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Papyrus took a step back and eyed all the ingredients in front of him. Spoons and bowls. Ice cold butter. Flour. A choice of spices. Sugar. Eggs.
"holy shit," came an approving sigh from the door.
"Get out," said Papyrus without even looking. He heard retreating footsteps; Sans knew not to get between Papyrus and his cooking lest he wanted to take active part in it.
With that, the preparations for his next grand dish were finished. Papyrus started mixing.
Ingredients got meticulously weighted and added in a strict order. First with a spatula, then his own hands clad in cooking gloves, he coaxed them into becoming dough. Once it formed a tender loaf, Papyrus paused to just look at it for a moment, considering its color and texture. Was it up to his standards? Did the mix need something else?
It definitely didn't need any sneaky skeleton fingers, but they still appeared in the bowl as soon as Papyrus paused to think, because Sans leaving a room never meant anything. A chunk of dough got greedily scooped out, then shoved into a toothy, shameless mouth.
Papyrus glared at Sans. Sans made an obscene hum of appreciation and licked his doughy fingers clean. That tongue had a nice texture to it, as Papyrus's memory unhelpfully reminded him. The texture of the dough still needed work though, judging by how it was running down those nimble fingers. So Papyrus repeated: "Get out."
Sans reached for the bowl again, and Papyrus growled in outrage as he snatched it away.
"Don't you dare contaminate my cooking with your saliva! It's bad enough that you are getting all the germs from eating raw dough like an ill-mannered savage!"
"don't have the required meaty parts for the germs to make me ill," Sans shrugged and wiped his hand on his shorts.
"Want to check if a spatula to your nosehole can make you ill?"
"that experiment would contaminate your cooking even more," Sans pointed out, but got out of sight in case his brother was willing to risk it. Smart.
Papyrus sprinkled the table with flour, rolled out the dough into a thin layer and meticulously divided it into perfectly even rectangles. Cookie cutters used to be rare to come by in the Underground, and he honestly thought them nothing but an insult to his impeccable cooking skills anyway. Papyrus could easily freehand gingerbread monsters with just a knife.
He started from the closest rectangles, cutting off excess dough and rolling it into a ball to re-use later. Soon enough he had two ginger froggits, three ginger moldsmols (very realistic!), a few ginger migosps, and just as he was considering which ginger dog to make first, he noticed a cookie unmistakably shaped like a dick. A few of those, actually. As he watched the furthest line of rectangles, he saw his brother crudely shaping yet another ballsack.
Sans caught Papyrus's eyes and smiled at him. Gingerly, Papyrus thought, and hated it.
Slowly, Papyrus picked the lump of cut-offs, rolled it into a firmer ball and flinged it at his brother. Sans, who was legendary good at dodging, smoothly stepped into its way and caught the dough with his teeth.
"fanks bwo," he said through a mouthful, making Papyrus's eyesocket twitch. At least Sans seemed to find the dough delicious, judging by the loudness of his chewing.
"That was meant to become ginger Undyne," Papyrus said. "She would kill you for such disrespect."
"goof fin' she wasn' in fe shape fow it, fen."
Inhaling deep and slow, Papyrus picked up the spatula and Sans immediately dived under the table, not even waiting for the throw. There was no sound of him shortcutting away, though, so Papyrus crossed his arms, refusing to move while his cooking remained in danger. He'd started making gingerbread monsters and he'll damn well make them, no matter how much Sans was going to try and derail it all.
After a few quiet moments a hand appeared at Papyrus's side of the table. It crawled out of shadow, onto the topside and slowly fingerwalked its way to the closest piece of dough.
Papyrus snatched the offending hand and pulled it upwards, stopping just short of making Sans bonk his skull at the underside of the table. Sans peeked up at him and snickered, so close to Papyrus's pants that he could feel the hotness of his breath though the leather, and it suddenly got really difficult to keep his mind on the cookies. Sans had to realize the closeness, too, but made no attempt to get away.
"need me to lend you a hand?" Sans wiggled fingers of his captured hand. He sounded way too smug for someone in his current predicament, and had a very particular devious look in his eyes. "with anything?"
The pun helped Papyrus find the will to let go and step back, so that Sans tumbled onto all fours with a mean snicker.
"You're already helping plenty, brother," Papyrus said sweetly and went around the table to redo the cookie dicks into ginger Vulkins (and, regretfully, Jerrys). "I'm surprised by your show of enthusiasm. It's as if you expect some kind of reward."
"or a punishment for interfering," Sans suggested conversationally, sitting on the floor more comfortably and leaning back. His suggestive brow waggle stopped abruptly as a thought seemed to hit him. "uh, as long as it's not banning me from the cookie jar."
Papyrus hummed, trying to keep his voice neutral.
He picked up the baking paper with the cookies and deposited it in the fridge for now.
Switched on the oven and slowly turned the heat all the way up to match his feelings.
Adjusted the target temperature to something more appropriate for future cookies, and took his cooking gloves off.
Then he turned around and grabbed Sans by his t-shirt, and Sans was smirking, Sans knew to stand right behind him. So Papyrus kissed him ferociously, sharp teeth against this outrageous smile.
Sans chuckled into the kiss, an unfairly pretty sound, and in retaliation Papyrus plunged his tongue into Sans's mouth, seeking to make him breathless but meeting equal fervor, pushed him backwards. They only parted when Sans stumbled into the kitchen table.
"thought you didn't like my saliva," Sans managed to get out before his t-shirt got unceremoniously tugged off over his head as Papyrus decided to at least spare the clothes. "woah!"
Papyrus growled and lifted his brother onto the tabletop, ignoring the leftover mess from the cooking in favor of making a new one, then curled his fingers around the now bare spine, snaking them between the ribs on Sans's back. Sans purred, arching into it.
"Not in my food. That's a waste," Papyrus answered curtly and put his mouth on Sans's throat just above the collar. His free hand worked on pulling Sans's shorts off, but when Sans reached for the fly of his brother's leather pants, his hands got snatched. Sans huffed as he got pulled down onto the table by the grip on his spine, his hands pinned just above his head.
"and did I hear you call me a savage?"
Papyrus loomed over his brother and savored the sight. Blush creeping from cheeks to sternum. Ribcage rising and falling rapidly, enticingly. Unblemished, startlingly white bones of his pelvis with red fog of aroused magic swirling and already taking shape. Eyelights burning, full of mirth and lust and unbearable smugness of someone who was weaseling his way into this exact situation.
Still pinning Sans's hands just above his skull and holding his spine, Papyrus purred sweetly: "You have asked for a punishment, haven't you now?"
"yeah," Sans panted shamelessly, trying to arch his back and failing. He was basically fixed in place, and as the seconds went by with nothing happening, it visibly dawned on him. He tried to squirm once again, getting nowhere. "no. wait."
Slowly, Papyrus smirked.
"no! i mean don't wait, don't you dare, noooo," Sans wailed in growing despair. He threw his legs around his brother's waist, but Papyrus didn't even budge when Sans tried to pull him in. And he was using his height advantage to keep just far enough that rubbing against him wasn't exactly possible, either. Sans kept trying anyway. "you mean… little… bastard!"
"Keep talking big words," Papyrus said pleasantly, looking at him squirming, and got kicked in the bony ass for it. Worth it. So worth it, actually, that he already felt almost unbearably hot, and keeping his magic from forming was becoming an actual challenge.
Halting his fruitless flailing, Sans squinted his eye sockets as if hoping to outstare his brother. As if it ever worked. Just as Papyrus was about to take it as a sign of giving up, Sans pulled his legs up to his chest with a grunt and pressed a foot to the front of Papyrus's pants. That did make the taller skeleton shudder, but he managed to keep his hold on Sans. His pelvis was growing sensitive from arousal, but not enough for him to lose control.
The pressure on his pubis disappeared, replaced with some weird and mildly ticklish ministrations. With a look of deep concentration, Sans managed to slightly push down the fly with a toe, and as Papyrus realized what exactly his brother was trying to do, he couldn't help it.
Just as Sans got the button opened, two things happened. Papyrus's magic snapped helplessly into shape, pushing the fly open all the way; and Papyrus collapsed, hiding silent laugh in his brother's clavicle. Sans immediately struggled his hands free and plastered them all over Papyrus. "gotcha."
"The most dexterous toes in the Underground," Papyrus wheezed, overcome with fondness. Words almost ended on a moan as Sans scraped his tiny claws between the vertebrae of Papyrus's neck.
"bet I can lockpick with them," panted Sans distractedly. His whole body seemed to be moving now, and he was trying to get all over Papyrus, closer than possible. "now fuck me already."
How crude. Papyrus kissed him to forestall any more talking. His inquiring fingers found Sans's opening fully formed and soaking wet with eager magic, so he didn't waste any more time. The first push inside felt almost too much, and they breathed out in a moment of shared bliss. Papyrus intended give him a moment, but Sans just wouldn't keep still, all delicious pressure and needy whines, and the remains of Papyrus's better senses scattered.
He didn't build up the pace. They found a ferocious rhythm right away, Sans putting as much fervor into moving his hips, meeting each thrust as if his life depended on it, letting go with one hand to grip an edge of the table for support. Papyrus struggled to keep his eyes open to see the pleasure overtaking his brother's face, seeing him , specs of flour swirling in the air along with their constantly evaporating magic, crimson light of their souls tinting all the world around them and making it feel fully theirs, here and now.
Sans's sounds grew louder and more urgent, turning into full-on moans and drowning out the tortured creaking of wood. He was getting close, and Papyrus tried to keep his rhythm, to thrust more purposefully, to keep the upper hand and ignore how badly he wanted to just snap and chase his own release. Sans's eyes snapped open, blinking in the sweat running across his face, and they caught each other’s gazes.
Timing movements between the thrusts, Sans threw a hand around Papyrus's neck. Used it to drag him in, forcing Papyrus to fold awkwardly. And claimed his mouth in a messy kiss. Papyrus's vision blurred from how close they were, and Sans stutteringly hummed into his mouth when Papyrus finally squeezed his sockets tight, losing control, losing track of everything as orgasm crushed him like a wave. He heard Sans moan victoriously as Papyrus spilled inside him, then go startlingly silent and violently shudder underneath him in waves, clutching him so hard it almost hurt, until he exhaled shakily, blissed out.
They laid there a moment or an eternity, simply remembering how to breath. Papyrus dragged his teeth along Sans's coronal suture, greedily soaking in warm proximity and inhaling his brother's smell, which he loved more than any spices. Sans sighed from the bottom of his soul, his fingers finally still in the tangle of Papyrus's soaked shirt.
They'll need to get washed. Somehow, for his valiant attempt to save Sans's clothes from the flour he totally forgot about his own. And the table, ugh, the table will have to be thoroughly cleaned, what was he even… later. He couldn't bring himself to think about that now, with his brother so close and so full of love for him, even if he never put it into proper words.
"there's a pun in the punishment," Sans murmured.
Papyrus hummed distractedly. "What is it?" Then frowned when Sans just snickered, and mentally retraced what had just been said. "Ugggh. I hate it."
"mhhhm," Sans didn't sound like he believed him. Papyrus wasn't sure he believed himself. He took the absent, unbelievably tender petting on his back as a guilty consolation.
Sometimes Sans did take active part in his cooking, and while it had little to do with food, Papyrus found himself more than okay with that. He would gladly fit that extra step into any recipe.