[Mettaton closes his eye upon the feeling of Emet-Selch's release, still not used to the feeling of an orgasm, both physically and mentally by Bond. (And it wouldn't surprise him to know that Emet-Selch is his own experience, in this regard...) But he sighs at the feeling of it, his come thick against his inner thighs, taking in the sensations of everything in this moment. First, physical: Emet-Selch's body beneath his own, the erratic rise and fall of his chest, his hair under his fingertips, the warmth of his neck against his lips.
Emotionally was much more yet. It was draining, but he'd do it over again and again. Now's where it gets harder to discern where Mettaton ends and Emet-Selch begins, though it feels like an obvious rule that the despair and all of its derivatives should belong to the Ascian... But somehow, even that he doubts. It's hard to tell them apart, but he feels strongly his compassion for the other man even through his melancholy. He squeezes him again, noticing the way he leans against his head hard, gasping still.
Mettaton gives his head a reassuring stroke, and he smiles against his skin after a kiss.]
I'm not leaving you, but...
[The robot lifts, barely, shifting some of his weight off of Emet-Selch, for his own good. He gets the feeling that he won't like the loss, feeling that he has a preference for his weight atop him — a pleasing thought to the idol. He takes the opportunity to tuck Emet-Selch under his chin, against his neck to pull him into intimate space, still covering him and wishing to continue holding him close. He can feel the sheer level of his Bondmate's disorientation, and he wants to keep him near as he unwinds.
His leg is once again very helpful in drawing up the covers, and he pulls them around the two of them securely. After doing so, he winds his arms tight around his shoulders and his back, drawing him closer.
He sighs. It's content, and he squeezes Emet-Selch with his arms, possessive and affectionate. He nuzzles into the top of his head with his cheek, reflecting over those last moments where Emet-Selch got so scandalized over the fact that Mettaton harbored such deep affection for him. He smiles, presses into the Ascian with more of his weight again, and nuzzles the top of his head.]
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Emotionally was much more yet. It was draining, but he'd do it over again and again. Now's where it gets harder to discern where Mettaton ends and Emet-Selch begins, though it feels like an obvious rule that the despair and all of its derivatives should belong to the Ascian... But somehow, even that he doubts. It's hard to tell them apart, but he feels strongly his compassion for the other man even through his melancholy. He squeezes him again, noticing the way he leans against his head hard, gasping still.
Mettaton gives his head a reassuring stroke, and he smiles against his skin after a kiss.]
I'm not leaving you, but...
[The robot lifts, barely, shifting some of his weight off of Emet-Selch, for his own good. He gets the feeling that he won't like the loss, feeling that he has a preference for his weight atop him — a pleasing thought to the idol. He takes the opportunity to tuck Emet-Selch under his chin, against his neck to pull him into intimate space, still covering him and wishing to continue holding him close. He can feel the sheer level of his Bondmate's disorientation, and he wants to keep him near as he unwinds.
His leg is once again very helpful in drawing up the covers, and he pulls them around the two of them securely. After doing so, he winds his arms tight around his shoulders and his back, drawing him closer.
He sighs. It's content, and he squeezes Emet-Selch with his arms, possessive and affectionate. He nuzzles into the top of his head with his cheek, reflecting over those last moments where Emet-Selch got so scandalized over the fact that Mettaton harbored such deep affection for him. He smiles, presses into the Ascian with more of his weight again, and nuzzles the top of his head.]