[What would Mettaton think of Amaurot, Emet-Selch wondered, sometimes. He also suspected it would be too static for him, too peaceful. Too contained and uniform, with their identical garb and restrained manners. Over time, would he be unhappy there? The thought left him a little somber, somehow.
But the concept of multiple partners or attachments doesn't strike him as something even remotely worthy of note. Mortals- and not even all of them, admittedly- sometimes had hangups in that regard, the Ascian knew, and assumed it had something to do with their limited minds being incapable of focusing on more than one thing at a time. Their limited souls only having enough space for one person. How... tragic.
No, Emet-Selch's hangups had to do with attachments at all. Forming them, acknowledging them, dealing with them afterward- the whole package.
Even now, there's the occasional impulse to pull away or retreat, either physically or emotionally. But it's just as immediately stifled by the maintained contact, contrarily soothed by each note of possessiveness. As though feeling contained made him less desirous of freedom. Or perhaps there was safety in it, if of an unfamiliar and frightening variety. He'd never been... this open with anyone before, and it unsettled and enticed him in equal amounts.
His defenses felt so battered as to be non-existent, and while they would reform out of necessity once they were apart (though to what shape, he wasn't sure), Emet-Selch had little choice but to feel everything their Bond would permit. It remained alarming. Something so strong and deep and positive. It was a dizzying thing to be lost in, and he struggles to endure it.
...There's no deliberation in the way he answers it. It was dark and unhappy- for what strong emotions existed outside of despair?- but no less deeply felt.]
Of course not... I would even go so far as to claim that you would be the primary beneficiary of such an arrangement. [Mettaton's voice lands on him so lightly, yet settles so far. His own is soft, as though not to disturb it.] Perhaps I'm performing a public service, by taking some measure of your attention. Limiting your damage.
[That answering possessiveness. The expectation of mutual claim, regardless of all others. And very fond, even in its weight. Head tilting, Emet-Selch presses firm kisses along Mettaton's cheek, down along his jaw. His leg rubs that small bit back. If all his feelings were at the surface, immediate and terrible, displays of affection like this were something he could still control.]
--Not that I can claim to remaining detached in your company. Did you draw out the same in your morose associates...?
no subject
But the concept of multiple partners or attachments doesn't strike him as something even remotely worthy of note. Mortals- and not even all of them, admittedly- sometimes had hangups in that regard, the Ascian knew, and assumed it had something to do with their limited minds being incapable of focusing on more than one thing at a time. Their limited souls only having enough space for one person. How... tragic.
No, Emet-Selch's hangups had to do with attachments at all. Forming them, acknowledging them, dealing with them afterward- the whole package.
Even now, there's the occasional impulse to pull away or retreat, either physically or emotionally. But it's just as immediately stifled by the maintained contact, contrarily soothed by each note of possessiveness. As though feeling contained made him less desirous of freedom. Or perhaps there was safety in it, if of an unfamiliar and frightening variety. He'd never been... this open with anyone before, and it unsettled and enticed him in equal amounts.
His defenses felt so battered as to be non-existent, and while they would reform out of necessity once they were apart (though to what shape, he wasn't sure), Emet-Selch had little choice but to feel everything their Bond would permit. It remained alarming. Something so strong and deep and positive. It was a dizzying thing to be lost in, and he struggles to endure it.
...There's no deliberation in the way he answers it. It was dark and unhappy- for what strong emotions existed outside of despair?- but no less deeply felt.]
Of course not... I would even go so far as to claim that you would be the primary beneficiary of such an arrangement. [Mettaton's voice lands on him so lightly, yet settles so far. His own is soft, as though not to disturb it.] Perhaps I'm performing a public service, by taking some measure of your attention. Limiting your damage.
[That answering possessiveness. The expectation of mutual claim, regardless of all others. And very fond, even in its weight. Head tilting, Emet-Selch presses firm kisses along Mettaton's cheek, down along his jaw. His leg rubs that small bit back. If all his feelings were at the surface, immediate and terrible, displays of affection like this were something he could still control.]
--Not that I can claim to remaining detached in your company. Did you draw out the same in your morose associates...?