[His ears are poised in a mix between alert and relaxed, nearly pulled at a 45-degree angle but with one of them disagreeing with his own mood, leaning forward attentively as if still trying to get a read on his Bonded. The more they do this, the less alarmed Mettaton is at Emet-Selch's post-coital distress, taking it to be him coming down from the intensity, but it doesn't make him want to reassure him any less. It disagrees with an idealistic, preconceived notion Mettaton has of sex, but he takes to it readily, oddly enough. Emet-Selch is exceptionally predisposed to processing emotion of any significance in this despairing lens, nothing like a picturesque bliss he might fantasize out of himself. He imagines it comes from distancing himself from it all. Though emotions are a deeply thrilling thing for Mettaton, he know that for others they're easier to deal with when they're not so strongly felt.
He'd remarked earlier that Emet-Selch must have been lonely. He doesn't remember if he said it in past tense or not, but he'd make it present tense. He is lonely, and Mettaton...
He considers the way he thinks of himself as something available to anyone. Someone who kept people distracted from hopelessness and dreariness. A star with his particular experience objectifies himself for the people gladly, by virtue distancing himself as untouchable, but he'd be the first to protest the notion that he does it to any damaging extent. He doesn't: he has his own wants and desires, his own methods. He's taken Emet-Selch's company back-stage much earlier, so to speak, and here, Mettaton will gladly have him for the unique companionship he provides. Not simply to soothe Emet-Selch's despair, but to discover more about himself and the Ascian, too. To be his friend. He holds him tightly in realization.]
My apologies... Hades-darling. I said something erroneous... earlier today. [He's still sluggish in speech, and Emet-Selch's hand in his hair only serves to lull him more. His ears both relax.] I don't love you the way I love humanity... No. I love you quite differently from that.
[He loves him the way he loves somebody he'd think of before them, somebody important to him, a name and a face. Nothing unconditional, nothing blind, but something hard to break, even at a distance. Somebody who knows the nuance of his existence, and somebody whose importance Mettaton wants to keep close. Somebody he'd protect, senselessly. At his own peril, but he decides that would be crueler exacted upon the Ascian than it would be for most.
...He smiles against his throat. As two beings who could withstand time, they sure didn't let the development of their relationship stall with it. But he's not one for inaction, and Emet-Selch doesn't seem to be either, when it matters. He moves an arm enough to place a hand against Emet-Selch's waist, which he strokes.]
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He'd remarked earlier that Emet-Selch must have been lonely. He doesn't remember if he said it in past tense or not, but he'd make it present tense. He is lonely, and Mettaton...
He considers the way he thinks of himself as something available to anyone. Someone who kept people distracted from hopelessness and dreariness. A star with his particular experience objectifies himself for the people gladly, by virtue distancing himself as untouchable, but he'd be the first to protest the notion that he does it to any damaging extent. He doesn't: he has his own wants and desires, his own methods. He's taken Emet-Selch's company back-stage much earlier, so to speak, and here, Mettaton will gladly have him for the unique companionship he provides. Not simply to soothe Emet-Selch's despair, but to discover more about himself and the Ascian, too. To be his friend. He holds him tightly in realization.]
My apologies... Hades-darling. I said something erroneous... earlier today. [He's still sluggish in speech, and Emet-Selch's hand in his hair only serves to lull him more. His ears both relax.] I don't love you the way I love humanity... No. I love you quite differently from that.
[He loves him the way he loves somebody he'd think of before them, somebody important to him, a name and a face. Nothing unconditional, nothing blind, but something hard to break, even at a distance. Somebody who knows the nuance of his existence, and somebody whose importance Mettaton wants to keep close. Somebody he'd protect, senselessly. At his own peril, but he decides that would be crueler exacted upon the Ascian than it would be for most.
...He smiles against his throat. As two beings who could withstand time, they sure didn't let the development of their relationship stall with it. But he's not one for inaction, and Emet-Selch doesn't seem to be either, when it matters. He moves an arm enough to place a hand against Emet-Selch's waist, which he strokes.]