[How raw he felt like this, stripped to nothing, Mettaton's sentiment settling on top of his own so completely, as warmly and securely as his body did. It went beyond pain, into something the Ascian didn't know how to describe.
Sensation, though. Their shared weakness, shared attempts at an embrace, the brush of souls. The firmer grip, as though this instant itself could be held onto, forced to remain; that it was possible to express everything somehow, rather than only pieces.]
Ah....
[Love was one thing, and that was difficult enough to endure. But a statement like that as well, mumbled against his skin, indistinct and sincere, just has him holding Mettaton that bit tighter. Closer, somehow, even though all of his senses were already occupied by him, filled completely.
It wasn't a sentiment he could echo, he didn't think. And just saying he was pleased for him didn't seem appropriate. Nor was returning it with something half-hearted like claiming his company wasn't completely terrible. As direct as their connection was, only complete sincerity would do. But, with his eyes opening to stare directly upwards, towards the ceiling, Emet-Selch was not sure how to quantify what he was feeling. Just trying to apply thought to it had the unhappiness creeping back, but he was too- content, perhaps?- for it to do more than stain the edges. His hands stroke slowly along Mettaton's back, though one breaks off the movement to shift upward, to touch his hair, rest against his head.
The confusion to his thoughts (as slow and listless as they were) is likely evident through Bond, interrupted and mixed through with pangs of affection, need. He didn't understand it at all. Not feelings, not how his choices (or lack of choice) had led him to this moment: on his back, in someone else's bed, immediately post-sex, with his lover's gradually softening cock still inside him, contemplating sentiment, of all things. How he felt about any of this, in addition to all that he could sense physically.
Which was a lot, and Emet-Selch wasn't sure if it helped or not that there wasn't a clear distinction between emotion and physicality, one being a manifestation of the other, in either direction.
So he just holds him, and loves him, feeling each shiver and breath. The mix of their scents, the security and fragility of the moment.]
no subject
Sensation, though. Their shared weakness, shared attempts at an embrace, the brush of souls. The firmer grip, as though this instant itself could be held onto, forced to remain; that it was possible to express everything somehow, rather than only pieces.]
Ah....
[Love was one thing, and that was difficult enough to endure. But a statement like that as well, mumbled against his skin, indistinct and sincere, just has him holding Mettaton that bit tighter. Closer, somehow, even though all of his senses were already occupied by him, filled completely.
It wasn't a sentiment he could echo, he didn't think. And just saying he was pleased for him didn't seem appropriate. Nor was returning it with something half-hearted like claiming his company wasn't completely terrible. As direct as their connection was, only complete sincerity would do. But, with his eyes opening to stare directly upwards, towards the ceiling, Emet-Selch was not sure how to quantify what he was feeling. Just trying to apply thought to it had the unhappiness creeping back, but he was too- content, perhaps?- for it to do more than stain the edges. His hands stroke slowly along Mettaton's back, though one breaks off the movement to shift upward, to touch his hair, rest against his head.
The confusion to his thoughts (as slow and listless as they were) is likely evident through Bond, interrupted and mixed through with pangs of affection, need. He didn't understand it at all. Not feelings, not how his choices (or lack of choice) had led him to this moment: on his back, in someone else's bed, immediately post-sex, with his lover's gradually softening cock still inside him, contemplating sentiment, of all things. How he felt about any of this, in addition to all that he could sense physically.
Which was a lot, and Emet-Selch wasn't sure if it helped or not that there wasn't a clear distinction between emotion and physicality, one being a manifestation of the other, in either direction.
So he just holds him, and loves him, feeling each shiver and breath. The mix of their scents, the security and fragility of the moment.]