[It remained a strange thing to be observed so obviously, and with something he assumed was appreciation. And while he hardly minded the attention, he also didn't understand it; this body was just a shell, like all of them. Satisfaction for the effect he had on him was one thing, but any attraction to his (now somewhat damaged) host still struck him as unnecessary.
(And he thought it a pity again that he couldn't see Mettaton's soul, had only gotten an impression of it during their Bonding. He'd never seen a soul from someone not of his star before. He'd always found them to have the potential for more beauty than anything else.)
But worse than that was any look of fondness, or affection. An absurd thing to unsettle him now, after everything, as though it hadn't already been repeatedly demonstrated. Perhaps it was just beginning to sink in, that it wasn't going away, that it was probably going to get worse. But you could care about someone without being fond of them, after all. The latter was far more...
Difficult. And the sort of thing he still emotionally recoiled from, yet longed for. A conflict that's likely to ripple through their Bond, even as Emet-Selch is distracted slightly from (those specific) unpleasant ruminations as he watches Mettaton move, hears his reply--
And blinks at the unexpected reaction, regarding him with curiosity, a different sort of interest. In truth, he was unaware of the rules binding pucas to their promises, so this- rather irritable response to what he took to be a rather straightforward exchange has him uncertain. He knew of danger sensing, and an appreciation for betting (which didn't necessarily imply a requirement for followthrough), but....
It might be something he can work out himself later, but for now the Ascian's priorities remained on what was in front of him. And soon to be on top of him. Whatever the reason for Mettaton's particular determination, he was more than willing to accept it. Really- promises or otherwise, what else would have been sufficient?
Emet-Selch finds his words lost once more when Mettaton takes his place over him, the deliberation in the way he settles. A small, full-bodied shudder passes through him at the combination of sensations, from the weight of Mettaton's body alone holding him in place, the way his skin felt pressed to metal, the hint of contact around his cock. He hisses softly, swallowing back a groan, finding it that bit harder to breathe- which was starting to become a familiar thing. His arms wrap warmly, if loosely around the puca, rubbing them slowly across his back, appreciating how much he could feel of him at once, though it was hard to imagine how it could ever be enough.]
Is that... so terrible a wish?
[Oh look, he found some words after all. But only a few.]
no subject
(And he thought it a pity again that he couldn't see Mettaton's soul, had only gotten an impression of it during their Bonding. He'd never seen a soul from someone not of his star before. He'd always found them to have the potential for more beauty than anything else.)
But worse than that was any look of fondness, or affection. An absurd thing to unsettle him now, after everything, as though it hadn't already been repeatedly demonstrated. Perhaps it was just beginning to sink in, that it wasn't going away, that it was probably going to get worse. But you could care about someone without being fond of them, after all. The latter was far more...
Difficult. And the sort of thing he still emotionally recoiled from, yet longed for. A conflict that's likely to ripple through their Bond, even as Emet-Selch is distracted slightly from (those specific) unpleasant ruminations as he watches Mettaton move, hears his reply--
And blinks at the unexpected reaction, regarding him with curiosity, a different sort of interest. In truth, he was unaware of the rules binding pucas to their promises, so this- rather irritable response to what he took to be a rather straightforward exchange has him uncertain. He knew of danger sensing, and an appreciation for betting (which didn't necessarily imply a requirement for followthrough), but....
It might be something he can work out himself later, but for now the Ascian's priorities remained on what was in front of him. And soon to be on top of him. Whatever the reason for Mettaton's particular determination, he was more than willing to accept it. Really- promises or otherwise, what else would have been sufficient?
Emet-Selch finds his words lost once more when Mettaton takes his place over him, the deliberation in the way he settles. A small, full-bodied shudder passes through him at the combination of sensations, from the weight of Mettaton's body alone holding him in place, the way his skin felt pressed to metal, the hint of contact around his cock. He hisses softly, swallowing back a groan, finding it that bit harder to breathe- which was starting to become a familiar thing. His arms wrap warmly, if loosely around the puca, rubbing them slowly across his back, appreciating how much he could feel of him at once, though it was hard to imagine how it could ever be enough.]
Is that... so terrible a wish?
[Oh look, he found some words after all. But only a few.]