Flipping the script(swapfell)part 1

chapter 11

After fueling his own ego, he picked up his favorite tools—leather crop, length of leather straps, and his cuffs—and hooked them to his waistband before walking over to his work bag and taking out a small box that held today's treasure, heading to his and Papyrus's bedroom.

Papyrus came home fifteen minutes later, his whole demeanor changing the moment he shut his front door. A whole day of perfect posture, composed behavior, and a blank expression melted like snow on a fire. He tugged off his armor, dropping it to the floor and made his way upstairs.

Though the weight of his armor was gone, he found it hard to climb the stairs, instead wanting to collapse on the couch for a three-day nap to compensate for his day full of weariness.

Still, he admitted to himself as he held onto the banister tightly as he made his ascension, Sans's help made these days SO much more bearable. It was the reason why he WASN'T just collapsing on the couch for a nap, or holing up in the 'play room' for quiet brooding time...he didn't feel the NEED to brood, not alone at least. Ever since they began this second life within their home, it was like handing over the mechanics to his mind over to Sans, and the internal machine that was constantly slowing to a near-death crawl was now running like it was tuned up daily.

It wasn't just what they DID. They were open now, about EVERYTHING, and Papyrus began speaking up about things he didn't even like mulling over to himself. Not only did Sans have the mental machine itself, he had the schematics for it too, and always knew just what to do to make things better.

He hadn't expected to...LIKE what they did, at least not as much as he found he liked it. Yes, he liked being ordered and taken care of—and YES, even bitten, scratched, burned, and jointed—but the DEGREE of which he liked it...he was sure even by his and Sans's incestuous taboo levels, it wasn't normal. He would have dreams, of Sans covered in blood and dust, dismantling him bone by bone, taking blunt objects to his skull, tearing into his soul with sharp teeth, all while calling him beautiful WRETCHEDperfect DISGUSTING PRECIOUS GARBAGE...

….those dreams were amazing and made his soul flutter as though a normal Monster would be given flowers from a beloved. But those were things he would never ask of Sans. As much as Sans loved inflicting pain, more than a stripe of marrow dripping over Papyrus's bones on any given cut would have him pausing or even safewording to collect himself. Sans enjoyed inflicting pain, but recreational SLAUGHTER was a different story entirely.

But still, he kept those deepest dream fantasies to himself and allowed himself to immerse into the life they created together, where Sans was no longer his brother, but his Lord. His Lord had complete control over his body, his soul, and Papyrus would do ANYTHING, obey ANY order, to please him. His Lord was sparse in his compliments and praise, and Papyrus did all he could to earn them, all to the point where he could lie entwined with him, hardly able to know if it was his Lord or Sans he was sharing a precious soul aura afterglow with.

Papyrus saw a faint glow from behind the cracked bedroom door, and quietly made his way over, pressing his hand to the door to creak it open and feeling his soul pulse when he saw Sans—no, his Lord—sitting on the bed, tapping his crop against the duvet and looking almost displeased.

“Your certainly took your time getting here,” Sans said, his eyelights glimmering sharply. “You kept me waiting two whole minutes since you came home.” He clasped his free hand around the end of the crop, bending it in an arc.

Papyrus ducked his head contritely. “I apologize m'Lord—“ He was interrupted by Sans snapping the crop against the bedside table.

“On your knees when you address me!” Sans barked. “You are begging for my forgiveness! ACT like it!”

On command, Papyrus dropped to his knees, leaning forward to brace himself up on his hands. “...I apologize, m'Lord,” he began again. “It was simply tiredness. I will make haste next time.” He felt a shudder run down his spine when the tip of the crop touched his cheekbone.

“How presumptuous of you to think I'll be allowing room for a transgression like this again,” Sans said. “You made me WAIT...and here I had a gift for you. Now I'm wondering if you're truly DESERVING of it.” He trailed the crop down Papyrus's face and under his chin, applying pressure to signal Papyrus to look up. “Do you deserve my gift?”

“No, m'Lord, I am undeserving of your gifts—“ He let out a hiss of breath when the crop cracked over his face.

“YOU do not decide whether you are deserving or not!” Sans put the crop down across his lap. “Come closer.” He waited until Papyrus's shoulders were flush with his knees before reaching over and picking up the box. “This is a gift, Papyrus,” he said, drumming his fingers over the box lightly. “And I need you to know that this gift is something special, and that it isn't something to take lightly.” He reached out, brushing his phalanges over the cheekbone he had hit moments ago.

“...if you accept this gift, I never want you to be without it. Do you understand?”

Papyrus nodded without hesitation. “Yes, m'Lord,” he said. “I will accept your gift if you will give it.” He let out a soft purr when Sans brushed over his face again, looking on curiously as Sans opened up the small box and took something out.

A thick strip of black leather with a silver buckle on one end and a silver ring in the middle—it took him several moments to realize that he was looking at a collar.

A collar.

Ownership.

Sans—his Lord—was claiming ownership over him.

As he stared at the collar for several long moments, Sans had a brief flash of doubt; this was a presumptuous move on his part, to put a collar on Papyrus like a dog beast. He didn't want Papyrus to really think he REALLY thought of him that way

—his perfect, willing slave, obeying his every command like the beast he was—

Sans lowered the collar, the safeword right behind his teeth to be spoken when Papyrus lowered his head into Sans's lap, nuzzling the smaller Skeleton's femurs lovingly. “...it's beautiful, m'Lord,” he said softly. “I'm honored to wear it...to be yours...”

Flash of doubt dead and gone.

Sans grinned, slipping the collar around Papyrus's cervical vertebrae, pulling the end through the buckle to let it sit loosely before hooking his finger in the loop on the front, tugging upward so Papyrus was looking at him. “You realize this means you NEVER take it off,” he said, the firm sharp tone of a command in his voice. “You will wear this under that armor, as a symbol to who you REALLY belong to. Not the King, not the Queen, not the Guard, but to ME.”

He leaned down, pressing his teeth against Papyrus's, forming a tongue and slipping it past his younger brother's teeth. Papyrus let out a loud whimper, parting his jaws wider and curling his own tongue around Sans's. Sans leaned back, grinning down at his brother before reaching back into the box and taking out a matching leash for the collar, clipping the end to the ring and tugging lightly.

“We are going to have SO much fun, Papyrus,” he said, his left eyelight flaring blue. “Especially with what I have planned NEXT for us.”