Sooner or Later You're Gonna be Mine

Chapter 23: Business before Pleasure

I FUCKED UP!

That was Sans' very first coherent thought as he shot up into a sitting position, shoving his blanket away as the sweat instantly began to pour down his skull.  He squinted his sockets painfully against the bright mid-morning sunshine that was happily entering his room, his pinpoint red lights glowing widely as a burst of panic hit his SOUL so violently that his chest hurt. 

Frantically he stared at his room's clock.

Ten o'clock.  In the fucking morning.

Fuck . 

Sans felt his ribcage tighten even more. 

"Ya fuckin' idiot," he mumbled hatefully at himself.  He couldn't believe he had done something as stupid as sleep past the evening into the night and hadn't even stirred when early morning came. 

Aw I'm fucked.  My lady's gonna be pissed, he thought to himself, all traces of sleep gone as he hopped out of bed.  He ignored the painful aches and creaks from his bones, no doubt a result from his "errands" the previous day, and raced towards his closet.  His breathing got a little heavier from his panic and stress as the skeleton began to rifle through his clothes. 

On most normal days, with the only exception being the evening when he gave her that stupid Echo Flower, whenever Sans thought there was even the slightest chance of seeing his little lady he always tried to dress impressively; no lady wants her man to look grungy and unkempt after all, but today he was just looking for something presentable to wear.  And right now nothing looked presentable.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck!  How the fuck am I gonna explain being sixteen hours late?!  If I was an hour late, fine, two hours, I'm pushing it, even three hours could be explained, but sixteen hours!?  There ain't no fuckin' passable excuse for that!   Sans' sockets began to dim as his anger and self-hatred began to take over the panic that was pulsing through his bone marrow.   Well to be fair, I ain't late anymore, I fuckin' stood her up... FUCK! 

With sweat pouring down his face, Sans finally decided on a simple pair of black dress pants and began putting them on, gritting his teeth together as he imagined how well his conversation with his little lady would go as he tried to explain himself.

Fuck. I can already see her, standin' by the entrance of her door, refusing ta let me in, those gorgeous eyes of her blazin', her chest heavin' up and down in a sexy manner, while that blush covers them cheekbones, lookin' amazing, just waiting to be fuc-

Sans paused, his pants halfway up his waist, frowning deeply as he noticed the faint red color that was glowing around his pelvis area.  Where the hell was I goin' wit' that thought anyways?   he asked himself before the original panic he woke up with hit him harshly, easily reminding him exactly where he was going with that thought, thus destroying the small sexual arousal he had built seconds earlier. 

He groaned, pulling his pants up completely, and reached into his clothes once more, quickly deciding on a black button-up shirt, taking care not to wrinkle it as his little lady's sharp voice whipped through his mind.  Her maddening, annoying and undeniably desirable voice.

Oh!  So when I finally give you the time of day, you stand me up?  I was waiting for you for six hours before I called it quits and went to bed.  And here I thought you were actually sincere when we "started over".  What a joke. 

Rubbing a hand to his face, Sans knew that whatever he would say wouldn't cut the deal.  Every excuse he came up with in his panic-induced mind seem to have the same result.

Sorry 'bout the other day dollface, but I did tell ya goin' out with me was a gamble.  Might come might not.  Heh heh heh... funny right?

Her door would no doubt get slammed in his face if he said something that dickish.  Hell, he'd be shocked and a little concerned if that line actually flew.  Maybe he should go with something a bit more truthful.  She couldn't be too angry if he admitted he was at fault right?  Sans played out the scene in his mind.