Chapter Text
One of the most fascinating things about your boyfriend was his weight. Being made of literally nothing but bones, as heavy, sturdy, and magic-filled they may have been, caused his mass to struggle as a result. Sure, under certain circumstances he could make himself heavier, like when Frisk ran full tilt at him and leapt into his arms, or to avoid being thrown around the room by one of Undyne’s good-natured punches in the arm, but for the vast majority (read: 98%) of the time, he weighed maybe fifty pounds. That’s about as much as a small child. Certainly much less than Frisk themselves weighed at this point.
For some things, it was useful. For others… not so much.
One of the nice things about having a boyfriend that weighed so little, was that when he fell asleep on the couch, you could pick him up without all that much difficulty and go place him in bed, and tuck him in. Sometimes you’d follow Papyrus’ example with you, picking Sans up and giving him a good natured twirl if you had an exceptional day, and pressing a kiss to his teeth. You made sure not to do that all too much, however, because you knew that it made him slightly tense.
You had to keep him on his toes sometimes, though.
For his size, though, he was remarkably strong, even if a lot of the time he refused to show it, or was entirely too lazy to even bother. Like, he could easily lift you, and he has, and he could have definitely helped you bring that new couch into your apartment after the last one got trashed for some reason, but he didn’t. Papyrus had to help you with that one.
You’re never going to let that go.
But anyway, there are a couple ways that his weight is remarkably inconvenient. Or, you should say, his ability to increase it was incredibly inconvenient. Like right now. Right now was incredibly inconvenient.
Last night Sans had fallen asleep on your couch, again, and being the good person you were, you opted to move your boyfriend into your bed when you were finally tired enough to crash. That was fine enough, despite how bony and uncomfortable he could be at times, you rather enjoyed his company, and the way he would lazily run a hand over your side or scratch at your scalp lightly when he was conscious but not awake in the slightest.
Despite it being Sunday, you had somewhere to be, though, and when you reached up and turned off your alarm, you tried to roll your way out of bed. That didn’t happen. In fact, Sans reached out and wrapped his arms around your waist and coaxed you back to bed for “a few minutes”. You decided you could indulge him, because that’s cute, and he’s cute.
But he’s not cute at all. He’s an asshole.
He’d given you a few smooches, half laying on you, but then promptly… “fell asleep”. You know he’s not asleep. There is no way he’s asleep right now. You know that fact because your boyfriend almost quite literally weighs a fucking ton and you’re trapped underneath him as he fake-slumbers.
“Saaaaaaaans,” you whine, exasperated. “I need to get ready!”
His response is a series of him saying the letter “Z” over and over. You’re torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to smack him. You settle for squirming more, and trying to continue to shove him off of your body. This isn’t fair.
Sans’ body curls more protectively over yours.
After an hour of struggling, you finally give up, trying to go back to sleep. But not before grumbling something about him being a spoiled brat. You can feel the way his face splits into a grin where it’s pressed against your neck.