[Any added pressure from Mettaton is only a good thing as far as Emet-Selch is concerned, appreciating the sensation of being borne down on slightly, the clear effect they were having on one another. So when the kiss ends and the Ascian finds himself only stared at, his first response is to simply blink at him.
A note of skepticism enters his expression at being so closely observed, a look of habit, rather than actual feeling; he didn't know what Mettaton was searching for, but he didn't mind being considered, if for unknown reason. And it was interesting in itself to see the idol with that particular focus; it wasn't an expression he thought he'd seen before, and he watches him back just as shamelessly, waiting. Apart from his breathing being a touch elevated, his manner carrying an edge of anticipated desire, a sharper attentiveness amid permanent exhaustion, Emet-Selch looks relatively normal, thus far.
And he frowns back at that smirk, that line; though he refrains from asking, he still comments.]
So glad you found something to approve of.
[He sighs with no real exasperation into that kiss, even as he finds himself distracted by it, falling into it. His teeth graze across Mettaton's tongue, his lips, a drag of pressure rather than any bite. He could feel that hint of a quiver to the other man's legs, as more of a small vibration against the mattress, and he's drawn to drag a hand across his thigh at the sensation.
And with his shirts being opened, Emet-Selch doesn't try to help quite as much as the first time, letting Mettaton handle the fastenings on his own. He still uses the opportunity to stroke over his hands and arms, small touches to anything he could reach, ending the kiss with a shakier breath, only to press his lips along Mettaton's jaw, trailing to the top of his throat. As he feels skin hit air, he can't help but shiver, just from the change in temperature; his room tended towards the cold.
The reflex from being leaned into was to try and brace himself against the mattress with an arm, to hold himself up amid mounting pressure. But after a moment's deliberation, the Ascian relents, latching back onto Mettaton instead, allowing himself to be pushed back if he chose to.]
no subject
A note of skepticism enters his expression at being so closely observed, a look of habit, rather than actual feeling; he didn't know what Mettaton was searching for, but he didn't mind being considered, if for unknown reason. And it was interesting in itself to see the idol with that particular focus; it wasn't an expression he thought he'd seen before, and he watches him back just as shamelessly, waiting. Apart from his breathing being a touch elevated, his manner carrying an edge of anticipated desire, a sharper attentiveness amid permanent exhaustion, Emet-Selch looks relatively normal, thus far.
And he frowns back at that smirk, that line; though he refrains from asking, he still comments.]
So glad you found something to approve of.
[He sighs with no real exasperation into that kiss, even as he finds himself distracted by it, falling into it. His teeth graze across Mettaton's tongue, his lips, a drag of pressure rather than any bite. He could feel that hint of a quiver to the other man's legs, as more of a small vibration against the mattress, and he's drawn to drag a hand across his thigh at the sensation.
And with his shirts being opened, Emet-Selch doesn't try to help quite as much as the first time, letting Mettaton handle the fastenings on his own. He still uses the opportunity to stroke over his hands and arms, small touches to anything he could reach, ending the kiss with a shakier breath, only to press his lips along Mettaton's jaw, trailing to the top of his throat. As he feels skin hit air, he can't help but shiver, just from the change in temperature; his room tended towards the cold.
The reflex from being leaned into was to try and brace himself against the mattress with an arm, to hold himself up amid mounting pressure. But after a moment's deliberation, the Ascian relents, latching back onto Mettaton instead, allowing himself to be pushed back if he chose to.]