Who wants me to do an art book? Well, I do have DeviantART, but still.
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Sans's POV
"Mmph!-"
The SANSation of Fresh's lips against mine is heavenly. I let myself slip into his cool arms, Fresh simultaneously melting into mine. We locked eyes, and I can see a small flicker of joy and emotion for once in his pale lavander eyelights. I stifle a chuckle. He, unsurprisingly, tastes like cotton candy. My surroundings are foggy, the only person I'm focusing on is Fresh. I take in the detail on every inch of his perfect face, as his gaze perforates into my own. I can hear faint mumblings and what suspiciously like cheering in the background, but I couldn't care less. Just as we were about to take it to the next level, a warm hand rests on my shoulder. I turn around, and see that the flaming hand belongs to Grillby. For the first time since I was a child, he's smiling from ear to ear. Well, if he even has ears. Monster anatomy is a queer thing. 
Grinning like an absolute idiot, I rub the back of my head, unwillingly pulling out of the kiss. "Heh. Sorry Grillbs. Caused quite a scene, didn't we?" Welp. There's nothing to be done. Before the end of the day, everyone in the underground will have heard of this piece of news- events rarely happen here, and if they do, it's usually about how the Royal Guard captured another human or something along the line.
This, however, happened once in a lifetime, especially certain endangered species of monsters. Usually, those very types don't breed often, resulting in their downfall. The situation just got worse after the war against the human race.
Here I am, lost in thought again.
"αℓяιgнт ѕαиѕ. ωσυℓ∂ уσυ αи∂ уσυя ραятиєя ¢αяє fσя α ∂яιик?"

-Time skip-

Three Freshes are chugging down some sort of pink cocktail with blank expressions. Man, does he look comfortable right now. I get up unsteadily and stumble towards his side of the remote booth we asked for. The table is filled with empty ketchup bottles and various neglected bevrages. Looks like Fresh can hold his ground in a drinking competition.
"Hey, *hic* Fresh, would you *hic*mind if I just-" I slur, then fall down on his lap. "Hey, you're *hic* commforrtableeee."
I giggle. Nothing could be better than getting cradled like a potato by three Freshes at the same time. Or is that four? I can't tell. No matter what, three or four are definitely better than one. I signal Grillby over. "Heyyy G, *hic* whyyyyy arre thheerre three *hic* Freshhes?" I ask while downing another bottle of red stuff.
Grillby flashes a confused look at me. He's so cute sometimes when he's like that. Grillby signs for some weird reason. There's nothing wrong. Did I do something I was not supposed to do? Ah well. Grillbs is a mystery. "ѕαиѕ, ωє иєє∂ тσ gєт уσυ нσмє. иσω."
"Awwwwww *hic* don't be likkke that, G *hic*, I'm fine, seeee?" I stand up, only to plop right back into Freshes' laps.
"Ookaaay, *hic* mayyybe a teensy bit wooozyy *hic* ... Hey, why is the floooorr spinninggg?"
Fresh continues to gulp down some sort of sugary, alcoholic energy drink, while handing me my beloved ketchup. "Thhhhanks, Freshes. I reallyy need this suppporrtttt." I can't seem to keep my words straight, but eh. Who cares???
Fresh, now visible as one blurry figure, picks me up. His glasses now read YHE_ROB. Or is it YEH_BOR?
He spins me around a few times, then sets me on the ground and dips me.
"Oho, so *hic* we're doiing this noww," I say flirtatiously while giving him a sly wink. He smirks in return.
"Ma radical brotato chip, git ready for ma totes turbular dancing skills," he whispers in my ear socket thingy. Why are his words not all streched like mine? In any case, many of his bones/'muscles' are twitching and his footing is unstable.
Without knowing it, we danced the night away.