Archive of Our Own ^beta

Late one afternoon, while Papyrus was out doing his human-watching duty as a skeleton sentry, which was very important of course, Sans was at home on one of his many breaks. The hotdogs had been sold, the telescopes had been smeared in ketchup, and now he had free time. Today, he decided to jack off.

He pulled out his laptop and found some skeleton destruction porn. "Ah, my favorite," he whispered to the glowing blue ecto-dick that was forming in his crotch. The ecto-dick pressed against the seam of his pants at the sight of a skeleton oozing marrow. "Ow," he whispered. "Heh. Looks like you need out, little buddy." He unzipped his pants and jerked off to the clandestine images. At one point, ghost jizz came out of his dick. He reached for a sock at his desk. There was no sock. There was no sock on the bed either, next to the curled-up cabbage of a greasy sheet that communicated, "just leave me here to die" more than Sans ever could. Worst of all, the self-sustaining sock tornado was absent. "Goddammit, Papyrus!" His well-meaning brother had taken the sock storm to the laundromat.

But, what was that? Red thing? Under the corner of his 'everything' file? Papyrus' scarf! Papyrus had lent Sans his scarf the previous night when Sans went to run errands for the both of them. "It's really cold out there tonight, are you sure you'll be alright? You could always go tomorrow," Papyrus had reminded him. Sans of course had insisted he would be fine, but to his surprise, Papyrus lent him his special red scarf. Sans, for some reason, blushed.

Unfortunately for the scarf, it was the only fabric thing in sight other than Sans' clothes...and it looked so soft and inviting. Sans held it up to his nose and inhaled. The smell of Papyrus filled the air and comforted him.

"I guess I'm going to the laundromat too..." Sans mumbled to himself in an attempt to feel okay with what he was about to do. He closed his eyes and wiped his gooey crotch with the comforting scarf. To his surprise, his dick sprouted up again at the touch of the scarf. Images of Papyrus flitted across his mind, and he felt nicely tingly.

"Well...shit."