hungry

“long day?”

Frisk let out another huff, her golden colored irises ghosting over the mess that was her displaced briefcase (that had fallen open and scattered paperwork after she’d dropped it on the floor—that was going to be a nightmare to organize later), haphazardly kicked aside shoes (that’d ended up in two different directions), and line of discarded clothing leading from the front door to the couch she was currently half sunk into in nothing but her tank top and briefs.

‘Long day’ was putting it lightly.

“You could say that,” she murmured.

Sans let out a hum, his perpetual skeletal grin not slipping an inch as he made his way from the kitchen and sidestepped the chaos that had once been their immaculately vacuumed living room floor. The moment he reached Frisk’s side, it was like a weight lifted, and the bags beneath her eyes deepened to show her obvious exhaustion.

Only with him was she ever this open when it came to her work.

Frisk never let it show: the sleepless nights, near constant headaches, and anxiety. Being an ambassador since the age of twelve did that to a person one supposed.

The whites of his eyelights did a careless pan of the mess and then focused solely on her. 

With a gentle hand he cupped the opposite side of Frisk’s face from where he stood, one hand still in a hoodie pocket, and eased her sideways into leaning against his side over the arm of the couch. A gentle thumb stroke over the apple of her cheek had her sighing, the soothing touch like cool water in desert heat.

“talus me about it,” he teased, slightly a whisper.

She snorted, and let out another sigh as she nuzzled her cheek against him before pulling back. The fall of his hand as it replaced itself in his hoodie pocket was a sore loss, but Frisk didn’t dwell on it as she rolled her eyes with a groan and leaned against the back of the sofa again, gaze skyward at a bland and white popcorn textured ceiling.

They really needed to move.

“Nothing to tell… more laws and rules. The same.”

“rules,” Sans scoffed as he moved to sit beside her with a plop. “well, rules can be important. boring, but something.”

Frisk’s head lulled sideways with a soft grin at her husband.

“You hate rules.”

Sans looked thoughtful.

“eh, who doesn’t?” He shrugged.

She let out a soft laugh as she shook her head, forever amused by his antics. 

Meanwhile, Sans casually reached for her leg and lifted it, directing her to lie sideways as he rested her bare feet in his lap, and without a word took her left foot in hand and began to massage it.

Frisk shivered, the feeling instantly unwinding the whole of her body in a cooling rush as tingles worked up her ankle from his firm prodding.

“That feels amazing,” she groaned, “you’re amazing…”

He snickered, the rictus grin on his skull hitching up in the corner, “i may be made of bone, but i got skills. been rubbing elbows enough to learn a trick or two.”

She raised a brow in suspicion.

“‘Rubbing elbows’, huh?”

Sans had the decency to look apologetic with a glance askance, hands not faltering an inch as they worked between each toe with deft precision and traced up the arch. The soft and smooth surface of his metacarpals soothing pulses against her frayed nerves.

“yeah, i just said that for the pun.”

“Better have,” she pouted.

They shared a look.

Both of them knew the extent of each other’s dating lives before ending up together, and it was no secret just how lazy Sans acted at times (though he was far from it if anyone knew him well enough to know better), so between the two of them Frisk had the most ‘elbow’ experience what with a previous boyfriend—though she didn’t like thinking about it.

Sans in comparison was a nun.

It was funny to think about.

After a moment of eye contact, they both ended up giggling.

Sans was the first to sober up as he looked back down at his work and switched to her other foot, sockets lidding in content as Frisk rewarded him with another tender sigh.

“in all seriousness though, you do great things frisk. stars knows where we’d be right now without your help. no one thought about pitchforking the monsters with a small tyke calling them friends when we came out years ago. and that’s not even the tip of the mountain.”

Frisk looked at him quietly as tears stung at the corners of her eyes.

How he could say things like that with such reverence, in such an awed tone that was barely more than a whisper, always left her speechless.

And just the tiniest bit vulnerable.

She covered her eyes with her arm.

Sans paused as he glanced over at her.

“...are you trying to pretend you’re not crying again?”

“...shush!”

He chuckled, and released her foot with a pat before reaching over and (with a casual show of strength belittling his shorter and stockier stature) lifting her into his lap.

Frisk wasn’t twelve anymore, and so couldn’t cuddle as easily as she had with him when she used to huddle in his jacket for a nap, even Toriel struggled to ball Frisk up into a cradle in one arm while she worked the kitchen like she once did. So it took a second for her to adjust before finally finding a comfortable position that allowed her to rest her head on Sans’ clavicle without straining her neck.

It would never not be a shock, being a whole foot taller than him now.

Once they were settled, Sans began to comb his phalanges through her hair, breathing into it in a low vibrato that had Frisk curling further into him.

“bee-tee-dubs, undyne called earlier. her and alphys want us to come over tonight. mentioned a new ‘peach girl’ rerun and something about ramen patties.”

Frisk grimaced into his hoodie.

Sans knew her so well, he might as well have seen it.

“told them i was feeling sick. papyrus had this new pasta recipe i tried.”

She lifted her head to look at him with a grin, “Monsters don’t get sick.”

The only times a monster came close to being ill was when they either had an unbalancing with their magic running through their bodies (which was usually curable with a nap or two), or when it was their time to… fall down.

Frisk doubted highly that Undyne and Alphys would’ve thought Sans was dying. Now them believing he had a magic imbalance from questionable pasta?

…oddly was believable.

“huh, guess that’ll be our secret then, can’t have that getting out,” he hummed.

She again laid her head on his clavicle.

“Was there a new pasta?”

Sans, knowing how Frisk hated lying, smirked as he twirled a lock of her hair around one finger.

“dunno, probably. i’ll call and ask.”

A rough day of pointless politics that ran in endless circles, ending in potential food poisoning in order to get out of more awful ramen recipes and old anime that Frisk had disliked even as a child? 

How could she ask for more.

It was hard, every day that Frisk walked into that bland white office was a struggle.

But the moments after…

The warmth of Sans’ arms, the laughter of her friends as they enjoyed a life that had long been denied them for centuries, and the dream of a future between humans and monsters that had never been imagined, made it all worth it.

Frisk closed her eyes as she felt the press of Sans’ teeth at the crown of her head in a chaste kiss, and returned it with a quick one to the underside of his jaw like a thief in the night.