[In a way that was growing less abstract by the moment, Emet-Selch wondered if he could crush Mettaton's soul like this. It was complete, yet so fragile, and his own darkness was so deep. Could he encroach on him entirely, even like this? Did he want to?]
Do you think... you're the only one who can claim another's soul?
[Soft, deathly serious, accompanied by a kiss to Mettaton's lips that's almost chaste. Even as it's followed by a sigh that shakes in his throat, and his eyes close.]
To erase the barriers of existence... is something Ascians can do as well.
[It's not something he'd ever considered doing. He'd never felt the need, complete as he was in a broken world. Unlike the sundered Ascians, or Lahabrea who'd weakened himself foolishly by frequently changing hosts, Emet-Selch had no reason to merge with another, lesser entity.
But he's not thinking of it in terms of mechanics or possibilities. Whether he'd be able to exact the same measure of influence over Mettaton, were his soul taken by him. Whether it would work with a non-Ascian soul at all. All that mattered was the desire to possess and be possessed, overwhelmed by the depths that he wanted it.
It was hard to pull himself back from it at all, this demand to be taken, even as he tried to wrap his soul around Mettaton entirely, maneuvering something he couldn't even see. It was all but impossible to not be lost in the moment, between the touch of souls and the open Bond, their physical proximity and the context of it.
But their powers weren't here, they were limited to these insufficient shells. There could be no satisfaction, only intensity.
How caught he was, between impossible, contradictory desires. The press to his lips is desperate, yet halting. The press to his body is urgent, expectant, as though trying to impress his full weight on him. How hard he was getting barely registered, was just another form of wanting. How much he... just wanted to be held, to have company that would last.]
no subject
Do you think... you're the only one who can claim another's soul?
[Soft, deathly serious, accompanied by a kiss to Mettaton's lips that's almost chaste. Even as it's followed by a sigh that shakes in his throat, and his eyes close.]
To erase the barriers of existence... is something Ascians can do as well.
[It's not something he'd ever considered doing. He'd never felt the need, complete as he was in a broken world. Unlike the sundered Ascians, or Lahabrea who'd weakened himself foolishly by frequently changing hosts, Emet-Selch had no reason to merge with another, lesser entity.
But he's not thinking of it in terms of mechanics or possibilities. Whether he'd be able to exact the same measure of influence over Mettaton, were his soul taken by him. Whether it would work with a non-Ascian soul at all. All that mattered was the desire to possess and be possessed, overwhelmed by the depths that he wanted it.
It was hard to pull himself back from it at all, this demand to be taken, even as he tried to wrap his soul around Mettaton entirely, maneuvering something he couldn't even see. It was all but impossible to not be lost in the moment, between the touch of souls and the open Bond, their physical proximity and the context of it.
But their powers weren't here, they were limited to these insufficient shells. There could be no satisfaction, only intensity.
How caught he was, between impossible, contradictory desires. The press to his lips is desperate, yet halting. The press to his body is urgent, expectant, as though trying to impress his full weight on him. How hard he was getting barely registered, was just another form of wanting. How much he... just wanted to be held, to have company that would last.]