Chapter Text
Sans, Papyrus, and Reader decide to make sundaes. They get very messy.
It was once again movie night at the brothers’ house, and as it was spring break for you, you could care less where you were or how late you were up. You had an entire week to ruin your life before frantically trying to get things back to normal, after all. Might as well go a little nuts in the process, grab a condo on the shoreline. You’ve heard Crazy has beautiful weather this time of year. It didn’t really matter if Sans was working during the week – Papyrus wasn’t, and you’d greatly enjoy just chilling with him.
First things first, though. You had to celebrate your week off. Hence the fact that it was movie night.
The regular snacks have been gotten, and the three of you have been munching away out of a bowl that was essentially Russian Roulette with chip flavors. There was portions of several different flavors thrown in there, including parts of imported bags from Canada. You’d thought that that would be a nice treat for Sans, and had waited several weeks for the bags in the mail. There was no disappointment at all, just a whole lot of Ketchup flavored chips, and a few bags of All Dressed, because what the fuck does that even mean?
Canadians are weird.
Once your movie is over, you take the bowl off of your lap and put it on the table, getting up. Sans, who had been leaning heavily on you, nearly falls into Papyrus, but catches himself with a surprising quickness that belies his usual demeanor. He makes some sort of grunt that you can’t interpret, and you stretch, your spine cracking. At that, you can feel the winces from behind you and you mutter some sort of apology before turning to look over your shoulder at them.
“Next order of business,” you say, cheerfully, to their uncomfortable expressions, “is ice cream!”
That seems to snap them out of it, and Papyrus practically jumps off the couch with a whoop of joy and an energy you could never hope to match, even on your best days. “ICE CREAM!”
Sans lets out a chuckle, and extracts himself from his slumped position on the couch so that he can stand and stretch as well. You lead your favorite skeletons (they were the only skeletons you knew, but even so they would still be your favorite) to the kitchen and pull out the carton of vanilla from the freezer. This is quickly followed by several different toppings from the cupboard, ranging from chocolate sauce, to berry compotes, and even Oreos and sprinkles. You hadn’t known what they’d like, so you’d gotten a variety of things.
You resist the urge to crack your fingers before getting started in dishing out the ice cream.
Everything goes well until it’s time for you all to dress up your bland bowls with all manner of whatever the hell you feel like.
“THE CARAMEL SEEMS TO HAVE EXPLODED,” Papyrus informs you once he’d squeezed too hard on the container and the gooey substance sort of got all over the counter and his hands. Oh for fuck’s sake. You turn to him to see the damage, and Sans takes his brother’s wrist, and presses the taller monster’s hand against your cheek. You jerk back, only to manage to get your hand in your ice cream.
You look between your ice cream coated hand to Sans, and grin, and when you attempt to smother it all over his face, he dodges and you get it on Papyrus’ shirt instead.
“YOU –“ Papyrus chokes, looking over at Sans.
“You,” you reiterate, also giving him a similar expression.
“*me,” your boyfriend responds cheerfully, giving you both a huge grin. You give Papyrus a glance, raising your eyebrow, and the look that Papyrus gives you has Sans hesitating. “*hey, now, there’s no need to be so… cold.”
Pandemonium breaks loose in the kitchen. First is Papyrus’ screech of indignation, and he leaps at Sans, caramel bottle in hand. You guffaw, grabbing your ice cream bowl and trying to cut off that pun-toting butt wipe as he manages a quick dodge to the left, narrowly missing a glob of caramel. It falls onto the floor, and you’re glad that there’s no carpet in the apartment. Just in case this gets even more out of hand.
Sans nearly knocks the jar of maraschino cherries off the counter, and you breathe out a sigh of relief and a laugh when he catches it before it crashes to the floor. That quickly stops when he opens the jar and reaches in to grab a cherry and lob it at your head. It gets stuck in your hair and he laughs at you, pausing just long enough for you to grab a bit of ice cream and throw it at him. It sticks to the front of his t-shirt.
Papyrus, meanwhile, has decided that this is going to be a free-for-all while you’re not defending against him, and while he stands next to you, you only hear the cap go ‘click’ before you feel the caramel drizzle onto your head. He has the gall to laugh at you, and Sans chucks a couple cherries at him. Reaching into your hair, you grab the cherry and glob of caramel before lunging at Papyrus and smearing it all over the side of his skull while he laughs.
“Taste my victory,” you manage through your giggles, your hand smearing over the side of his face while he tries to turn it away from you, your fingers smearing the sweet goop over the side of his mouth. Sans laughs even harder, and you lunge at him, knocking him to the floor. He manages to catch the two of you before he gets his skull smashed into the counter, and you upturn your bowl, watching his horrified face for a second before it’s covered in vanilla ice cream.
Reaching his hand into it, you think he’s wiping it away, but then he’s shoving his hand into your face, and you jerk back, mouth open in surprise.
You taste vanilla and cherries, and stick out your tongue to lick his hand before it retreats, his eyes wide.
You realize it’s not that he’s looking at when you feel chocolate squeezed out of the container hit your lower back. And then it gets all over Sans, and you find yourself laughing uproariously, almost drowning out Papyrus’ cackle.
You slump down onto Sans, shivering at the cold ice cream soaking through your shirt from his, and lick his cheek. “Welp, I’ve been defeated by the Great Papyrus once again. We should probably pick our fights better, huh, Sans?”
“*yeah, i know what you mean. my bro is the greatest at sundae fights.”
“YOU REALLY THINK –“ Ahem. “OF COURSE I AM. THANK YOU FOR THINKING SO! MAYBE IF YOU KEEP TRAINING, YOU’LL BE ABLE TO HOLD YOUR OWN AGAINST ME SOME DAY!”
“*nah. there’s snow way i could do that.”
“…I’LL LET THAT ONE SLIDE.”
You get up, smearing your gross hands on your pants and sighing. You’ll never get this stuff out. “Well, that was one… sticky situation.”
“HUMAN, NO. YOU’RE BETTER THAN THIS.”
“*i’m so proud.”
“…I think we all need a bath.”
…You’re entirely unsure how it happened, but the three of you were squeezed into the shower together. Something about Papyrus’ insistence on the matter, and it was interesting being squeezed between two monsters in a confined space. It worked out well, though – you guys could get each other’s backs, and Pap was humming a tune while you were in there. It was actually super fucking adorable.
And when you all were done, and the kitchen was cleaned, your clothes in the wash, and you all were dressed in cozy pajamas (you were dressed in some of Sans’ stuff, because you’d have to roll Papyrus’ pants up almost halfway to avoid stepping on them), the three of you settled back down and started watching the next movie.
“*you know, we never did actually eat any ice cream.”
Papyrus jumps up, and you let him get to it. Three is way too many to be in that kitchen, anyway. Especially when ice cream is involved.