Gyftmas is but a week away, and the streets of New Home have erupted in a flurry of activity. The commercial district is crammed with last-minute shoppers, all jockeying for remaining stock. Other monsters scavenge their gifts from the dump, from the mountains of human garbage that pollute their rivers. Gaster prefers items made by monsters. They're typically more expensive than whatever is scrounged up from the trash, but more care and craft is put into them; unlike humans, monsters take pride in their work.

Gaster makes his way through the crowd, brushing errant flakes of snow from his face. The Underground does not have natural weather patterns. The area around the Core is perpetually hot, thanks to the exposed magma. Waterfall is a muggy swamp, and Snowdin, perpetually frigid. Home had been chosen first and foremost for its neutral temperature. And, once they had moved, New Home was selected for the very same reason.

Still, monsters haven't forgotten the shifts of the seasons. To put monsters in a merry mood around Gyftmas, King Asgore had the royal scientists create a snow machine years ago, to shower New Home in flurries. It had been a simple design, all things considered, especially given Gaster's predilection for ice elemental magic.

Gaster cranes his neck upwards, squinting into the distance. Far above them, several of the snow machines are rigged up to the roof of their prison, sending fat, fluffy flakes of snow down to the populace.

After much wading through crowds, Gaster finally reaches his destination: Toyland. The largest shop in the Underground for children's toys.

Gaster steps inside, frowning at the sizeable crowd of parents and relatives crammed into the aisles, all fighting to snatch the latest gadgets off the shelves. Normally, Gaster would perform his Gfytmas shopping weeks ahead of schedule, to avoid this very thing. But Mira's investigation, along with the dogged paparazzi, left him little time to himself. Just as he expected, though, the boiling pace of the investigation has settled down to a simmer. The captain can't move forward without any solid leads. The press, desperate to drag out the story, dug deep into Anton's past, unearthing a sordid history of gambling, many years ago. Rumors about Gaster and the science team gradually ebbed, the media shifting focus to a fresh angle; some old acquaintances had come to collect what they were owed.

Ivana vehemently and publically denied the defamation of her dear brother's name. Anton had changed for the better, had reinvented himself years ago. He had used his wages to pay off any outstanding debts he owed from back then. Someone else is responsible, Ivana insisted.

Her voice, however, is just one wave in an ocean of opinions, and with every week that passes, Anton slips more and more from an innocent victim to someone who got his comeuppance. And Gaster has hardly had to lift a finger to steer attention off of him.

Gaster walks down the aisles of the toy story, musing over Papyrus' gift. He has already gotten presents for those he was obligated to give to. He'd purchased a bouquet for Ivana's family, along with a handwritten card expressing his condolences. To the royal guard headquarters, he sent along a few bottles of chardonnay, to thank them for all their efforts in investigating his employee's murder. For Saul and Em, he picked up the traditional sheet of rich, delectable chocolates as he did every year.

Sans, he had given some thought to, and ultimately settled on a telescope. Back when Papyrus had begun his language lessons with Gaster, he had enthused over his numerous trips out to Waterfall with his brother, to gaze upon the glittering rocks. The telescope would be a perfect gift, if a bit ironic; instead of keeping a close eye on his younger brother, he delivered Papyrus up into Gaster's arms.

Gaster hesitates in the section of board games and puzzles. The young skeleton has demonstrated several times over his proficiency in such mental exercises. He scours the aisle, but ultimately leaves unsatisfied; the puzzles available are all too simple. Gaster wants to give Papyrus something he can use for a considerable amount of time. Something to remind the boy of him.

Gaster walks further into the store, passing simple gifts like toy trucks and action figures, stopping as he reaches a section of stuffed animals. The plush figures have been set up in a wonderful array. He immediately hones in on the stuffed rabbits; Papyrus mentioned on occasion his love for a bedtime story about them. Gaster picks out the one with the softest fur, the floppiest ears, the highest price tag. Papyrus deserves it.

He's almost to the register, when his attention is caught by something large and red. Gaster moves towards it, to get a closer look. It's a frame for a child's bed, thick plastic modeled to look like a sports car.

It's perfect, just what he is looking for; Papyrus won't be able to sleep without thinking of him. Gaster tugs the price tag off, and brings both it and the stuffed rabbit to the registers.

He's helped by a portly mouse monster. Cooper reads the nametag pinned to his cheery Gyftmas sweater. Mice are fond of names subtly related to cheese, their favored food. He scans the tag first.

"Oh! The racecar bed. I'm sure your boy will love it; many tykes have had their eye on it."

Cooper hands Gaster a blank card and a pen.

"Just write down your contact information, and we'll arrange for the bed to be delivered to your home."

Gaster does so. After Cooper tucks away the card, he picks up the stuffed animal.

"You want it boxed here, yes?"

Gaster nods.

Cooper swaddles the rabbit plush in green and red tissue paper, before putting it inside a red box.

"Now, what ribbon will you be having?"

The cashier gestures to a set of several ribbons behind him, all Gyftmas-themed.

Inspiration strikes.

"I'll take the one on the far end of the bottom row."

Cooper grabs a strand of green ribbon, spotted here and there with snowmen.

"Very good choice, sir."

"I must ask; are these the only styles you have?"

Cooper finishes tying off the bow on the present with a flourish.

"What exactly are you looking for?"

"I have some additional presents at home. They're already wrapped, but without bows." Gaster says. "Do you perhaps have a larger selection to choose from elsewhere?"

Cooper nods enthusiastically. "I'll take you out to storage, we've got all sorts!"

Tucking the wrapped present securely under his arm, Cooper leads him through the crowd, into an expansive back storage room.

"Some folks order from us all the way out in Snowdin, so we wrap the presents for them here before we ship them over." Cooper explains, as he leads Gaster to the wrapping station. There are boxes, wrapping paper, and spools of ribbon set out.

Gaster scans the colorful ribbon display, and his gaze falls upon the perfect choice. A pale lilac, silk-smooth and not too thick across.

Cooper cuts off a length of the ribbon, and bags it up for him. He's rung up swiftly, and Gaster leaves the shop, excitement making his soul thump hard in his chest.

School has been let out for the holiday.

Papyrus fabricates a believable lie to his brother—he's heading out to play in the fresh snow with some of his friends—and arrives on Gaster's doorstep before too long. There's no longer fear in Papyrus' eye lights, nor resigned acceptance. Instead, there's a detached calm to him as he's led into Gaster's bedroom.

His controlled veneer won't last long. Gaster delved into some of his older books in their time apart, which covered skeleton physiology. Skeletons are fairly unique monsters, in regards to their lack of visible sexual organs. This most likely came about due to their long lifespans; sex is less of an urgent need for them, compared to humans and other groups of monsters. This explains why they're more difficult to stimulate, as well. Skeletons frequently use their souls alone for the sake of sharing pleasure, reserving genitalia for solely reproductive purposes. However, with proper methods of stimulation, a skeleton monster can be aroused enough that genitals manifest instinctively.

Gaster hurriedly strips Papyrus of his many layers, tossing the clothing off the side of the bed.

"Lie down on your chest."

Papyrus obediently settles on the bed, but turns his head to watch as Gaster rummages through the bedside table, pulling out the length of ribbon. Gaster lets it unspool, then winds it back around his fingers.

Papyrus' face scrunches in confusion, unsure of Gaster's intentions. Well, he plans to enlighten him soon enough.

Gaster climbs onto the bed, situating his legs on either side of Papyrus' own. His hand brushes over Papyrus' pert little tailbone, to rest on his sacrum.

Papyrus strains his neck, trying to watch him.

"Eyes forward."

Papyrus reluctantly turns to stare ahead at the headboard of the bed.

Gaster's fingers trail along his sacrum, tracing and caressing every dip and curve of the bone. The simple touch has already had an impact on the boy. He's squirming at the feather-light touches, the dull glow of his soul lighting up his ribcage.

Gaster pinches the lilac ribbon between his fingers, and threads it through the first hole of Papyrus' sacrum.

He feels Papyrus flinch under his hands, his body uncomfortable with the sensation of something intrusive worming through the crevices of his body.

Gaster does not slow his ministrations, threading the ribbon through the small holes of Papyrus's sacrum until he reaches the top.

"Turn over."

Papyrus flips over gingerly, trying not to rest his pelvis on the bed. His face is aflame with both shame and arousal. Gaster leans in, and ties off the end of the ribbon into a bow.

Papyrus chokes off a broken moan as Gaster gives the bow a firm tug, tightening the knot. An orange glow emanates from his pelvis. Gaster strokes at it, encouraging his magic to coalesce.

"Come on, Papyrus, don't hold back. I want to see you."

Gaster tugs the ribbon roughly, and Papyrus shudders at the forceful jolt to his sensitive sacrum.

The magic at the tip of his pelvis swirls, thickens. Gaster draws his hand back, and Papyrus forms his cock for the first time.

"Wonderful, Papyrus." Gaster praises him.

It's small, but it's to be expected at his age. Gaster encloses his fist around it, and starts to slowly stroke, up and down. Gaster's teasing of his sacrum has already gotten him rather worked up, and Papyrus soon hardens in Gaster's hand, precome beading at the tip.

Papyrus rocks up, pressing into his hand. He's unused to this form of stimulation, but he clearly enjoys it.

Gaster swipes his thumb over the head. It doesn't take much to bring Papyrus to the edge, overstimulated as he is.

Gaster reaches a hand under him, and grips the crisscrossed ribbons and yanks hard.

With a wordless cry, Papyrus comes, hot ejaculate filling Gaster's cupped hand.

Gaster brings his slickened fingers up to his mouth, sucking at the taste that is so distinctly Papyrus.

"You liked that, didn't you?"

"…Yes." Papyrus admits. There's little point in denying it, the truth still dripping from Gaster's fingers.

Gaster pulls him closer.

"Let's see what else you'll enjoy."

Sans is at the door waiting for him as he reaches their apartment. His grin is wide; it seems the impending holiday has allowed him to set aside his stress and grief for the moment.

"Glad you could make it, doc. Come on in."

Sans steps back, letting his boss inside. Gaster kicks the snow off his boots onto the welcome mat. He had had the racecar bed sent here after placing the order. Two days later, Sans called him up, claiming he'd never seen Papyrus so excited. As thanks for his generous gift, Sans invited him over to share in their Gyftmas Eve dinner.

Gaster observes the apartment space with a critical eye. The skeleton brothers aren't living in cramped squalor, but the apartment is snug, a cozy size. The bed must have just fit in Papyrus' room.

He hands off two wrapped presents to Sans.

"More stuff? Doc, you really didn't have to."

"It was no trouble." Gaster waves Sans' sentiment away.

Paper decorations, undoubtedly Papyrus' doing, are taped up along the walls, showing various winter scenes, such as Papyrus with a Gyftrot, and he and Sans smiling beside a pair of snowmen. Snowflakes have been cut out of construction paper and placed on the windows. Gaster notes that Papyrus was clever enough to use a different pattern for each cutout; no two snowflakes are alike, after all.

A Gyftmas tree is nestled in the corner of the living room, wrapped in multicolored lights which cast a pleasant glow around the room.

Only one present is set below the tree so far. It's shoddily wrapped, "To Sans" scrawled on the paper in a chicken scratch penmanship; Papyrus' gift to his brother, probably hand-made in one of his school classes.

Sans settles Gaster's presents underneath the tree as well.

"Tell me, how has Papyrus been?" As far as Sans is aware, Gaster has not seen Papyrus since they were all called in to the royal guard headquarters.

Sans glances over towards the hallway, but there's no sign of Papyrus emerging from his room yet.

"He'd been feelin' a bit down, the past couple days before the bed came," Sans says, lowly so as not to be overheard. "He came back from playing with his friends all sore and half-frozen."

Half-frozen? Gaster's brows furrow. He'd assumed Papyrus had gone straight home after their session. What had he been thinking, dawdling out in the cold for?

"So I kind of, uh, banned him from going outside for a bit."

Now that won't do.

"You shouldn't punish him so severely. I'm sure he simply lost track of time."

"What, are you tellin' me how to parent, now?" There's a bite to his voice, underneath his joking tone.

"Of course not. You've done a wonderful job of raising Papyrus."

There's the sound of a door opening from deeper inside the apartment.

"Sans, is someone here?"

Sans moves past Gaster to meet his brother at the end of the hallway.

"Sure is, kiddo. Look who it is."

Sans steps out of the way, letting them get a view of each other. Papyrus is dressed for Gyftmas, in bright red jeans and a thick, festive sweater. There's the pattern of a wreath sewn into the front, complete with two jingling red bells serving as sprigs of holly.

Gaster smiles at him. "Hello, Papyrus. It's wonderful to see you again."

Sans frowns at Papyrus' stricken expression.

"Pap?"

"Sans, why is he here?" Papyrus asks, weakly.

"I thought—didn't you like going over his place?" Confusion is thick in Sans' voice with his brother's odd reaction. "And he got you that nice bed and everything."

"I'm sure he's just being shy." Gaster cuts in. He flashes a sharp look at Papyrus over his brother's shoulders.

"I'm just…surprised." Papyrus manages. "Dr. Gaster is very busy."

"Not busy enough to miss out on paying a visit to my number one student."

Gaster holds out his arms in welcome invitation. Papyrus hesitates, only for a moment, and then rushes over to give the doctor a hug. Gaster's hand comes down, patting Papyrus on the back. He can feel Papyrus' bones rattling beneath his sweater.

The boy startles as an alarm beeps.

"Whoops. That'll be the rolls." Sans hurries into the kitchen to grab them out of the oven before they can burn.

Once Sans is far enough away, Gaster grips Papyrus' collarbone firmly.

"Behave," He warns.

Papyrus shudders at his low tone, but this time, not out of fear.

They move into the kitchen area, just as Sans removes the pan of rolls from the oven, levitating it out with his magic up to a cooling rack. The pleasant smell wafts throughout the room.

Gaster and Papyrus take seats at the table, the latter sitting atop a cushion to boost his height.

Gaster hunts around for a cloth napkin, but finds none. He resigns himself to laying a paper towel over his lap instead.

Sans lays out a complete spread for the dinner: roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, glazed carrots, cranberry sauce, and of course the rolls, which managed to escape the oven only lightly singed. The multitude of dishes just barely leaves enough space on the table for their individual plates.

A cup of milk is given to Papyrus, while Sans brings out a bottle of wine for the two of them.

Gaster picks up the bottle. A store brand, but expensive. Gaster appreciates Sans' efforts to create a proper holiday meal, even if the overall result is lacking.

Sans and Gaster serve themselves, but Sans spoons Papyrus' meal onto his plate himself.

From the corner of his eye, Gaster watches Papyrus pick at his meal. But when Sans glances his way, he always has a forkful of food halfway up to his mouth.

"Tell me, Papyrus. How has school been? You've been keeping up with your studies, I hope."

The boy's grades have actually been slipping as of late, but Gaster has signed off on every paper with Sans' forged signature.

"Great!" Papyrus lies through his teeth. "After the break, we're starting a new monster language. Feline!"

"That reminds me of a joke." Sans says. "Would you like to hear it?"

"No." Is Papyrus' immediate response.

Sans continues on anyway. "Great, here it goes. Why didn't the teacher trust the cat monster?"

"Sans."

"Because he was a cheetah."

"Sans!" Papyrus moans, but his mouth pulls up into a genuine smile for the first time tonight.

The dinner continues on in much the same way. Gaster asks questions about Papyrus' going-ons at school, which allows the boy to chatter on at length. Sans interjects occasionally, always armed with puns and bad humor. It's hardly the most stimulating conversation, but Sans very clearly does not want to talk about work with Papyrus in the room, which greatly limits Gaster's discussion topics.

When they've cleared their plates, Sans stacks their dirty dishes atop one another.

"I'll wash up," Sans carries the precarious stack of dishes over to the sink. "Pap, why don't you show the doctor how cool the bed looks?"

"Sure!" Papyrus agrees, with feigned enthusiasm.

Papyrus leads Gaster through the hall. They pass by a bathroom and a smaller room, heading for the master bedroom.

"Here's my room," Papyrus mumbles, without aplomb.

Gaster steps inside, taking a moment to soak it all in. The racecar bed has automatically become the centerpiece of the room, the bright red really popping out against the white walls.

Gaster inspects the bookshelf, a curious medley of puzzle books and children's bedtime stories. A multitude of action figures are stuffed into an overflowing toy chest. There's a small desk where Papyrus must do his homework. Above it is a window, which leads to the apartment's fire escape. A thick padding of snow is building on the frame of the sill.

Papyrus fidgets in place as Gaster walks around his room. How many nights has Papyrus lain awake in here, crying furious tears over Gaster's touch? And now the monster is here, invading his place of refuge. Gaster can only imagine how Papyrus feels at this moment.

Gaster inspects the desk. Three pencils are lined up in a perfectly straight row, right beside a sketchbook. Curious, Gaster flips through it. He's not sure quite what he expects to find, but there's not a hint of grief or rage in these pages. There are a few sketches of Sans—sleeping in every single one—as well as a few landscapes. Well done, especially considering his age. Papyrus might be able to make something of his artistic talent, one day.

"These are impressive." Gaster commends him.

"…Thank you, Dr. Gaster."

"Sit down with me." Gaster takes a seat on the bed. Papyrus sits as well, but too far away from Gaster for his preference.

Gaster slings an arm around his shoulder, pulling Papyrus close enough that their knees press against each other. The bells on Papyrus' sweater jingle at the movement. Gaster's hand starts to stroke and massage Papyrus' neck.

"But Sans is…"

"Distracted with the dishes." But excitement coils in his gut; there's something undeniably thrilling about indulging in this when Sans is a mere twenty feet away.

Gaster tilts Papyrus' chin up, and engages him in a hungry kiss. Papyrus reciprocates, forming his own tongue. After getting him to form his ecto-genitals, manifesting his tongue was simple.

Gaster's hand trails down, stroking the front of the boy's pants. Already growing wet, needy; if Gaster keeps this up much longer, the fabric will be soaked through.

So reluctantly, Gaster disentangles from Papyrus, readjusting the boy's clothes. Papyrus is dazed, a heavy blush on his face.

After giving him a moment to recover, he steers Papyrus back into the living room, where Sans waits idly.

"What took you so long? Get lost?"

"Papyrus just wanted to show me his action figures." Gaster explains. "It was quite the collection."

"Aw Pap, you don't need to be embarrassed about it," Sans says, noticing his brother's blush.

"Brother, can I…get ready for bed?" His shoe traces an erratic pattern in the carpet.

Sans blinks, bemused. "Well, sure. But it's pretty early yet."

"The faster I go to sleep, the faster Santa will arrive!"

"Fair enough," Sans chuckles. "Say goodbye to the doc, first."

Papyrus gives Gaster a quick, blink-and-you'd-miss-it hug.

"Goodbye, doctor. Thank you for the bed."

"Of course."

"Goodnight, brother!"

Papyrus doesn't wait for Sans' reply, darting off into the bathroom, to presumably perform his nightly rituals before heading off to sleep.

"Guess it's just you an' me, now." Says Sans. "Want another drink?"

"If you're having one."

Sans retreats to the kitchen to fetch their glasses. Gaster hears running water stop, and then the sounds of doors opening and closing; Papyrus has successfully retreated to his room.

Sans returns, two glasses and the wine bottle in hand. He sets the bottle down on the coffee table, pouring them both a drink. He hands Gaster his filled wine glass before sitting down heavily on the couch beside him. Some of his wine sloshes over the brim, flecks getting onto his sweater. It'll set and stain for sure, but it's not like Sans cares.

"Thanks again for the bed, doc. He loves cars; you really made Papyrus' Gyftmas with that present."

"As I've said, it's no problem at all. Your brother was a delight to teach, and effort deserves to be rewarded." Sans' glass is already half empty; Gaster tops him off. "And you, Sans. I'd like to thank you for keeping a level head in dealing with the guard investigation. It's rather regrettable that your first year with us has been so unusually stressful."

"This has definitely been a shitty way to end the year." Sans gulps down a few mouthfuls of wine, then rotates the glass in his hand, watching the red liquid slosh around. "I hope they catch the bastard who did it soon."

"As do we all."

"Anton never told you anything?" Sans presses. "You never read anything in his file about the, uh, gambling?"

"Anton was hired on years ago. If there had been anything to suggest an illicit past, it wasn't big enough to linger in my mind."

"I hope that's all it is." Sans mutters. "Old gambling debts. I thought maybe someone was picking off scientists or something."

"Don't let your imagination run away from you."

"Is that shitty of me, to be feeling relieved right now?"

Sans' glass is empty. Gaster plucks it from his hand, refilling it, and presses it back into his hand.

"You're concerned about the safety of you and your brother. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Yer right, as always." Sans slurs. His face is flushed with alcohol. How many drinks has he had tonight? Several over the course of dinner, several more now. His petite frame is no match for the quantity of alcohol that he's consuming.

"Oh shit," Sans stands, swaying. He grabs onto the couch to steady himself. "Gotta get the presents, put 'em out."

"I'll help you." Gaster grabs Sans by the crook of his arm, helping keep him upright. "Where have you stored them?"

"My room. Closet."

Sans wobbles into his bedroom, with Gaster's assistance. It's the utter opposite of Papyrus' room. He can barely see the floor, covered as it is with crumpled papers, food wrappers, and stray articles of clothing.

Gaster makes sure Sans has a firm grip on the frame of his bed before he lets go; Sans sways but remains upright.

Gaster opens the closet. The small thing is stuffed to the brim with presents, all hand wrapped neatly, lovingly. Papyrus would never guess Sans bought them for him simply because of how carefully they've been wrapped.

Gaster forms his caging magic around the presents, and lifts the whole load of presents up off the ground.

"I could'a got em," Sans protests.

"Just let me take care of it, Sans."

Keeping a secure grip on his employee, he brings him back out into the living room, the presents trailing behind.

Sans insists on being the one to lay the presents beneath the tree, so Gaster watches with mild amusement as he drunkenly arranges them.

"There!"

Sans plants his hands on his hips, surveying his handiwork. Some of the presents are haphazardly arranged, stacked precariously on top of each other, just short of falling. Sans nods approvingly.

"I should quit my job, become a, a box stacker." Sans grins up at him. "Hear that, doc? Box stacker."

"That's very nice, Sans."

His work concluded, Sans collapses back onto the couch.

"'m a bad host. 'is not my fault." Sans struggles valiantly to keep his eyes open, but the alcohol is running thick in his magic now, making him rather drowsy. "No one taught me this shit, yaknow?"

"I'll see myself out," Gaster promises, right before Sans' eye sockets slip closed.

Gaster waits, watching keenly. In the space of ten minutes, Sans' breathing evens out, as he falls deeper into sleep. When he starts to snore, Gaster gets up quietly, his shoes whispering across the carpeted floor. He walks as silently as possible to Papyrus' door, opening it just wide enough to slip inside before he shuts it again, sliding the lock in place.

The room is illuminated by the faint glow of a nightlight. Papyrus is curled on the bed overtop of the covers, in a loose t-shirt and old gym shorts.

Gaster moves over to the bed, pressing his hand to Papyrus' mouth. Papyrus' eye sockets fly open, and his instinctual scream of surprise is muffled in Gaster's hand.

"Keep quiet," Gaster warns, before his hand drops away.

"Not here," Papyrus whimpers.

"Sans won't hear a thing as long as you keep your mouth shut." Gaster works Papyrus' nightshirt up. The boy's soul is already glowing with anticipation. "Remember what's at stake here, Papyrus."

Gaster tugs off his shorts. Papyrus parts his legs willingly.

"Give me your soul."

With trembling hands, Papyrus draws his soul out into the open. He cradles it in his hands, before raising it up to offer it out to him. Gaster takes the soul, feels the flashes of fear and need clash and feed into each other.

Gaster brings forth his own soul, the violet construct dwarfing Papyrus' in size.

Carefully, Gaster brings the souls together. The film of fluids coating their souls mingles together, overflowing and drizzling down onto the bed, spattering Papyrus' bared spine. Gaster concentrates, exerting his soul's energy over Papyrus', leading the boy to form what he desires. Papyrus has no standard or comprehension of this, so it is up to Gaster to instruct him.

Papyrus' hips jolt, and he barely stifles his cry as a mound of magic forms at his pelvis.

"What…I don't…"

Gaster inspects the newly-formed pussy, prodding at the folds. His fingers come away slick.

"It's perfect." Gaster's hands fumble on his belt buckle, clumsy in his excitement.

Gaster exposes his erection to the air. He drags Papyrus up into a sitting position, placing the boy's hands on his length. Papyrus obeys the unspoken demand, hands squeezing and stroking.

As Papyrus works up his shaft, Gaster raises the boy's soul to his mouth, tongue lapping at its warm surface.

Papyrus lets slip a few quiet, breathy moans, his bones flushing with arousal.

Once Papyrus has gotten him stiff and hard, Gaster pushes him down onto the bed again. His pussy is wet and dripping, begging for attention. Gaster returns the boy's soul to his chest, and presses the tip of his shaft to Papyrus' folds.

He pushes inside. Papyrus yelps—he wasn't prepared, both figuratively and literally.

With a growl, Gaster claps a hand back over Papyrus' mouth to muffle any further noise.

Gaster's erection barely fits inside him, squeezing into Papyrus' pelvic inlet. Gaster plunges inside, seating himself fully.

Papyrus gasps beneath his hand. Gaster has pushed Papyrus' magic to its limit, stretching it to the top of his pelvis, almost brushing the bottom of his spine.

Gaster savors the moment. This is the first time he has entered Papyrus, filled him in such a manner. God, it's more amazing than he'd ever dreamed. Papyrus' walls grip him tightly, and the bones of his pelvis have stretched to accommodate him.

Gaster starts to move. He tries to go slow, ease Papyrus into it, but the feel of his warm, tight entrance, the smacking sound of flesh to bone—it frays his control rather quickly.

He thrusts deep inside Papyrus at an increasing rhythm. Drool from Papyrus' mouth pools against the palm he still has pressed to his mouth. Gaster watches Papyrus' expression, as the rolling waves of pleasure start to override the initial stabs of pain. Papyrus' hands come up to grip Gaster's shoulder blades, blunt nails digging in. He bucks against Gaster, no longer passive in the consummation, but an eager participant.

Gaster clutches Papyrus close as he climaxes. Papyrus ruts against him frantically, and his soul explodes inside his chest, magic coating the insides of his ribs.

Gaster pulls out of him. With two fingers, he spreads Papyrus' pussy open, letting his seed trickle out.

Papyrus grasps at Gaster's sweater, pulling his face up to meet his own. He presses his tongue to Gaster's mouth, needy whimpers escaping his mouth. Gaster parts his mouth, allowing him entrance, and they kiss.

"Doctor Gaster," Papyrus gasps out, hands curling tightly in Gaster's sweater. "Doctor, I…I…"

"Tell me what you need, my dear Papyrus."

"I…I need you." Papyrus presses skeletal kisses to Gaster's face, punctuating each repetition of the mantra. "I need you, I need you, I need you."

Gaster kisses away the tears that spill from Papyrus' eye sockets, gazing fondly down at him. This is how Papyrus should always be, pliant and perfect, his obedient toy. His ivory doll.