[Once more, Mettaton tightens his grip around the Ascian with a hum. Though he has his ambitions in place for whenever/if-ever Emet-Selch slips into a quiet sleep/unconsciousness, those are for later. He wouldn't mind falling asleep at his lover's side for now, though Mettaton knows himself — he usually doesn't sleep for long.
He turns his head to exact upon him soft kisses, starting close to his lips but drifting more toward his cheek and his jaw. The hand he has more control over like this continues to draw circles into his back, slow and easy, weighing whether or not he wants to try to pull him up from sleep or not. He decides not: Mettaton isn't aware that if it's unconsciousness, he won't feel rested, so either option just means rest to him. And he did say he'd need more of it than usual to keep from passing out on his feet. Instead of yanking him out of the possibility of slumber, he'll see to it that he falls into it.]
I like a challenge. For now... You get your sleep. [Another kiss, though he moves to give it directly on his lips this time. His voice is low, tinged in his usual spirits, but loving.] I'll see to that, instead.
[More threats for remaining close. The hand that formerly caressed his back moves up his spine, up his neck, and slides into his hair, rubbing circles into his scalp while the arm Emet-Selch lays upon wraps him up and keeps him close. Mettaton's discovered how much he adores closeness with his body, in all of its soft firmness, in all of its fascinating qualities that he covets. He raises his head and places lips to hairline instead, allowing Emet-Selch the ability to just lie there without having his face kissed relentlessly by an amorous Puca. Out of the goodness of his heart.]
no subject
He turns his head to exact upon him soft kisses, starting close to his lips but drifting more toward his cheek and his jaw. The hand he has more control over like this continues to draw circles into his back, slow and easy, weighing whether or not he wants to try to pull him up from sleep or not. He decides not: Mettaton isn't aware that if it's unconsciousness, he won't feel rested, so either option just means rest to him. And he did say he'd need more of it than usual to keep from passing out on his feet. Instead of yanking him out of the possibility of slumber, he'll see to it that he falls into it.]
I like a challenge. For now... You get your sleep. [Another kiss, though he moves to give it directly on his lips this time. His voice is low, tinged in his usual spirits, but loving.] I'll see to that, instead.
[More threats for remaining close. The hand that formerly caressed his back moves up his spine, up his neck, and slides into his hair, rubbing circles into his scalp while the arm Emet-Selch lays upon wraps him up and keeps him close. Mettaton's discovered how much he adores closeness with his body, in all of its soft firmness, in all of its fascinating qualities that he covets. He raises his head and places lips to hairline instead, allowing Emet-Selch the ability to just lie there without having his face kissed relentlessly by an amorous Puca. Out of the goodness of his heart.]