[With the way he all but collapses upon his form, Mettaton's made to remember their earlier talk. It occurs to him to examine their activities through the lens of exhaustion. Emet-Selch's self-described fits of unconsciousness, and how he requires more sleep than usual... How much more is he sleeping? And when does the fainting begin, after he wakes? (Will he faint soon?) At least it's not him who's facilitating this link of souls, or else he fears it would break rather unpleasantly were he to lose consciousness. (No doubt that Mettaton wants to spend enough time with him to see for himself, out of concern... and curiosity.)
Or, it could be that the Ascian is experiencing a usual tiredness — which is a thing that would happen after three rounds, Mettaton acknowledges. (...With a cocky smirk, which only he's aware of, a private satisfaction for pulling him in over and over. What a rush.) Ever since he developed the ability to regain energy by way of sleep, he's learned beyond a rudimentary understanding of how tiredness and sleep work. The duo's level of intensity and passion is certainly draining.
He can only imagine how Emet-Selch's feeling now, as he succumbs to his metallic body. Even Mettaton knows it's likely not the most comfortable of things, especially now that he has a point of comparison, a body of flesh and blood that he has such thorough access to. That is, his lover's body, which he views as available to his fancy. His, by virtue of having staked claim upon the Ascian.
(Even thinking on it, he strokes his back, a bit envious of a form like his. Maybe a lot envious. Not to diminish his adoration for his own body, which he wouldn't trade in if given the chance. He kisses the top of his head, and... laughs, lightly.)]
Comfortable?
[A bit of a joke. He doubts it.
There's something deeply fulfilling about having another's soul entwined with is own, like it's supposed to be. How odd. And even worse is that it doesn't feel close enough. The proximity and intimacy are more than enjoyable, and he sighs, soft and intended to express his feeling more than anything.]
It doesn't feel like you're keen on going anywhere. And... neither am I. Thankfully, for the both of us.
[Even with the amount he wants to move, he knows it only serves to increase his temperature further when it needs to come down. (What a stupid system: I Feel Excess Heat Produced By Excess Movement, So I Need To Move More, To My Detriment. Mettaton knows this is true about him and doesn't care.)]
But, now you know my heart. Some familiarity... with the culmination of my being. And I, yours.
[Not that Mettaton finds choice in vessel to be arbitrary. Emet-Selch admitted so himself, that he made decisions about his own to reflect something about himself. There's importance to that, he believes. It's expression. But he can also appreciate the intimacy of knowing one's core essence, who Emet-Selch is beyond this host he assumed]
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Or, it could be that the Ascian is experiencing a usual tiredness — which is a thing that would happen after three rounds, Mettaton acknowledges. (...With a cocky smirk, which only he's aware of, a private satisfaction for pulling him in over and over. What a rush.) Ever since he developed the ability to regain energy by way of sleep, he's learned beyond a rudimentary understanding of how tiredness and sleep work. The duo's level of intensity and passion is certainly draining.
He can only imagine how Emet-Selch's feeling now, as he succumbs to his metallic body. Even Mettaton knows it's likely not the most comfortable of things, especially now that he has a point of comparison, a body of flesh and blood that he has such thorough access to. That is, his lover's body, which he views as available to his fancy. His, by virtue of having staked claim upon the Ascian.
(Even thinking on it, he strokes his back, a bit envious of a form like his. Maybe a lot envious. Not to diminish his adoration for his own body, which he wouldn't trade in if given the chance. He kisses the top of his head, and... laughs, lightly.)]
Comfortable?
[A bit of a joke. He doubts it.
There's something deeply fulfilling about having another's soul entwined with is own, like it's supposed to be. How odd. And even worse is that it doesn't feel close enough. The proximity and intimacy are more than enjoyable, and he sighs, soft and intended to express his feeling more than anything.]
It doesn't feel like you're keen on going anywhere. And... neither am I. Thankfully, for the both of us.
[Even with the amount he wants to move, he knows it only serves to increase his temperature further when it needs to come down. (What a stupid system: I Feel Excess Heat Produced By Excess Movement, So I Need To Move More, To My Detriment. Mettaton knows this is true about him and doesn't care.)]
But, now you know my heart. Some familiarity... with the culmination of my being. And I, yours.
[Not that Mettaton finds choice in vessel to be arbitrary. Emet-Selch admitted so himself, that he made decisions about his own to reflect something about himself. There's importance to that, he believes. It's expression. But he can also appreciate the intimacy of knowing one's core essence, who Emet-Selch is beyond this host he assumed]