[Hearing him say as much, even despite the turbulence of his emotions, brings a brighter smile to Mettaton's expression. This is why he likes to talk and ask and pry even if he can feel his Bonded's feelings, because he can take these torrential emotions and fine-tune them into some words that Emet-Selch would spare for them. A better understanding of his own processes, and immensely helpful in understanding him. And while Mettaton acknowledges the guilt and the ever-present hurt, those things were a part of Emet-Selch. If Emet-Selch's sentiment here was to love him back, even if (or especially if) it was such a struggle to put it to words, it puts all else into perspective. It's what Mettaton decides every other sensation is a backdrop to.
Humming a laugh, his own mood brightens. It's okay that they're on such different wavelengths: it's not an act intended to be offensive, that Mettaton himself swings toward pleased and energetic while Emet-Selch lingers with his usual hurt, but just his own state. And really, he loves him. And each sound Emet-Selch makes even beyond his voice feeds Mettaton, an upsurge in his desire desire for the Ascian when it was already difficult to ignore the pulse of his arousal.
The delectable blend of lust and love he feels at the quality of his voice and the feeling of his fingertips upon his face against all else... Who could he attain these peaks of intensity with? No, more than that: who would he want this with more than him?
Passion ignited further than good sense should allow, Mettaton's body aches for him to pay attention to more than just emotional satisfaction, though that drives his method and deliberation. He takes his Bonded in another kiss, one firm and betraying his feeling in overflow as he takes his lower lip and gives it a suck, then a swipe of his tongue. He shifts his leg, forcibly breaking from the kiss with a hiss from the ache he feels for him, and though he's trying to reach for a bedside table, the monster gets distracted by... Emet-Selch's neck again.
His blood's been set to dry, but he leans down to lick his shoulder up to his neck anyway, taking what he can. Even the suggestion of taste makes his head spin, and he hungers for it... but it's a good thing that he can only access this much, at least to keep his head clear.
Mettaton gropes for lube without looking, attention entirely on Emet-Selch. He's prepared this time, as suggested. His tone remains sweet but low, always carried on a voice impossibly smooth.]
And since you're mine... I'll see to it. That you're taken care of.
[Regrettably, Mettaton has to shift from his spot pressed flush to Emet-Selch's body. He realizes that he didn't entirely succeed in getting his pants all the way off, which is seconds worth of frustration spent pulling them the rest of the way off. Not a big loss, in any sense, especially for the result. With that matter settled, Mettaton hums, smiling down upon Emet-Selch as he hikes up one of his legs to encourage him to wrap it around his hip.
The other could follow once Emet-Selch gets the hint.
Before he gets to any kind of work on preparing them (a sorely needed step, he recalls), he teases his intent by showing Emet-Selch how he envisions their bodies by shifting up to give him another kiss. His erection slides against skin, and Mettaton maneuvers himself to press directly against his lover's cock. Whenever he gets both of his legs wrapped around his hips, access would be easy, and the idol knows it.]
What do you think? Is this... hah... [Well, what Mettaton thinks of this position is evident. His hips jerk impatiently.] A... Agreeable, darling?
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Humming a laugh, his own mood brightens. It's okay that they're on such different wavelengths: it's not an act intended to be offensive, that Mettaton himself swings toward pleased and energetic while Emet-Selch lingers with his usual hurt, but just his own state. And really, he loves him. And each sound Emet-Selch makes even beyond his voice feeds Mettaton, an upsurge in his desire desire for the Ascian when it was already difficult to ignore the pulse of his arousal.
The delectable blend of lust and love he feels at the quality of his voice and the feeling of his fingertips upon his face against all else... Who could he attain these peaks of intensity with? No, more than that: who would he want this with more than him?
Passion ignited further than good sense should allow, Mettaton's body aches for him to pay attention to more than just emotional satisfaction, though that drives his method and deliberation. He takes his Bonded in another kiss, one firm and betraying his feeling in overflow as he takes his lower lip and gives it a suck, then a swipe of his tongue. He shifts his leg, forcibly breaking from the kiss with a hiss from the ache he feels for him, and though he's trying to reach for a bedside table, the monster gets distracted by... Emet-Selch's neck again.
His blood's been set to dry, but he leans down to lick his shoulder up to his neck anyway, taking what he can. Even the suggestion of taste makes his head spin, and he hungers for it... but it's a good thing that he can only access this much, at least to keep his head clear.
Mettaton gropes for lube without looking, attention entirely on Emet-Selch. He's prepared this time, as suggested. His tone remains sweet but low, always carried on a voice impossibly smooth.]
And since you're mine... I'll see to it. That you're taken care of.
[Regrettably, Mettaton has to shift from his spot pressed flush to Emet-Selch's body. He realizes that he didn't entirely succeed in getting his pants all the way off, which is seconds worth of frustration spent pulling them the rest of the way off. Not a big loss, in any sense, especially for the result. With that matter settled, Mettaton hums, smiling down upon Emet-Selch as he hikes up one of his legs to encourage him to wrap it around his hip.
The other could follow once Emet-Selch gets the hint.
Before he gets to any kind of work on preparing them (a sorely needed step, he recalls), he teases his intent by showing Emet-Selch how he envisions their bodies by shifting up to give him another kiss. His erection slides against skin, and Mettaton maneuvers himself to press directly against his lover's cock. Whenever he gets both of his legs wrapped around his hips, access would be easy, and the idol knows it.]
What do you think? Is this... hah... [Well, what Mettaton thinks of this position is evident. His hips jerk impatiently.] A... Agreeable, darling?