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Toriel has always been a big believer in planning ahead. From the moment her alarm goes off to when her horns hit her pillow, almost every aspect of her day is scheduled to the finest detail, ensuring her attention is distributed appropriately between school, family and leisure. Going over her lesson plans, calling Asriel to make sure he is studying hard and eating properly, keeping Kris from getting into the chocolate again...the life of a working mother is often exhausting, but never less than deeply rewarding.
The life she had planned for, however, may have been somewhat...derailed by the arrival of Sans in it – fittingly, she supposes, for one who would not know a schedule if it smacked him in the skull. After all that happened with Asgore, trying so hard to remain civil for the children’s sake, she never imagined she would connect with someone like this. Someone who made her laugh harder than she had in years, and who being with felt simultaneously comfortable and familiar, yet new and exciting.
Sans is like no one she has met before, and certainly no one she has gotten this close to. He is small and slight, and, well, a
skeleton
– perhaps as physically different from Toriel as it is possible to be. But these differences only fascinate her more, the feeling of his bony fingers intertwining with her much larger ones, the thrill of holding him in her arms and quite literally sweeping him off his feet, as she is prone to doing and he has yet to object to. Figuring out how they fit together is almost a puzzle, with its own unique satisfaction in solving. An almost-forgotten desire stirs deep within her when she feels the outline of Sans’ ribs under her paws, a gentle pressure in her chest as kisses grow from slow and sensual to something more heated. Toriel nuzzles at his jaw, her lips lingering and teeth gently grazing over his clavicle, and Sans makes a rough noise that sends a tingle of excitement through her, an instant need for
more
. Her hands instinctively find their way to the zip of his hoodie, sliding it from his shoulders as she trails her hand over his ribs, now more prominent through the thin fabric of his shirt, and down to…
...ah. Well, no puzzle is without its complications, Toriel is reminded when her hands rest on Sans’ hipbones, suddenly conscious of how
different
he is, how this is very much uncharted territory. What if she does something wrong? Accidentally hurts him?
Sans catches her eye as she hesitates, and inclines his skull in question.
“You okay?”
“Perfectly fine,” Toriel assures him, perhaps a little too hurriedly. Her gaze drifting over Sans’ frame, she gives his hips an experimental squeeze and feels him jump slightly. “Is this...that is, are you -
can
you -“
“I don’t have a dick, if that’s where this is going,” Sans says, typically deadpan, only the slightest tinge of blue on his cheekbones suggesting any discomfort. “Is that gonna be a problem, ‘cause I can –“
“No! Of course, you are - it is not an issue at all.” Toriel is far from prudish, but hearing it stated so bluntly she feels her own cheeks colour. Regaining her composure - well, what did she expect? - she strokes her thumb tenderly over Sans’ cheekbone before pressing another kiss there. “Just...let me know what you want, if you would be so kind? I confess, I have never…”
“Boned a skeleton, sure, I get it.” Sans winks at her, the inevitable pun making them both snort and easing the tension somewhat. “It’s cool, Tori. Tibia honest, it’s kinda been a while since I -“
“
Befriended
anyone?” she shoots back with a knowingly arched eyebrow, and he lets out a half-chuckle, half-groan.
“Geez, I’m never living that one down, am I? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve made plenty of...friends. Just, uh…” Sans’ grin widens, the twinkle in his sockets dancing between cheeky and sheepish, “maybe none quite like you.”
“I certainly hope that is a compliment.” Toriel smiles as she leans in for another kiss, this time running her hand down Sans’ ribs through the thin material of his shirt. He shivers a little at the touch, which she takes as encouragement, gently lifting his shirt to trace her fingers along the bare bone, keeping her touch light. He squirms as she explores higher, beginning to make peculiar little noises into Toriel’s fur she
thinks
is of pleasure - until she discovers the hollow between his ribs and arms and he jerks, the abrupt movement startling her.
“What is wrong?” Toriel asks, brow furrowing in concern as she draws back. “I am not hurting you, am I?”
“No, no, don’t worry, I’m good…” Sans’ phalanges intertwine with her fingers, reflexively pushing her away from his ribs. His cheekbones are an even brighter blue, but she recognises his expression now - the tell-tale wobbly grin of one trying, poorly, to suppress laughter. “You’re just, uh...sorta tickling me.”
“Oh! Sorry!” Toriel hastily removes her paws, pressing them to her mouth as her own giggles tumble out in equal parts relief and delight; they prove infectious as ever, Sans collapsing against her. Though it may not be exactly the response she expected, she thinks this would be enough even if they did nothing else, just laughing together. “Sorry. I just - you are adorable, did you know that? I did not realise these were so
sans
itive.”
Sans grimaces – adorably – somewhere between amused and embarrassed. “Heh, well, you always did know how to tickle my funny bone. You can, uh…” He scratches at his cheekbone, as though trying to rub away the blush, “be a little rougher, y’know. I promise I won’t break.”
Toriel considers this a moment before inspiration strikes, and she drops a kiss to the top of his skull. “Let me try something?”
“Sure th
iiing oooh my god what’re you -“
Sans’ laid-back monotone melts into a low moan as she finds his ribs again, this time letting a little fire magic tingle through her paws. Just enough not to tickle and not to hurt him, but it evidently hits the right spot, making him shudder and arch into her touch, his fingers digging into her fur as she rubs the column of his spine.
“Holy
shit
Tori that’s – how are you – that’s so
good
, fuck –”
“
Language
, dear,” Toriel teases, an ever-so-slightly sadistic thrill running through her - it is a rare treat to see Sans like this, all flushed, panting and needy. The realisation that
she
is having this effect on him, even though she is far from an expert on skeleton anatomy, lingers, arousal building through her magic, in her soul, and lower and deeper even though she has barely given Sans a chance to touch her yet.
“Wait, wait,” he gasps after a few moments, gripping her shoulders but not pushing her away this time, “just lemme – wanna try something too –“
His left eye glows blue and before Toriel can respond, her dress is lifted over her head - almost. It catches on her horns, leaving her inelegantly stuck with her arms in the air and her vision obscured by purple fabric.
“You have to undo the zipper!” she splutters through the tug of Sans’ magic; he releases it and the curtain falls once again. She shakes her head at him in exasperation as she reaches around to take care of the dress herself, but the giggles inevitably return the moment their eyes meet. “Goodness me. Whatever
am
I going to do with you?”
“Sorry, sorry, my bad.” Sans raises his hands in a placating gesture, mirth still bright in his sockets, but his snickers peter out as his eye lights linger on Toriel’s now-exposed breasts (she wisely decided to spare him the struggle of removing her bra). “Guess I shouldn’t try to be...uh...smooth…”
Toriel rolls her eyes fondly, but can feel her blush creeping back as she clasps her paws over her stomach, acutely aware of all the little lumps, bumps and stretch marks that came after two children and a not inconsiderable amount of snail pies. It has been so long since she has given herself to another, she feels exposed and vulnerable, yet never more appreciated when Sans’ sockets widen, the lights of his eyes travelling over her as though he is drinking her in, memorising every curve and contour of her body. She is soft and pliant where he is hard, delicate and complex; yet when their eyes connect, meeting in another kiss, it feels as though they were made to fit this way.
Sans cups her breast, tentatively at first, and Toriel shivers at the jolt of pleasure when he brushes a thumb over her nipple, the sensation intensified by the magic running through his phalanges, not dulled by flesh or fur. She feels him chuckle softly into her neck, strokes and caresses growing gradually more confident at her low growls. It is nice, but she wants – she
needs
more, her own magic itching under her skin as she senses his building excitement, from the tingle of his magic to the faint glow of his soul through his t-shirt.
“Can I see you?” she murmurs, cupping his jaw in her palm while her other hand plays with the bottom of his shirt, trailing a single claw along his spine. Sans hesitates for a split second, but then nods, helping her lift his shirt over his skull with mercifully no wardrobe malfunctions.
What strikes her first is how much smaller he appears out of his clothes; she could count the ridges of his spine, trace all the complicated joins of his arms, discover all the names and places and reactions she has yet to learn, all illuminated by the cyan glow of his soul. For most monsters – Toriel included – the core of their being is protected by flesh or fur or ectoplasm or whatever else their physical form might take. But Sans’ is right there, pulsing under his ribs almost in time with the beating of her heart. He is baring himself to her, in all senses of the word, with nothing more than a self-deprecating shrug.
“Welp, uh, there it is,” he says, eye lights shifting to the side as he folds his arms, almost hugging himself. “You got me down to the bone...or something.”
“It is beautiful,” Toriel tells him, soft and sincere as she takes his hands in hers once more, gently unfolding them to appreciate the sight. “
You
are beautiful.”
She leans in to press a kiss to Sans’ sternum, silencing any protests he as she moves lower, trailing her lips and tongue over his upper ribs and lingering above his soul. She feels him jolt as her teeth graze over the bone there, but hesitates apparently a moment too long.
“Wait –
ah
– you can –” Sans’ breath hitches when Toriel’s muzzle just barely nudges his soul, his grip on her fur tightening; nowhere near enough to hurt her, she knows he never could, but the uncharacteristic urgency sends a tremor of anticipation through her magic. “Just lemme…”
The glow in his eye returns, except this time it is Sans’ own soul that he phases out of his ribcage, bringing it to hover between them, like a sacred offering. Magic may be commonplace in their world, but to literally hold the life of another in one’s hands, the depth of trust and intimacy in laying the most vulnerable part of him before her...Toriel could not imagine a more wonderful gift.
“So beautiful,” she repeats, barely a whisper as she cups Sans’ soul carefully in her paws and he shudders at the first touch; it is warm in her hands, pulsing and slick with concentrated magic as she strokes the calloused pads of her thumbs over its curves, eliciting a broken gasp. Encouraged, she lifts it to swipe her tongue across the surface, savouring both the unique taste and the way Sans gasps and clutches at the sheets. “How lucky am I to see you now, to hold you, to have you all to myself like this…”
“T
ori –
god, fuck, you’re, I’m –
please
...” As Sans’ moans grow steadily louder and less coherent, phalanges twisting in the sheets and Toriel’s fur, she pauses her attentions, letting his soul slide from her lips with an almost comical
pop
.
“Yes, dear?” she purrs, unable to help the flicker of sadistic satisfaction as she takes him in; flushed blue, breath coming out ragged, eye lights shrunk to pinpricks that burn with a desperation that sends shivers of excitement through her being. “Do you want me to stop?”
“
No
,” he pants, and she cannot help but stifle a giggle as he gestures between them. “Just – doesn’t feel very fair, y’know? Wanna make this good for you too. Maybe we could, uh...trade?”
Toriel’s stomach flutters with anticipation and the slightest trepidation, understanding what he asks of her. She lowers Sans’ soul a moment to concentrate her magic, drawing forth her own core, a brilliant, startling white in the dim surroundings. It has been so long, it feels surreal to see it floating outside of her; yet she is as sure, as she has ever been of anything, that here she is safe. She clasps Sans’ hands, their foreheads resting together, and lets the culmination of their beings press into each other.
The effect is instantaneous, pleasure overwhelming her like an electric current coursing through her whole body – everything she feels for Sans, and he for her, every last hope and fear and doubt and desire, combining in a dizzying double rush, sharp and sweet and much too much as she hears him cry out, somehow distant as though he were miles away instead of as close as it is possible for two monsters to be.
“Tori, I can’t – not gonna last –”
Her body trembling, Toriel reaches out, focusing just long enough to slide one hand between them. She draws Sans’ soul back to her, holding it close to her chest; physically separate once again, but one in every other possible sense.
“You are doing so well, my love,” she tells him, stroking his soul and his spine. “Relax. Let me take care of you…”
She returns her mouth to his soul, licking and sucking lovingly, but finds herself quite unprepared for the sensation when Sans’ bony fingers encircle
her
soul. His touch does extraordinary things, sending pinpricks of pleasure through every inch of her as their magical energies intertwine, all of his affection and desire for her electrifying every stroke and squeeze. It becomes almost a game, a teasing glance passing between them as they each lavish their attention upon the other’s essence, a challenge of who will be the first to come undone.
It is not one Toriel intends on losing; she keeps her gaze locked on Sans’ as she laps at his soul shamelessly, deliberately letting his concentrated magic drip from her lips. She can tell it is working from how he squeezes hers in response – harder, rougher, unexpected but by no means unwelcome. She moans, low in her throat, partially muffled as it vibrates through Sans’ soul and he startles.
“
Tori -“
He chokes out her name in a guttural groan she did not know Sans was capable of as she feels him climax, his soul pulsing and shuddering under her touch as magical ecstasy wracks his body. Toriel keeps stroking him through it, his ribs, his spine, his soul until he’s too sensitive and grabs her wrist with shaking fingers, collapsing against her. After a moment, he blinks up at her, sockets dazed and flickering as he glances back to Toriel’s soul, floating temporarily neglected between them.
“Oh, shit, you didn’t – here, lemme –”
“You do not have to…” Toriel starts to protest, even while she throbs with need, desperate for release – Sans looks almost on the verge of collapse, and she does not want to risk pushing past his limits, but he shakes his skull as he clumsily reaches for her soul again.
“C’mon – I’m a lazybones, but I’m not
that
selfish.”
Fortunately, Sans’ release has already taken her close to the edge; it does not take much more, her paw covering his hand and guiding him into an unsteady rhythm, before she tips over, pleasure flooding her being, convulsing through her soul, making her gasp something that might once have been his name. When it can give no more, her soul shrinks back into the safety of her physical body, out of their grasp, until Sans is all she has left.
“Tori, you…” He turns to look up at her as they recover, a blissful, sleepy satisfaction in his grin, wider and somehow softer than she has ever seen it. His eye lights flicker like they are about to burn out, but she knows now not to be alarmed by it. “You’re a
real
good friend.”
Toriel huffs a breathless laugh, closing her eyes a moment to bask in the warm glow of contentment. She wraps her arm around Sans and scribbles her claws lightly under his ribs; she could swear he
squeals
, but only wriggles further into her embrace instead of away, burying the the sound in her neck as he pushes feebly at her hands. An equally unexpected, but no less delightful discovery – she cannot help but wonder what other noises she might be able to get him to make, in good time.
“Well, I should certainly hope so.”
Perhaps this scenario did not feature in Toriel’s original plan, but she is certainly beginning to appreciate the value of a little flexibility in one’s schedule.