...an experience, to say the least. Even the past few days when he and Papyrus were home at the same time, he never rushed changing. The clothes were kept in his old bedroom, as he had moved into Papyrus's long ago; this bedroom was currently their 'play room'. In the closet was just his clothing, hanging up neatly.

The first thing he did was shut and lock the door, and then he began removing his work clothes. The once-familiar and comfortable khakis and shirts were now almost an irritation on his bones, just something cumbersome he had to shed for his 'real' clothes. Even so, he still never rushed undressing, mostly because of how THRILLING it was, baring his bones entirely. As a Skeleton, he felt much more exposed than the average Monster, and thus, the more layers, the better. But he felt nearly INVINCIBLE and UNTOUCHABLE in his 'play clothes'...

….no, he couldn't even call it THAT. 'Play' seemed to downplay all the planning and crafting that went into the outfit. It was comfortable, yet sturdy, but still flexible enough for more rigorous movements. He was even sure he could fight in the outfit without an ounce of hindrance.

After kicking the pile of work clothes to the side, he would normally take a few moments to enjoy the thrill of being bare-boned, and would sometimes even glance at himself in the mirror he had set up at first to take in the full outfit, but never got around to removing it from the room. He used to feel so self-conscious about his frame, about how small it was with thicker bones that almost looked awkward and ungainly, like he was forever stuck in the disproportionate hell of puberty.

But Papyrus had worshiped every single one of his bones, all 206 of them, and declared each and every one of them perfect, down to the nicks and scratches, and even the lovingly-kissed crack over his left eye socket. His body may be small, but it was a body that was worshiped by the one person who actually mattered.

He was always amused at Papyrus's bone worship, he thought as he took his outfit out of the closet piece by piece. It was especially funny, considering that by Skeleton standards, Papyrus was a literal Adonis with his height, build, and strength, and all that was taken into consideration WITHOUT his impressive magical power. So for PAPYRUS to say Sans had the more desirable body...

...he could definitely take that compliment, no problem.

Sans tugged on his outfit with the utmost care, feeling the sturdy but smooth fabric over his bones as he adjusted them properly, sliding on his boots which came up almost to his knees and stepping down lightly to test out the comfort.  The boots had an inch and a half of heel, but he still felt so much taller in them, the supple leather insides molding perfectly into his metatarsals and calcanei.  The gloves were just as sturdy and comfortable, having already been broken in perfectly, making a satisfying creak as he flexed his hands tightly.  

He turned to the mirror and saw his grin widen at his reflection.  Far from the meek little Skeleton who worked in the labs, Sans could now see glimpses of what Papyrus saw--a domineering force to be reckoned with, and yes...with a fine bone structure.  The way his iliac crests crept above the hem of his shorts, the curve of his exposed spine, the tantalizing glimpse of the bottom of his rib cage peeking from under his shirt...it was enough to make him forget his own issues about the overall frame and take a few moments to admire himself.