[Mettaton gives him silence not for his sake, but to run over things on his own. Still in a space of being keyed up, not having had the chance to come all the way down from his pleasure, it strikes the Puca that he hadn't gotten the chance to look upon Emet-Selch's expression while he was at his peak. It had occurred to him, but he'd prioritized holding onto him so strongly that it wasn't as important to look at his features and memorize them. Disappointing... but a future opportunity.
The robot pays attention to Emet-Selch and what little he can manage, feeling a bit... proud, to feel him unable to cling onto him tight enough besides an occasional twitch. He certainly had his fill. He runs his hands up and down in slow, meandering lines, a gentle but consistent reminder for the Ascian that he's holding him — something in addition to his twitching to affirm things.
The landscape of Emet-Slech's emotional state is far more dismal than his own, and it remains easy to liken it to the depths of an ocean beneath the surface. He kisses the top of his head this time; takes note of all of that uncertainty in his heart, wondering just how it feels to be alive for thousands and thousands of years to the point that emotions such as his own could register so strangely, and he feels pity. He squeezes him, a more maintained gesture rather than a quick one of reassurance.
Emet-Selch moves against his neck, and it's with curiosity that Mettaton waits to see what he'll do. The hesitance that precedes such a soft kiss spoke volumes, and the gesture of intentional affection warms him over in waves, and he can't help from smiling at his Bondmate with an additional lightness in his chest, humming a note of fulfilled satisfaction. His fingers press into him, and he buries his nose into his hair, finding absolutely no inclination to move from this spot.
...He doesn't feel it should be necessary to revisit a promise so amorphous, but, well. He feels like he had more of Emet-Selch than ever, but how did he feel? He needs to confirm. His voice is soft and thick with affection, and breaks only to catch up with his slower-than-normal thoughts, knowing he's well against his neck.]
Did you have... your fill of me, Hades, darling...?
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The robot pays attention to Emet-Selch and what little he can manage, feeling a bit... proud, to feel him unable to cling onto him tight enough besides an occasional twitch. He certainly had his fill. He runs his hands up and down in slow, meandering lines, a gentle but consistent reminder for the Ascian that he's holding him — something in addition to his twitching to affirm things.
The landscape of Emet-Slech's emotional state is far more dismal than his own, and it remains easy to liken it to the depths of an ocean beneath the surface. He kisses the top of his head this time; takes note of all of that uncertainty in his heart, wondering just how it feels to be alive for thousands and thousands of years to the point that emotions such as his own could register so strangely, and he feels pity. He squeezes him, a more maintained gesture rather than a quick one of reassurance.
Emet-Selch moves against his neck, and it's with curiosity that Mettaton waits to see what he'll do. The hesitance that precedes such a soft kiss spoke volumes, and the gesture of intentional affection warms him over in waves, and he can't help from smiling at his Bondmate with an additional lightness in his chest, humming a note of fulfilled satisfaction. His fingers press into him, and he buries his nose into his hair, finding absolutely no inclination to move from this spot.
...He doesn't feel it should be necessary to revisit a promise so amorphous, but, well. He feels like he had more of Emet-Selch than ever, but how did he feel? He needs to confirm. His voice is soft and thick with affection, and breaks only to catch up with his slower-than-normal thoughts, knowing he's well against his neck.]
Did you have... your fill of me, Hades, darling...?