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Role Reversal

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Papyrus didn't bother turning the light on before he blipped back down into the basement.  

No need for it - not tonight at least.  

The few candles he had burning around playroom cast more than enough for what he needed, and Sans wasn't going to need it.


It had been a... trying... week for his brother, to be generous.  

The Queen, the completely bat-shit insane Queen, had been all hot and bothered over something that was substantially out of Papyrus's own realm of dealings, but squarely in that of Sans.  She'd drug him, literally and metaphorically, through the halls of the palace, screaming about something that hadn't been his fault, couldn't have been his fault, didn't even happen in his unit, and how it was his fault and that he had to fix it and a dozen or more other rants and raves.

He hadn't been home in four days, leaving Papyrus to wonder where his younger brother was, to worry that the Queen had finally lost whatever scraps of sanity she had left and had dusted him.

He hadn't slept those four days himself.

When Sans had stumbled through the door on day five, it was clear he hadn't either.  Dark bags lined his sunken sockets, and he looked... well, skeletal, even for a skeleton.  He hadn't eaten, hadn't spoken, but had gone immediately to bed.

The next day had seen him waspish, snapping at every infraction, real or perceived, of anyone who had crossed his path.  Monster Kid?  Walked too slow.  The Dogi?  Noise ordinance violation.  Bratty and Catty?  Had the nerve to snark at him.

Papyrus kept a careful watch on him, silently cleaning up the messes in his brother's wake, making sure nothing disastrous resulted from his brother's mindset.  

The following day was more of the same, and after rescuing Clam Girl from his brother's wrath for the second time in as many hours, his own stoic demeanor cracked.

Sans was between sentry stations in the forest, muttering to himself, generally lost in thought.

Papyrus would never have dreamed of doing this without his brother's previous consent at any other time, but clearly, his brother needed something to calm him, something that he wasn't going to get otherwise.

It was a stripeling's game to get up close enough behind him, snick on the collar they used when they played and scoop him up, and to blip away, back to their house.

Sans, of course, fought him every step of the way.  Heeled boots swung out, connecting painfully with his long bones, flailing fists striking hard against ribs, arms, skull.  Screeched curses echoed off the walls as he came out of the 'port in their kitchen, as he made his way to the basement stairs.  With magic use off limits by their own, pre-eisting rules, there was not much else Sans could do.

The physical abuse, that was ok.  He could take a little pain for his little brother.

Hopefully his plan would work.

Their playroom was well stocked... very well stocked, and each was intimately familiar with all of its... accessories.  The only difference was that it was normally Sans who was in control, planning the scenes.  It was rare that Papyrus took control, but that was generally his decision.  Sans usually needed that bit of control, found it hard to give it up after a long day.  But then there were days like this... when he needed that control ripped from him, when he needed to be broken down.

It took a few moments of carefully wielded, scalpel-sharp bone construct to remove his brother's clothing, the boots tossed haphazardly to the corner.  

Replacing one of Sans's uniforms would be a fair trade.

Papyrus had dropped his struggling brother onto the wood chair and had him bound to it quickly, arms to arms, legs to legs.  The dark red of the woven cotton rope helped set off the color of his brother's eyes, his magic, wonderfully.  He rotated the collar so the hanging D-ring was against his cervical vertebrae, and he clipped it to a matching ring drilled through the high chair back, leaving Sans nearly immobile.

Days like this, his brother wouldn't, couldn't ask for the help he needed.

That was ok.  

Papyrus would do for, to his brother, what he needed, whether he could or would ask for it or not.

His brother had been like a feral cat as he struggled against the ropes as Papyrus had pulled the other accessories he needed to start the night with from rolling cart they kept around for just this use.  A ball gag went firmly between his brother's teeth - best to get those out of the way first just in case.  

He'd been bitten by his brother before, still had the scars to prove it.

Drool almost immediately began trickling down Sans's mandible, dripping down onto his lap, splashing on the bare femurs, pelvis.  Choked off howls tried to force their way through the unforgiving plastic, slowly tapering off to pants and grunts.

Good.  Sans was starting to settle.

A thick, padded blindfold was next, and as much as Sans tried to thrash away from it, the collar kept him from shaking it free.  Papyrus let his phalanges trace his brother's cheekbone, watching the shuddering chest rise and fall, taking stock.

He leaned down, letting his breath hit his brother's clavicle, giving him a final few moments of contact.  "M'lord," he breathed, voice low and husky.  "Let this help you, be good, and you'll get rewarded later."  Noise-cancelling headphones, already playing white noise, went over Sans's skull next, and he stepped back to admire his work.

His brother let out a low whine as slowly, ever so slowly, the tension started to bleed away from his bones.  Drool still coursed down his jaw, what little magic he had unrestricted pooling around his joints and pelvis, but Papyrus had caught the shiver as he pulled away.  

Finding out his brother had a praise kink had come as a surprise to both of them when they'd discovered it, early on in their explorations.

Papyrus saved it for special occasions.

He blipped to the top of the stairs, needing to step away from the temptation, and flicked the light.  Without the vibrations of him going up and down the stairs, his brother would really have no idea if he'd left or not.

He hadn't left his brother alone long, 'porting down every half hour or so to check on him.

The first hour had shown active struggling still, as had the second.

It wasn't until around the third hour, with magic swirling desperately in his pelvis, his chest rising and falling calmly, and just a hint of moisture trickling from the bottom of the blindfold, that Papyrus decided it was time.

Using the flat of his pointer phalanx, he traced a slow line across his brother's clavicle, down to his sternum, and back.  

If his brother wasn't ready, there'd be more snarling, struggling.

But there wasn't. 

There was only a jerk at the sudden contact, a keen from around the gag, a subtle bucking of the hips.  

He repeated the touch on the other side, in reverse, using a sharpened phalanx tip this time, to the same response, the keen breathier this time, the buck of the hips stronger, more desperate.  

Another drop of saliva trickled down, this one landing between his splayed legs.

Papyrus smiled, pressing a kiss to the center of his brother's forehead, letting his fingers trace over his coronal sutures.  He carefully pulled away the headset, keeping his motions quiet as to not undo the work they'd done.  

"You've been so good," he breathed, letting his claws catch on the sutures, scraping just enough.  "Calming down for me like a good boy."

Sans trembled beneath him, the magic in his pelvis snapping into a dripping pussy.  

Perfect.  Even if Sans couldn't, wouldn't tell him what he needed, he was at least to the point where he was willing to accept some form of relief.  

Papyrus crouched, taking a long, silent inhale of the scent that was unmistakably his brother.  Cinnamon, maybe some cardamom, a hint of sage - earthy, warm.  All Sans.

A long swipe of his tongue up his brother's already dripping slit was met with another hip buck, a sharp inhale through a nasal aperture.  He purposely kept contact to a minimum, only the tip of his tongue making contact with his brother, leaving him guessing.  

After all, he deserved some enjoyment out of this as well.  

He licked again, this time nibbling on the delicate ecto before pulling away, licking the taste of his brother off his teeth.

He pulled away after a few minutes of sporadic licking, dirty praises interspersed with long, hard swipes that offered nowhere near enough.

Sans's chest was heaving again, a clear indication that it was time to move on.  

Stars, he really did love doing this to, for his brother, he just wished his brother didn't have to get so overwrought for him to want, need it.


His brother had been more stressed than normal, and there was something he wanted to try.  Something hard and fast, but something that he had the sneaking suspicion would be terribly, terribly effective.

He smiled to himself, careful to not chuckle in anticipation.  

He leaned forward again, huffing breaths of air he didn't need against his brother's hot magic, positioning himself carefully.  

A gave himself a silent countdown, then pressed his teeth directly over his brother's clit, sucking, nibbling, flicking at the same time as his phalanx-tips found their way against his brother's coccynx,into the holes up his sacrum.

He was not disappointed.

Sans came apart almost instantly, the absence of touch for so long leaving him hyperly sensitive, unable to cope with already-delicate structures.  His spine arched away from the chair back, then he slumped, trembling violently against the chair, against his brother, breathy wheezes coming from behind the gag.

Papyrus licked his teeth again, pulling away slowly.  Final praises tumbled from him as he pushed himself up, pulling away the blindfold and gag carefully.  

Blown eyelights flickered once, twice, before focusing on him, then flickered back out.  

That was fine.  

Sans normally was wrung out after a session, and Stars knew he needed it.

The clip to the collar was undone next, and Papyrus laid careful kisses along the newly exposed cervicals.  Ropes followed, and each joint was massaged, rubbed, as the cotton fell away.

blip later and they were in Sans's room, a bottle of water pressed to his brother's teeth.  He obediently sipped, sockets still dark, his chest rumbling with a low, sated purr.  

Papyrus pressed another kiss to his brother's forehead, pulling him close against his own chest.  Already, the tension that had been around his brother's sockets, had pressed down on his thin shoulders, seemed to have been lifted.

The squeeze of his brother's phalanges around his own had him smiling, treasuring the short times of vulnerability his brother allowed himself.  

Maybe he needed to take control a bit more often, if he got to see his brother come undone so beautifully.

There was always next time.