i know you, pt 1

You've come to this moment again.
Humoring Sans, waiting for him to fall asleep so you can cut his rib cage open.
In some ways, you never get tired of it.
Especially when you first swipe and he thinks he's fooled you. He dodges, you swipe again as he taunts you. It never ceases to bring a smile to your face when his permanent grin actually FALTERS. Blood, or ketchup as it may be, pours out of him. It's the only time you've ever seen him afraid or startled. You love that look. But of course, you love a lot about Sans.
When he falls asleep this time, you surprise yourself by feeling aroused.
Thinking about how much you love to see Sans afraid.
It stirs something in the pit of your gut. You were just going to kill him, but. What if?

You lunge at Sans with your knife. He, dodges, winks, laughs, the norm. This time, instead of cutting that look off his face, you lunge again, tackling him to the ground. The both of you tumble to the marble floor.
Sans is quick to react. His eye bursts, ignites with teal, he grabs your heart through your chest and yanks at you. But, you cling to him. You feel your heart tugged back in your chest. Its sickening, but you refuse to let go.
You grasp at the collar of his turtleneck as he grabs your own throat.

"I'll reset. Right now," you say.

And he stops, looks at you with incomprehension.
You grin.
Before he can react further, you tear your neck away and drag him onto his stomach.
Again, Sans is quick, he moves to get up, to attack, but you throw yourself on top of him. Your heart lurches back towards your spine again, but you've secured a grip on his fluffy white hood, his waist.
He struggles, but you manage to put your lips right near the side of his skull, where his ear would be had he any flesh.

"Give it to me," you whisper, quick.

You feel him freeze beneath you. A smile stretches on your face.
You've pushed your crotch up against his backside, right in the crevice of his pelvic bone beneath his shorts.

"Give it to me and I'll take us to the surface," you murmur. "I'll treat Papyrus all nice. I'll spare him, Sans."

Sans doesn't move. For a second, you entertain the idea that he's waiting to catch you off guard, but, there's something haunting about how still he is.
Your heart starts to pound at the idea of him actually letting this happen.
You trail your tongue against the cheek bone of his ivory skull. He still doesn't move.

"I promise. A week, on the surface," you say, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. The longing.

You feel Sans shudder beneath your weight. You think it must be disgust. Your groin aches.
Still on guard, you grasp the hem of his shorts. You push your knife under the black fabric and make an incision. You tear with your bruised fingers until they rip away. They're tossed to the side, near a column.

Why isn't he doing anything?

You grind your crotch into his exposed pelvic bones, against the sacrum.
The sensation is bumpy, weird, wonderful. Your breath hitches. You know what he can do, even if you haven't seen it.

"A week," you say, slow, "who knows, maybe longer. I promise."
Sans' silence is killing you. You feel your pants tighten. Is this really going to happen?

You look down at a blue light near your crotch, his pelvis.

A blue opening looking like a vagina of some sort conjures near the bottom of his pelvic bones. This surprises you at first, you expected an asshole. Maybe he just wants to make it less painful for himself? Who even CARES?
You hear Sans' skull clack against the ground in front of him. His body is tense beneath you, yet he looks so defeated. You could honestly cum to the image alone.
But you won't.

You unzip your pants and shove them down to where they're tucked into the tops of your black knee boots.
There's a low, almost inaudible noise. You pause. And then it hits you.
You realize Sans is crying.
You know you should feel terrible, but your groin gets unbearably harder. You don't feel terrible at all. You're excited. You're going to commit this to memory forever.

You pull your boxers down and quickly position yourself at Sans' entrance. Your heart is pounding so fast you can feel it in your ears. This is happening. This is real. Why haven't you done this before?
With one deep, forceful push, you bring yourself to the hilt inside Sans. He jerks beneath you in shock and one of his hands lunges to grasp at the tiles in front him. The sight of his struggle, the tightness around you, you could cum right now.
But you won't.
You lean over his broad back, planting one palm on the floor beside his skull, the other tightly over his outstretched wrist.

Then you start to thrust. Hard. Giving Sans time to adjust, time to accept this if he even can, does not even occur to you.
It feels so good. It feels right. You open your mouth slightly as you look down at the back of Sans' skull. He is deathly silent as you fuck him against the floor. Transparent beads of sweat form on the white surface of his head, and you muse on how a skeleton can even sweat. As if that matters right now.

You fuck, and fuck, and fuck. You pay attention to everything. It's as if your senses are engorged with lust.
The sound of the zipper clasp on Sans' jacket jostling on the floor below his belly.
The way the silky blue fabric of the jacket rubs against your own stomach with a rustling noise.
The feel of his wrist bones tightening beneath your grip as he grasps desperately at the floor.
The sensation of the snowy faux fur of his hood brushing your arm.
How he eventually starts to breathe harsher, audibly.
Everything is overpowering. It's all so good.
You're going to cum.

Not yet. Patience, you remind yourself.
Painfully, you stop moving. You catch your breath, trying to become less aroused. It's difficult, to say the least. You want this to last. A minute or two of nothing but shared, ragged breathing passes.
You look down at Sans. He's exhaling hard through his nose bone, hands splayed, obviously taking the time to rest. You regret the fact that you're giving Sans a bit of a reprieve so that you can last longer, but it has to be done. You smirk, rueful.
"Sleepy?" you ask, mirthful, a bit breathless.
Sans doesn't respond. You narrow your eyes. You grin and, abruptly, start to thrust again.

To your absolute astonishment, Sans actually cries out. Just once. It's a distressed, startled gasp, one that sounds alien in Sans' deep voice. You almost stop in sheer bewilderment. You've never heard Sans make a sound like that. You didn't expect Sans to make a sound like that. You feel as if you've just heard something no one was ever supposed to hear.

It absolutely sends you over the edge.

Suddenly, you can't stop. You bow your head above Sans, thrusting as hard and as fast as you can. And Sans keeps making noise. He gasps, gives pained choking noises, eventually covers his mouth and begins to sob into it. Everything echoes in the cavernous hall. You would grab his hand and pull it away, but you just CAN'T stop...
You actually whimper. It feels so good. Sans feels so good. Your face is burning. You hear your flesh clapping against his blue entrance over and over behind you. You're hurting him, owning him. He's letting you, all for a week on the surface. For his brother. It is ecstasy. As you look down on Sans' struggling form, you tell yourself why you're doing this.

You could've taken Papyrus, Alphys, hell, even that monster kid. You had opportunities.
But none of that would have felt like this.
Sans is aware.
He knows what you are. And you know him. You've killed each-other enough times to be sure.
This feels realer than any other monster's body could ever feel. You and him are connected. Now, physically.

That's it.

"I'm gonna cum," you manage to say, voice trembling, to the back of Sans' skull. "I'm gonna cum, Sans-"
You could stop and edge for hours if you wanted to, prolong Sans' suffering, but you want to cum, now, thinking about why it has to be inside Sans and no one else.
So you do.

Lifting yourself up off of Sans' back, you grip his pelvic bones and pull him hard against you. Then, with a closed mouth groan, you allow yourself to finish.
It's sublime.
You shakily hump Sans, riding out the orgasm without breathing. Your eyes roll, flash with spots of white. Your hearing muffles with the sound of your thumping heart. It lasts for so long you think you might pass out.
Then, the intensity slows, ends, you stop moving. Sans painfully tightens around your over stimulated member. He didn't cum.

It's the most amazing and terrible thing you've ever felt.

Your breath returns to you in a harsh gasp. You pant through saliva strings, crumpling over Sans' wide, blue back. You see, through bleary black eyes, little motes of fuzz on his jacket, rising and falling. The two of you lay there, heaving for a time.

It takes you a moment to regain your thoughts. It rushes back like a flood of gore in your brain.
You slowly pull out of Sans and force him onto his back. He moves like a rag doll.
Leaning over him, you look down into his face.

His eyes are tightly shut, mouth still in that eternal grin. The only facial indications showing Sans felt anything at all are the dark stains running from each closed eyelid. The stains run down his cheshire mouth, the sides of his skull, into the hole in his nose bone. Fresh tears squeeze out of him as you observe, cocking your head with animal like curiosity. His chest lifts and falls in a stressed manner between your arms, planted firmly on either side of him. You focus on the sound of his breath.
It's strained, recovering, ragged.
In the afterglow, you reflect on the stout, pun-loving skeleton beneath you.

You remember: you were friends once.
Many times, even. When you first reset, after you'd gotten to the surface with Sans and the others, you did it all again. The nice stuff. And Sans was still there, by your side. He still appreciated how you chummed it up with Papyrus. He still offered to eat with you, paid for fries that you never had the stomach to entertain after seeing him guzzle ketchup straight from the bottle. He told you about how Toriel asked him to protect you, again. How he would've killed you where you stood if she hadn't. All the same. To the surface.
Then you reset another time. And he was still there, with a flatulent handshake. An offer to eat with him. A kind word.
At first you thought he was like the others. But then, his body language, the way he looked at you, what he said... it betrayed something.
It was fascinating to you. You wondered if he knew.
And you kept resetting. You reset again, and again, always bringing him and the others to the sun.

Then, one time, out of sheer boredom, you killed Undyne.
Then all the monsters you encountered.
And then Mettaton.
And suddenly you wanted to hurt more.
You reset so you could hurt from the very beginning.

You killed everyone.

Crushing Papyrus' skull under your heel made Sans stop talking to you.
You felt a bit melancholy to have lost your constant companion, but you still kept going, clearing Snowdin, Waterfall, Hotland, until eventually, no one came. And that was when you realized Sans knew.
He seemed a little reluctant at first when he confronted you. You guessed he wondered why you were doing it.
It took some time, a couple deaths on your end, animosity permanently growing, but you killed him.
You reset immediately.

That's when you started resetting all the time. Killing everyone, only killing a few monsters, not killing anyone and taking them to the surface. Sometimes, only killing Papyrus to see what Sans would do. Always seeing what Sans would do. Fighting him and killing him, over and over. Reset, after reset. Never attempting to leave past that moment where you and Sans would converge in this beautiful hallway.
Why...?
Because it feels good. Because you're full of "determination." Of course.

It feels like what you just did to Sans.
Powerful. Dominant. Sexual. You're in control. You could leave this world behind, but, you've hesitated, because it's YOURS.
He's YOURS.
You have the power over every fate in the Underground, and it's... WONDERFUL.

Each reset is like watching ants with a magnifying glass. Observing, naming them, letting them crawl on your arm harmlessly.
One ant knows how dangerous it is. That ant can't do anything though. It's an ant.
If you choose to, you burn them all alive with the sun's hellish heat.

You are god here.

That's right. You are, aren't you?

Sans lays much more still now, his breath becoming even.
Nostalgic, you can't help yourself as you touch his cheek bone with soft fingers. He violently jerks his face away, scraping the back of his skull on the marble tile. You tut at him.

Then, you're not sure why, but you say: "Sans, look at me."

And, somehow, for some reason, he does. His eyes flit open. One pupil white, the other a flickering teal. They bore into your own empty ones. He doesn't blink. Minutes pass.
Could you do this again? You think to yourself. Would it be as pleasurable?
You... doubted it. Things would never be the same now. Between the two of you. Or maybe it would, if he forgot. Or, if he didn't forget, would he be willing to let you do this again for another week of happiness?

Sans' eyelids lower a bit. You can tell he is exhausted, trying to heal the pain through rest. Suddenly, you feel exhausted, too.
You brush a thumb against his exposed teeth. You move it up to his nose bone, poking your thumbnail in, removing it and brushing down to the right, under his teal eye. Then your hand slowly drops beside his chin, in a sort of sensual caress.

"go to hell," he says to you, in a tone that doesn't sound alive anymore.
Your friend, Sans. Sans the skeleton.

Two more pools of liquid form at the bottom of his eye-sockets. He blinks, quick, unsettlingly so, and the tears burst, leak. They drip onto the tile beneath him. You smile.

"I love..." You start to speak. But you can't finish.

All you can see is unconsolable hate in his gaze. It pleases and hurts you. You're done here.

"A promise is a promise," you say. You close your eyes. You reset.
Sans' shape, beneath you, melts away. You feel your body move, as if someone is positioning you like a toy.

You sit up in the bed of golden flowers.

Flowey's admonishments fall on deaf ears. You've heard it so many times.
You spare every monster. You don't even hit the dummy. You tell Napstablook his hat is lovely. You patiently let Toriel exhaust her information on snails before trying to leave. You spare her, embrace her and walk out into the white, quiet ambience of the forest, holding a plate of cinnamon butterscotch pie.
It is so still. As if time has stopped. In the distance you can see the familiar fallen branch, laying in the snow.

You look down at the pie. It smells delicious. You wonder if Sans will want a bite.