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Hello, my lovelies, and I hope you're all having a marvelous evening! I'd simply love to welcome you all personally to the first anniversary episode of...
Mettaton sighed to himself as he listened to his own metallic voice fill the room. Honestly, rewatching his own shows wasn’t as fun as he pretended it was - he couldn’t help but pick out all the little mistakes he had made - but it wasn’t as if there were any other options. Human television seemed to have hundreds of genres and channels and shows, but down here there was only Mettaton. Sure, he had three separate channels, but even a gorgeous robot like himself got sick of seeing his own (perfect as it was) face sometimes. At least Papyrus seemed happy.
Bored, Mettaton cast his eyes around the dim living room. His attention flitted around, landing briefly on Sans, asleep curled up knees-to-chest in the big armchair, the ceiling fan swinging lazily above them, the low hum of the fridge from the kitchen, before coming to rest on Papyrus. Mettaton was draped over his boyfriend, his legs stretched out on the couch and his head on Paps’ chest, so he had to tilt his head back awkwardly to see him. Though he seemed to be investing his full attention in the show (was it cooking? games? dance? Mettaton didn’t really care. It was all him, one way or another) one hand still toyed with Mettaton’s hair, stroking it in a soothing, rhythmic pattern.
Noticing the robot’s movement, Papyrus’ hand stopped, and he tore his gaze away from TV Mettaton to give Real Mettaton a concerned look.
“Do you require anything? Are you uncomfortable? Is your battery low? I can get your cord, if -” Papyrus half whispered, moving to get up.
“No, no, I don’t need anything, really,” Mettaton cut him off, snaking an arm around his boyfriend to keep him from leaving. “I was just thinking, it’s getting rather late, isn't it?”
“I suppose it is, but - oh goodness, you don’t need to sleep, do you? I assumed being plugged in and turning off had the same effect as sleep to you,” Papyrus admitted, looking worried.
“Oh it does, you’re right, I just -” Mettaton paused, thinking. “Well, I have a nightly yoga routine - it’s a human thing, Alphys taught me, it helps keep my legs flexible. I can’t be expected to be a dancer if I don’t keep these -" he patted one of his legs - "in top condition.”
“I see.” Papyrus said, even though he didn’t. He’d never heard of this ‘yoga’ before.
“You - you don’t mind if I do it here, do you, Calavera?”
“No, I suppose not, as long as - is it very loud? I’d hate to wake Sans, he needs his rest.”
“Oh, goodness, Paps, no, it isn’t loud. Don’t worry,” Mettaton giggled. He stood up before giving Papyrus a gentle kiss on the cheek. “I just have to get something. I’ll be right back.
A few moments later Mettaton returned, a small glass bottle clasped in his hand.
“Oil,” Mettaton said in an explanatory tone, holding out the bottle.
MTT Brand Machine Oil! said the bottle. And, in smaller print, Only the best for all your lubricating needs! Now with MTT patent Moon Lily Scent! And, in still smaller print, Get your mind out of the gutter, you filthy robot fuckers!
It really was quite an interesting little bottle.
“What’s that for?” Papyrus asked, his head cocked to the side in curiosity.
“Darling, I’m a robot.” Mettaton handed the bottle to Papyrus. “I have a whole lot of things that need oiling if I want to keep moving the way I do. Alphys made this body for me, it’s my duty to keep it in tip top shape.”
“I - see, I think…”
Mettaton turned his back on his boyfriend before kneeling on the floor and lifting the hair off his neck. “All those little holes down my back need oil - just a drop or two. Normally Alphys does it, but - would you be a dear and help me out here?”
“Of course, I am the great Papyrus. I am more than capable of helping you out,” Papyrus tried to keep his voice confident. “A-anywhere - uh - else, you’ll need oiling?”
“Just the joints in my legs and arms, but I can get those myself.” Mettaton felt the first cold drop of oil at the nape of his neck as the scent of MTT patent Moon Lily filled the air. “Don’t worry, lovely, you’re doing great.”
The familiar, cold sensation travelled down what would be Mettaton’s spine, if he had bones. When Papyrus handed the little bottle back, his cheekbones were flushed a deep pink, and his fingers shook a little when they brushed Mettaton's. Papyrus watched as he quickly oiled all his reachable places - shoulders, wrists, elbows, every little finger joint and the ones in his hips and legs - with a look of fascination.
“Alright,” Mettaton declared as put the cap back on the bottle and set it aside. “I’m going to do my routine. You can watch if you like.”
Papyrus nodded.
Mettaton moved to the middle of the room and stood tall, stretching his arms as high as he could and clasping his hands together. His fingertips just grazed the ceiling, but it didn’t matter. He focused on his breaths and bent down, one artificial spinal joint at a time, to press his palms to the floor. Breathing was unnecessary, but Mettaton found it soothing, and a good way of keeping pace with his positions. He swayed gently from side to side, letting his body relax further with each exhale. He slowly let himself to curl down into child’s pose before pushing up into downward dog and carefully bending and straightening each leg. Papyrus shifted on the couch, and Mettaton grinned to himself.
“Paps, darling,” Mettaton said after a moment of holding himself upside down. The skeleton was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching Mettaton intently.
“Yes?” Papyrus answered, a split second too slow. His cheeks were now a bright, cherry red. Mettaton would have found it adorable, were he in a position to look.
“Do you think you could do me a favor and push on my lower back? It helps me stretch,” Mettaton explained.
“I - I suppose so, yes,” Papyrus stuttered, pushing himself off the sofa. He placed his hands cautiously, just above Mettaton’s hips, applying gentle pressure.
“You can push harder than that, sweetness. I’m quite sturdy, I promise.”
“A-alright, Metta.” The pressure increased and Mettaton sighed happily. Alphys was usually too shy to do this, and Undyne, if she was over and the two of them weren’t locked up somewhere together, pushed way too hard and usually knocked him over. It was nice to have someone actually helpful.
“That’s the stuff," Mettaton said breathily. "Thanks, Paps, you can stop now. I’m ready to move on with my routine.”
“Huh? what -” Mettaton’s words had apparently woken Sans, and now he was blinking sleepily at the robot bent over in his living room. “What the fuck, Mettaton?”
Mettaton dropped to his hands and knees, giggling. He lifted his head to look at his date’s brother, a smirk playing on his lips. Sans scowled at him.
“It’s yoga, Sans,” Mettaton said, his voice slick as the oil in his joints. “No funny business, just part of my nightly routine.”
He arranged his legs so the soles of his feet were pressed together and laid back, supporting his head in his hands. Papyrus sat back down, on the floor this time, and crossed his arms over his chest. Sans gave Mettaton a weird look before standing up.
“Yeah, sure, okay. You two are weird," Sans called as he headed up the stairs. "Wake me up and you're dead, whorebot. Night Paps, don't let your boyfriend break anything."
Goodnight, Sans, he won’t,” Papyrus called after his brother.
Mettaton pulled his knees up to his chest and rolled into a sitting position. He crossed his legs and leaned to one side, resting one elbow on the floor with his other arm arched gracefully above his head. Held for three breaths, switched. Three more breaths, and back to center. Mettaton stretched his arms up and clasped his hands above his head. He exhaled in a heavy sigh, curling forward and stretching his hands out in front of him, towards where Papyrus was sitting.
As he was beginning his second breath, Mettaton thought he heard Papyrus move again. He ignored it, chastising himself for being so easily distracted, and kept breathing steadily. But a second later he felt boney hands take his, and he couldn’t help but smile. He lifted his head up to find Papyrus staring down at him with a dreamy expression on his face.
“Oh!” Papyrus exclaimed in a hushed voice when their eyes met. “Did I disturb you? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to hold your hand -”
“That’s alright, Paps,” Mettaton reassured him. “I was almost done anyways. Why don’t we go upstairs and call it a night?”
“I suppose I am getting tired,” Papyrus admitted.
“So am I.” Mettaton tapped the heart-shaped case around his soul, which had lost almost all of its color. Alphys had designed it as a subtle display of battery life - Pink meant charged, and grey meant empty. Now, only the bottom tip of the heart was pink.
“Oh no, you must be so weak!” Papyrus was immediately concerned. “Let me carry you, Metta.”
“It’s really not so bad,” Mettaton reassured him. But he didn't protest when Papyrus scooped him up and carried him up the stairs. The skeleton arranged him on the bed and plugged his cord into the socket on his lower back with utmost care. Mettaton smiled blissfully at him. Pulling his knees up to his chest, he wriggled down into his boyfriend’s perfectly made bed, letting out a little sigh of contentment as Papyrus turned out the lights and came to lie down next to him.
“Goodnight, Metta,” Papyrus whispered, pulling Mettaton close and resting his head on his chest. It didn’t seem comfortable - Alphys had built Mettaton out of mostly hard, geometrical parts - but Papyrus didn’t seem to mind.
“Goodnight, my Calavera,” Mettaton whispered back. He kissed the top of Papyrus’ head, gently, and reached for the secret switch - not the big, obvious, embarrassingly anime one on his back - under his left hip plate. “I’m going to shut down now. You sleep well, alright?”
And that was it. The last thing Mettaton felt before he ceased to exist for the night was Papyrus squeezing him in a tight embrace. His fans slowed to a halt, his mind blurred into nothingness, and he felt a calming sense of serenity. He was home, he was himself, who he truly wanted to be, and most importantly, he was loved.