h nape

Part 4 of Tiger Ut!Sans with Red (Last Part)

Part 4 - New Life

There was a weight that pressed on his back that brought him out of his slumber. And hearing his name made him groan.

“Get up, Red.”

“It was cute when you were little, but now you’re fucking heavy. Get off!”

Sans grinned; his tail swishing and ears twitching. He loved teasing Red.

“You love me.”

“I know, you brat. Ugh. So heavy. Let up already!”

“Not cute.”

“Shut it.”

Sans decided to relent to the request, chuckling all the while. “Breakfast is ready too.”

Red grumbled and yawned widely; briefly stretching his bones before getting out of bed. “M'kay. Thanks.”

“Pffft. You’re so out of it. Another overnighter?”

Red sighed as the other’s hand grabbed his to pull him along. “Yeah. Fuckers can’t do anything right in the office.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmm.” Red responded with. And he was led to seat down before a delicious meal. “Looks good. Thanks again.”

Sans shrugged though he couldn’t stop the small smile on his face as he headed towards the sink to wash the dishes. “Considering how you practically passed out when you came home, you need your rest.”

Red laughed softly before he began to eat. He couldn’t help looking over to Sans and his smile felt like a permanent fixture on his face. He felt nostalgic all of a sudden.

Has it been 5 years already? Hard to believe but … the cub’s really grown. He’s even a head taller than me. The fucker.

Red remembered the day Sans said his first word, having done a little celebration for the occasion and more so when it was his name to boot. Sans had begun trying to talk in full sentences, and the skeleton had called his brother over to teach the tiger proper grammar and vocabulary.

Red chuckled when he recalled their first meeting. Sans and his little brother weren’t exactly on good terms; more of tolerating each other’s presence. He never knew why, but as long as they weren’t really at each other’s throats, he let it be.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hmm. Just remembering stuff when you were just a cub." 

"I’m a full-grown adult.”

“Yeah,” Red grinned at the tiger. “And you became such a smartass. Where’s my little angel who was always clinging to my leg and would pout and whine when things doesn’t go his way?”

“Oh shut up.”

The skeleton laughed, but it was unfortunately cut short when the phone rang. Red groaned when he checked who it was from. “Ugh, Filch. The fucker really needs to lay off. Wish someone fired him already.” Nonetheless, he answered the call.

Sans became agitated just from hearing that name. He had been doing errands and was close to getting home one night, when he spotted Red coming out of cab … along with another monster that was getting too touchy for his liking.

Red had been drunk too, and that pissed the tiger off more. His Red was being taken advantage of, and he wasn’t having it.

Sans growled lowly from the memory. ‘Looks like my threat was taken lightly. I’ll break his bones and send him to the hospital the next time I see him.“ He walked towards Red to embrace him from behind, nuzzling the nape.

"H-Hey. Stop it. I’m on the phone.”

“Don’t care. Hang up.”

Red sweat dropped. Geez. “Anyway, Filch, go ask Lian about it. She probably has the documents you need.”

“Ah, I see. All right, I’ll go do that.”

Finall—

“Oh, and about this weekend, if you’re free—”

Sans grabbed the phone, “He isn’t. Bye.” And hung up.

Red blinked and blinked again, trying to process what just happened.

“I don’t like that guy.” Sans tightened his hold around the skeleton and buried his head on the other’s shoulder.

Hearing the petulance in the tone, Red had to laugh. He relaxed into the hold as he leaned back and grabbed at the arms around him. “Yeah, well you and me both.”

“Hmph.” Sans kept his hold on the skeleton, and shuffled them to the couch so that Red sat on his lap when they flopped down.

“Hmm? What’s up? You’re marking me again?”

“It’s necessary. ‘Cuz your ‘colleagues are having trouble taking a hint.”

Red simply relaxed to the hold, “They already know I’m taken.”

“Well,” Sans’ tail landed on Red’s lap that allowed the other to pet it. “Just in case then.”

“Heh, just in case huh.”

“Okay, so I’m still working on toning down.”

“Work harder.”

“Hmph.” Was all the tiger said before grabbing the remote on his side to turn on the tv, and the two watched whatever program was on.

It’s been five long years.

Red felt old, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Sans felt much older considering the lifespan of white tigers …

Twelve years. That’s how old Sans was going to be before—

“Shut up.”

Red jolted from his spot. “… I didn’t say anything.” The tightening of the hold around him was enough of an answer that made the skeleton sigh.

He got the message, but still—

Now it was his turn to hear Sans sigh.

“I know. It sucks. I know.”

Red felt a kiss on his head.

“But the time will come when it does. It’s useless worrying about something still far in the future. There is still 1095 days you know. Plenty of time.”

“… Hmph. Fucking nerd.” Though, it did help ease his soul.

His partner was right. Just focus and enjoy the now. Because their time together was short, so they’ll just have to make the most of what they can.

“By the way, your brother called.”

Red had to groan. “Ugh, is he coming over?”

“Yup. Said something about bringing his own pet over.”

“Oh, that’s new … Then again, he was the one who suggested I get one in the first place.”

“Wonder if it’s a tiger like me.”

“Heh, maybe.”


And this ends the tiger Sans mini series. :) 

I told you guys it’d be short ^^”)
Sorry if it was unsatisfying. 

theglitterypotato-deactivated20  asked:

John and the nape of the neck. Kill me real good, please and thank you :)

John Watson isn’t the kind of man who wears his heart on his sleeve for all to see. His tears don’t flow freely. His smiles don’t come easily (though they come a bit easier with Sherlock, ever the exception to any rule). The only emotion he lets escape with any regularity is anger, and even then, it’s often just a mere shadow of the real thing, bits of steam bursting through the cracks while the real rage boils below the surface.

Sherlock Holmes has spent years learning to read John, to see the emotions he buries under wooly jumpers and a mask of propriety. Sherlock sees disappointment in the slope of John’s shoulders, excitement in the light in his eyes, anxiety in the twitch of his hand, violent fury in the set of his jaw and the tightness of his lips. And Sherlock knows that when John is truly in pain, when he’s on the verge of cracking or collapsing or completely shutting down–Sherlock isn’t sure which–when John is close to letting all his hidden emotions overwhelm him, he rubs hard at the nape of his neck, fingers scraping through his short, sandy hair, squeezing as if keeping a grip on his own skin will help him keep a grip on his feelings as well. And maybe it does because Sherlock has never actually seen John let it all go. So close but never quite there. Often Sherlock pushes and prods at all John’s tender spots just to see if he can make him explode. Because even though he knows it’s a bit not good, Sherlock longs to see it, to discover whether it would be beautiful or terrifying or a devastating mix of both. To see the real John hidden beneath layers and layers of caution and repression and civility. To be the only one to know, really know John Watson.


Sherlock strides resolutely away, knowing that if he even slows down he won’t be able to keep his feet from turning around and carrying him back toward John. He climbs the steps without looking back and throws himself into a seat, trying to at least hold himself together until they get in the air and there’s no longer a chance to say damn it all to hell and run back to John like some kind of cliched romantic movie heroine. When the plane begins to taxi away, he risks one last glance at John out the opposite window, watches him watching the plane, his face set in a hard mask that betrays little. Just before he disappears from Sherlock’s view, one hand comes up to grip his neck, rubbing and squeezing hard as he drops his gaze to the ground. 

For all that he’s tried to provoke John into letting go, this time, for the first time ever, Sherlock thinks, please don’t let him crumble.