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“…and that was ‘West End Blues’ by Louis Armstrong. It’s currently 7:58 P.M., the weather is cloudy, and the forecast calls for rain later tonight. Coming up in a few minutes…”
Papyrus’s attention fell away from the radio as the host began to talk about politics. He’d been listening to some jazz numbers as he prepared tonight’s dinner for himself and his boyfriend.
Mettaton had been working late recently, as he had a large part in a new movie that would be coming out in a few months. While Papyrus supported Mettaton’s endeavors wholeheartedly, he was still saddened by the shortened time they spent together. Rarely did they get to do anything more than eat supper and cuddle for a few minutes before Mettaton had to go into sleep mode for the night.
Papyrus wasn’t expecting Mettaton home for another hour at least. But barely two minutes after the radio host announced the time, he heard a key turning in the front door.
“Mettaton! Is that you already?” he called, his heart lifting at the thought.
“Yes, love, it’s me.” Mettaton sashayed into the kitchen, threw his coat over a chair at the table, and came over to Papyrus, standing on his tiptoes to kiss his cheekbone. “Shooting finally ended today, and we finished up earlier than planned. I shan’t have any more late nights for a while after this.”
“Wonderful!” Papyrus slipped an arm around Mettaton’s waist and nuzzled his face into the top of the robot’s head. “I’m glad you’ll have a hot, fresh meal tonight. I imagine you were getting sick of leftovers.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Your cooking abilities have progressed marvelously, Papy. I haven’t minded the leftovers at all, really.” Mettaton rested his cheek against Papyrus’s shoulder. “What is on the menu tonight?”
“I got this chili recipe off the internet! I bought all the ingredients today, so it’s all fresh. It was quite simple to make, too. It just needs to simmer a little while longer before we can serve it,” Papyrus said proudly.
“It smells wonderful,” Mettaton noted, taking in the scent of spices and peppers.
Just then, the radio host ended the political talk. “…thanks for listening. Now, here’s ‘Waltz for Debby’ by Bill Evans.”
“Oh, I love that song! Papy, why didn’t you tell me you liked jazz?” cried Mettaton excitedly.
“Oh, I don’t love it especially, I just like having the radio on while you’re gone.”
“This is great music—come on and let’s dance a bit!” Mettaton grabbed Papyrus’s hands.
“Wowie, okay!” Papyrus glanced anxiously over his shoulder at the chili, but decided it would be alright without him for a few minutes.
Mettaton took the lead, guiding Papyrus in an easy waltz, then turning the dance into more of a swing when the beat kicked in. After a couple of minutes, he let Papyrus twirl and then dipped him, their faces merely inches apart.
“Wowie. This is really something…” Papyrus said breathlessly, awed, as he always was, by Mettaton’s beautiful visage.
As the song ended, Mettaton laid his lips upon Papyrus’s smile. “I’ve wanted to do something like this for so long,” he sighed, then let Papyrus stand straight.
“Yes… well…” Papyrus’s breathing was slightly labored, and he couldn’t easily find the words he was looking for. “Maybe… after we eat… we can…?”
“Do it again?” Mettaton’s eye sparkled.
Papyrus nodded, speechless.
“Let’s eat now, then! I want to get back to it. And I’m starving anyway.”
Papyrus finally found his voice. “Of course! I think it’s just about done. I’ll check it if you set the table.”
Mettaton laid out plates and utensils as Papyrus took the chili off the stove. “You know, Papy, I’m thinking maybe I’ll write a waltz for you one of these days.”
“Really? I’d like that a lot!” Papyrus beamed.
The rest of the evening passed without a flaw. Papyrus’s chili turned out to be quite good, and Mettaton had three helpings.
As soon as dinner was over and everything was put away, they put on a jazz CD, and together, they danced the night away.