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“Oh, Saaaaaaaaaans, dah-ling!”
It was probably the fastest and most complete waking from a doze Sans had experienced in years. Not since Papyrus was still a kid and he had woken to a shrill shriek - a short tumble down a set of stairs - had he woken so abruptly, skull prickling, magical pulse crackling along his joints.
Unlike that time in the past, though, when he’d come flailing awake with no idea of what was going on or what threat loomed - and a small flowerpot on the other side of the room exploding as a result - this time he knew exactly what to expect. Foreknowledge did nothing to pacify him.
Sure enough, there was Mettaton, standing in front of his stall. More specifically, leaning on his counter, probably to keep from having to balance on his single wheel in the snow. Thicker gloves than usual were on his hands, a scarf wrapped around his square body, and, for some reason, a pair of fluffy ear muffs stretched over to where ears might have been. He was far from Hotland, but Sans had to wonder how much of that getup actually kept him warm.
He socketed the bot warily, while doing his best to not look like that was exactly what he was doing. He still had a few bruises along his spine and the back of his skull from his rather acrobatic esc-- exit - the last time they’d spoken, and he doubted Mettaton had forgotten about it. Nor was he likely to let Sans forget about it any time soon.
But the counter between them, as well as Metts being in his more angular form was a little reassuring…
“hey, mettaton.”
“Sans, my dear, you’ve been away for the last few days. What do you mean by such a thing? Now I’ve had to come all the way myself in order to make this proposition!”
Any sort of reassurance gained by the dividing counter was immediately trashed. The word ‘proposition’ had all sorts of possible interpretations, and he did not feel up to dealing with the majority of them. “what’d you have in mind?”
“Oh, don’t sound so defensive, dear,” he said, waving a hand. “I’ve not come to tarnish your honor. Not today, at least,” he added with an odd flash of a few of his lights.
Well, at least he wasn’t pretending that whatever had happened in the dressing room hadn’t actually happened. Nor did it seem to be altering his behavior in the slightest.
“Since you appear to have no interest in taking me up on my very generous offer of a complete makeover, I must assume that you prefer this… broke college student aesthetic you currently have. Would that be right?”
Sans shrugged. “it’s comfy.”
Mettaton made a noise approximating a ‘tsk.’ Sans grinned a little wider. Considering how carefully and precisely Metts presented himself, he wasn’t surprised that his own ‘style’ would offend his delicate, mechanical sensibilities.
“Be that as it may, I have given some careful thought to an idea I had after watching you perform. You’re a good entertainer, my dear. Your audiences love you and you have a good, steady stage presence. Given the correct opportunities, you could make an… adequate name for yourself. But stage performances alone won’t cut it. So I have come to offer to feature you on one of my shows!”
Sans stared at him, nonplussed. “me?”
“Yes!”
“on one of your shows?”
“Yes!”
“in my college chic?”
“… will you let me give you a makeover?”
“no.”
“Then yes, darling! Come as you are!”
Sans tilted his skull, looking at the bundled bot sideways. The new angle did nothing to make him less suspicious. “uh-huh… what’s in all of this for you, metts?”
The bot rocked back slightly, endeavoring to look affronted. “My dear, can’t one simply make an offer to assist a friend without it having to be mercenary in nature?”
“one? sure. you? probably not.”
Mettaton paused, probably trying to decide whether he should deny the allegation or just be insulted. He surprised Sans by doing neither. “Oh, very well, then. The truth is I’m hoping to boost my ratings by having a comic on the show. More variety, you understand? And it won’t hurt to have someone such as yourself on screen with me, as it will only serve to make me look so much more fabulous in comparison!” He let out a delighted little laugh, bringing his hand up as though to cover his mouth.
Sans wondered what the consequence would be if he chucked a snowball in Mettaton’s face.
Once his mechanical cackling tapered off, he leaned forward, both gloved palms flat on the counter. “What do you think? Willing to come on with me and take a shot for the stars?”
His first, and frankly second instinct as well, was to say no before Mettaton had even finished making his offer. Minus the self-aggrandizement, it did sound like Metts’ idea was to give Sans a small measure of fame, which he wasn’t sure he was down with. For one, fame seemed like more trouble than it was worth. Plus the whole process of becoming famous seemed like far too much work. If how much Mettaton worked was any indication, even a fraction of that was more than he was willing to add to his schedule. When would he fit in his naps?
But he stopped himself from refusing out of hand. It was an odd offer for Metts to make - he didn’t believe the reasons he gave were all of the reasons for the offer - and he would be a liar if he said that didn’t intrigue him. What was more, it was a rare opportunity he was being given. How often would he be invited on to one of Mettaton’s shows, where all sorts of shenanigans might take place… and where good ol’ MTT would have no one to blame but himself because he invited him?
Too good to pass up. It would be worth a couple of missed naps.
“ok, metty, you’re on.”
“Really, darling?” The bot sounded surprised and pleased. Four lights on his screen face lit up red - two on each side along a horizontal path. “That’s fantastic! Now, just come to the Hotel at five tomorrow morning and we’ll get this show on the road! Oh, and be sure to show this at the door, or Security won’t let you in.”
He was handed a card, like a business card, but with Mettaton’s square face printed on it. An odd pattern of his lights was picked out which correlated to no expression Sans knew, but which he assumed was a kind of visual password.
“sure thing, me--“
“And now I really must be going!” Mettaton spun around, wobbling dangerously as he almost lost his balance on the slick ground, and began rolling off. “See you tomorrow morning, love!”
Sans watched as Mettaton sped off into the distance, maintaining remarkable balance considering his single wheel and the icy ground. Once the square back and trailing scarf were out of sight, he glanced back down at the card. Technically he didn’t need it - he never had any trouble getting into places he wanted to.
Running a phalanx over the printed face, he wondered what he’d let himself in for. Grin widening, he wondered if MTT knew what he’d let himself in for.
Mettaton sped along the pathway to the ferryman, eager to get out of this frozen wasteland and back to civilization, and glad he’d decided to ask Alphys for a studded wheel every time he hit an icy patch.
He could still feel the small blush lighting up his screen. He hadn’t been certain whether Sans would actually accept his offer. After what had occurred in the dressing room it would have been understandable if he’d refused. Given the little skeleton’s track record whenever it came to things which required effort, it would have been understandable if he’d refused. Mettaton was very glad he had not.
It had taken a little time to clue into what Sans’ behavior over the last couple weeks had meant, but now it was rather obvious. The skeleton had developed a bit of a crush on his magnificent self. Not that anyone could blame him for that. Mettaton certainly didn’t. Unfortunately the poor boy also seemed to be incredibly shy about owning up to his crush. It was oddly charming, really, and normally he would have taken the opportunity to tease Sans mercilessly until he rattled.
As much fun as it sounded, though, he held off. Sans seemed genuinely flustered when flirted with directly, to the point of actually fleeing the scene. In most cases this wouldn’t have stopped Mettaton in the least - it never had before - but now he did pause. He wasn’t sure he wanted to pick on the skeleton to the point of incoherency, or of resentment for that matter. He hadn’t given Sans much thought before, but now he did he found himself interested in learning more about the once-sentry. He was amusing, and cute in a kind of… lazy way.
He decided that a frontal attack was not what was needed in this case. Mettaton needed to put Sans at ease, so he would stop avoiding any place where MTT might be, and would be less likely to rush off if one or other of them decided to do something as scandalous as, say, flirt.
So the invitation to appear on his show. It would provide some time to be in company with the added reassurance of having practically the entire Underground chaperoning them and a semi-scripted couple of hours. With any luck Sans would become accustomed to Mettaton, his particular method of communication, and with having it directed at him.
It was a good plan. Mettaton was proud of himself.
And once Sans was comfortable, then he would tease the ever loving marrow out of him.
Somewhere, a miscalculation had been made.
Over the course of the last week Sans had managed to appear, in some way or another, in twenty-five of his thirty weekly programs, only three of which he had actually been invited to attend. He was beginning to wonder if Sans wasn’t a skeleton and was in fact a vampire, and now his programs would always be graced with his ‘college chic.’
The first time he had appeared went just as planned. Sans came on as a guest to a morning talk show as a local standup comedian and proprietor of a handful of stalls around the Underground. He’d done well, answering questions, sharing anecdotes, cracking the occasional joke, and was generally entertaining and a good addition to the show. Ratings fluctuated at first, then steadied out at higher than average for the time slot. When the two of them got to talking about the latest news with moving Aboveground and reminiscing about the young human Frisk - from wildly different perspectives - the ratings had climbed even more.
By the end of that one program, Sans seemed much more comfortable with him. Mettaton congratulated himself and wondered if he might not be able to start teasing Sans sooner than he thought.
Then Sans began turning up randomly on sets he ought not to have had any access to.
It was disruptive, but never to the point of being obnoxious. Just irritating.
On one of his afternoon dramas - starring Mettaton - Sans appeared no fewer than three times as an unscripted extra walking in the background, and in one case winking into the camera. On a game show he’d hidden in the audience and thrown paper planes with answers at the contestants - all of which had been incorrect. On his cooking show he had simply popped into existence behind Mettaton holding a handwritten sign saying ‘check me out, papyrus,’ before popping out again.
After a while he’d decided to start showing off and snuck himself into a band and played his trombone - rather well - with some added silly notes. On one show he’d somehow gotten a video of himself playing the opening theme on a kazoo to play instead of the regular intro. Mettaton still wasn’t certain how he’d pulled that off. Most annoying about it was he’d done the theme well and now people were requesting Sans do more of Mettaton’s themes. Not that he blamed them completely. Sans had done a good job of it…
It had apparently become a kind of game for people who regularly watched MTT TV to try and spot the skeleton, a kind of unintentional Easter egg. It was a surprisingly effective tool to boost ratings.
It was rather impressive, really. Mettaton had a mechanical body, and even if his EX body’s energy consumption was higher than ideal, he still had more stamina than your average monster. Sans was well known as a lazy bones, and yet he was keeping up fine with him. It made him wonder a little just how active Sans could be if he wanted to be.
It was all an unexpected side effect of having invited Sans and irritating at times, but Mettaton never demanded the skeleton stop his pranks, nor did he or have Security drag him off his sets. Because, despite the irritation, the plan was still working.
Each day that passed Sans was getting bolder with his infiltrations, and also bolder with his banter. He was almost back to what probably passed for normal with Sans by the end of the week. As an experiment, he tried for a mild flirtation to see how Sans would react.
“After all your clever ways of getting on to my sets, Sans, dear, I wasn’t really expecting something so simple.”
“have to shake things up sometimes, metts.”
“Indeed. Next time you’ll just be hiding in an adjoining room. Tell me,” he leaned forward, his EX body making it much easier to do so, “will you be the skeleton in my closet?”
Almost instantly a deep blue blush spread over Sans’ white cheekbones. It was adorable to see him blush so easily, and satisfying to know that he was the one who caused it. Unlike the last few times that wonderful blush came to his cheeks, though, his smile widened, and while he rubbed at the back of his skull, embarrassed, he did not immediately seek an escape. In fact he glanced up at Mettaton out of the corners of his sockets, the deep pinpricks of his ‘eyes’ sparkling with mischief. “i dunno, metts. closets can be so boring and stuffy without company.”
The grin that made it to Mettaton’s face would have dishonored his acting coach… if he’d ever had one.
Oh yes, indeed, progress had definitely been made.
Mettaton was careful not to push too hard with his flirting, and soon they were debating about the size of Mettaton’s closets versus Sans’ entire house, and the need of a robot to have closets in the first place.
There wasn’t much on the surface Mettaton would have said they had in common. Just on the surface, from aesthetic to basic attitude, they seemed almost perfect opposites. But they both enjoyed teasing, if in slightly different ways.
Mettaton looked forward to the day they could do so without any restraint.