[Wonderland's had its ups and downs--mostly downs--but honestly, thank god. Thank god they had a chance to find each other. Thank god it's come to this.]
[Mettaton agrees. He says he wants to. There's so much care and trust in his voice that Sans shivers, feeling like he's about to be pulled under. Like he could drown in it and it would be the sweetest way to go. Someone wants him. Someone wants every part of him, even the ugliest, most secret little parts.]
[Their souls practically yearn toward each other. He reaches up, very slowly, very carefully, cupping his hands beneath Mettaton's soul the way Mettaton does. Part of him is still scared to touch it, like he might leave a stain or a smudge. Magic surrounds them both, and he can feel the pull, the same as last time. The tentative reach, the hum of magic synchronizing.]
[He almost starts to argue when Mettaton calls it beautiful, but there'd be no point. His self-loathing can shove it right now. This is too important.]
metta...
[His voice is soft. Mettaton is leaning forward and at first Sans doesn't realize what he's intending.]
[He has the absurd and totally coherent thought that Mettaton is an excellent kisser.]
[Then the whole world goes white.]
[He knew it would be intense. But this is a thousand times beyond that. It's like a star exploding in his soul as it pulses brighter, almost as bright as Mettaton's. Emotion and sensation hits him like a tidal wave, and there's no chance whatsoever to try and keep his feet under him. The physicality of Mettaton's lips against his very being, of magic pressing gently into him, the rush of love and care and desire--it's overwhelming.]
[He's never felt anything like this. He gasps, the sound edging almost toward something else, and his back arches up off the bed. His eyelights brighten. It all pours into him, and for just a moment, he feels completely whole.]
[It's almost too much. He practically blisses out right then and there, but the intensity starts to fade, starts to become a bit more manageable. He blinks slowly, gasping for breath, lightheaded. He feels like he's floating. He's not even entirely sure where he is.]
hhh...holy...shit...
[As it evens out a bit more, he gets some sense back. He remembers where he is, what they're doing. Mettaton is perched above him, kissing his soul, and Sans--Sans still has Mettaton's soul cupped in his hands. He hasn't touched it yet.]
[His next coherent thought is that he needs Mettaton to feel what he just felt.]
[So just as slowly, just as carefully, he brings Mettaton's soul forward. He hesitates as he's about to press his teeth to it. No. He can do better.]
[He leans up and presses his forehead to Mettaton's soul. There's another surge, the feeling of raw, powerful magic against him, and his breath hitches. He doesn't think he can form words right now, so he pours every ounce of love into the touch that he possibly can.]
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Date: 2018-11-30 07:21 am (UTC)[Mettaton agrees. He says he wants to. There's so much care and trust in his voice that Sans shivers, feeling like he's about to be pulled under. Like he could drown in it and it would be the sweetest way to go. Someone wants him. Someone wants every part of him, even the ugliest, most secret little parts.]
[Their souls practically yearn toward each other. He reaches up, very slowly, very carefully, cupping his hands beneath Mettaton's soul the way Mettaton does. Part of him is still scared to touch it, like he might leave a stain or a smudge. Magic surrounds them both, and he can feel the pull, the same as last time. The tentative reach, the hum of magic synchronizing.]
[He almost starts to argue when Mettaton calls it beautiful, but there'd be no point. His self-loathing can shove it right now. This is too important.]
metta...
[His voice is soft. Mettaton is leaning forward and at first Sans doesn't realize what he's intending.]
[He has the absurd and totally coherent thought that Mettaton is an excellent kisser.]
[Then the whole world goes white.]
[He knew it would be intense. But this is a thousand times beyond that. It's like a star exploding in his soul as it pulses brighter, almost as bright as Mettaton's. Emotion and sensation hits him like a tidal wave, and there's no chance whatsoever to try and keep his feet under him. The physicality of Mettaton's lips against his very being, of magic pressing gently into him, the rush of love and care and desire--it's overwhelming.]
[He's never felt anything like this. He gasps, the sound edging almost toward something else, and his back arches up off the bed. His eyelights brighten. It all pours into him, and for just a moment, he feels completely whole.]
[It's almost too much. He practically blisses out right then and there, but the intensity starts to fade, starts to become a bit more manageable. He blinks slowly, gasping for breath, lightheaded. He feels like he's floating. He's not even entirely sure where he is.]
hhh...holy...shit...
[As it evens out a bit more, he gets some sense back. He remembers where he is, what they're doing. Mettaton is perched above him, kissing his soul, and Sans--Sans still has Mettaton's soul cupped in his hands. He hasn't touched it yet.]
[His next coherent thought is that he needs Mettaton to feel what he just felt.]
[So just as slowly, just as carefully, he brings Mettaton's soul forward. He hesitates as he's about to press his teeth to it. No. He can do better.]
[He leans up and presses his forehead to Mettaton's soul. There's another surge, the feeling of raw, powerful magic against him, and his breath hitches. He doesn't think he can form words right now, so he pours every ounce of love into the touch that he possibly can.]
[He wants Mettaton to feel as good as he does.]