[Even after Emet-Selch's release, Mettaton keeps him held tight with the same frantic trembling as he recognizes that his Bonded's surpassed his climax. He sighs despite himself, clutching his body tighter, still wound up beyond belief but satisfied in all of the dizzying feeling he gets from the other man. Even in this moment he feels the haunts of wherever he's kissed, rubbed, gripped, sucked, and bit him, and all he can think of is how deeply he's been taken by Emet-Selch, near possessed, and how badly he wants more.
But he's patient, and more will come. For now, he has the lingering feeling of everything they've done, the weight of the other man upon his body, and a Bond that's remains dangerously soul-deep. As if he weren't already clutching onto him with immense pressure (he is), Mettaton doesn't realize that he grabs onto him harder, though at least he shifts his arms to better hold the Ascian against him. In doing so, it distributes the pressure.
Even after Emet-Selch's gone limp against his body, cradled between the robot's neck and shoulder, he notes that his tremendous power doesn't fade. Not that it would, nor would he expect it. In focusing on it, it allows Mettaton some grounding point to ease himself off of his blinding pleasure, anchoring himself against him in some intangible manner as if his iron grip isn't enough. Mettaton sighs again, rubbing his cheek against the top of his Bonded's head, taking his soul in degrees closer despite how overwhelming he feels.
With the feeling of such immense despair, Mettaton always wondered when he'd eventually succumb to tears. Even if it strikes him as odd to have the Ascian cry into his neck, he always took him for someone who would — and now it's no longer odd, just one of the many ways he's had him. The idol smiles against his hair, his hand moving up the exposed skin of his back, sliding along his neck, and firmly pressing into his scalp as he tangles fingers with locks of hair. He strokes him, but also presses him closer into his neck, a mix of claiming and caring. How familiar he's grown with the weight and figure of the Ascian goes beyond his body now, doesn't it? He closes his eye, pleased with himself in spite of the despair he feels so strongly by Bond — he's familiar with that, too, far beyond these few months he's known him. Turns out being connected so deeply makes it even harder not to feel his Bonded's emotions, possibly even to the point of conflating them as his own. The dangers of forcing such a deep connection, most likely. Mettaton maintains it nonetheless, relishing the closeness, allowing the Ascian to his despair — but he'll have to accept his overbearing company, in the process. He shifts close, as though wordlessly acknowledging his stifled crying.
He still shivers, mildly by now, still keyed up. But the process to coming down is a bit slower, perhaps less jarring than orgasm must be, he imagines.
How terrible, that his standards for satisfaction would be shaped by Emet-Selch alone. He doubts anybody else could drown him quite like he does. Possessive, pleased, compassionate, fond, and surprised make up the bulk of his sentiment while he strokes his hair, his longing and eagerness ever present at the side. Eye still shut, he gives Emet-Selch a squeeze. His voice is as velvety as ever, but it's clear that he's still trying to come off a pleasurable, infatuated high.]
I could get used to this. Your... very self, mingling with mine.
[And he feels lucky, not just to have met him, but to have had their relationship develop down such a path. It could have played out differently, he feels.]
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[Even after Emet-Selch's release, Mettaton keeps him held tight with the same frantic trembling as he recognizes that his Bonded's surpassed his climax. He sighs despite himself, clutching his body tighter, still wound up beyond belief but satisfied in all of the dizzying feeling he gets from the other man. Even in this moment he feels the haunts of wherever he's kissed, rubbed, gripped, sucked, and bit him, and all he can think of is how deeply he's been taken by Emet-Selch, near possessed, and how badly he wants more.
But he's patient, and more will come. For now, he has the lingering feeling of everything they've done, the weight of the other man upon his body, and a Bond that's remains dangerously soul-deep. As if he weren't already clutching onto him with immense pressure (he is), Mettaton doesn't realize that he grabs onto him harder, though at least he shifts his arms to better hold the Ascian against him. In doing so, it distributes the pressure.
Even after Emet-Selch's gone limp against his body, cradled between the robot's neck and shoulder, he notes that his tremendous power doesn't fade. Not that it would, nor would he expect it. In focusing on it, it allows Mettaton some grounding point to ease himself off of his blinding pleasure, anchoring himself against him in some intangible manner as if his iron grip isn't enough. Mettaton sighs again, rubbing his cheek against the top of his Bonded's head, taking his soul in degrees closer despite how overwhelming he feels.
With the feeling of such immense despair, Mettaton always wondered when he'd eventually succumb to tears. Even if it strikes him as odd to have the Ascian cry into his neck, he always took him for someone who would — and now it's no longer odd, just one of the many ways he's had him. The idol smiles against his hair, his hand moving up the exposed skin of his back, sliding along his neck, and firmly pressing into his scalp as he tangles fingers with locks of hair. He strokes him, but also presses him closer into his neck, a mix of claiming and caring. How familiar he's grown with the weight and figure of the Ascian goes beyond his body now, doesn't it? He closes his eye, pleased with himself in spite of the despair he feels so strongly by Bond — he's familiar with that, too, far beyond these few months he's known him. Turns out being connected so deeply makes it even harder not to feel his Bonded's emotions, possibly even to the point of conflating them as his own. The dangers of forcing such a deep connection, most likely. Mettaton maintains it nonetheless, relishing the closeness, allowing the Ascian to his despair — but he'll have to accept his overbearing company, in the process. He shifts close, as though wordlessly acknowledging his stifled crying.
He still shivers, mildly by now, still keyed up. But the process to coming down is a bit slower, perhaps less jarring than orgasm must be, he imagines.
How terrible, that his standards for satisfaction would be shaped by Emet-Selch alone. He doubts anybody else could drown him quite like he does. Possessive, pleased, compassionate, fond, and surprised make up the bulk of his sentiment while he strokes his hair, his longing and eagerness ever present at the side. Eye still shut, he gives Emet-Selch a squeeze. His voice is as velvety as ever, but it's clear that he's still trying to come off a pleasurable, infatuated high.]
I could get used to this. Your... very self, mingling with mine.
[And he feels lucky, not just to have met him, but to have had their relationship develop down such a path. It could have played out differently, he feels.]