[Sensation is so raw to him, and he pays such sharp attention to it, finding even the cold of the air and the way it chills him to shivers to be pleasant somehow. It brings him to focus more intentionally on the body beneath him and all of that heat. And the addition of a hand against his hair has Mettaton nuzzling him again, a soft hum escaping from his throat.
It isn't hard to sense his lover's mood, and how confusion claws to the surface, following an obvious attempt to rationalize, perhaps. Emet-Selch is the kind to try to make sense of emotion, for all that it's senseless, but the Puca finds that his sense for Emet-Selch is rendered equally confused. He couldn't at all liken it to the way he feels and processes this moment... Which is fine. An interesting dimension to add to this moment, Mettaton thinks. Emet-Selch trends in this direction. That he'd make this progress toward a halting of unhappiness brings him a sense of contentment as well, and he wonders if it's the work of a similar afterglow to his own.
Mettaton doesn't verbalize his observations, but there's a longing and caring added to his own bliss. A longing to help, to see his lover understand himself. Caring to find him peace with it, regardless of what it is. Overall compassion, that he'd struggle with it at all.
The idol kisses his shoulder, over and over, finding strength enough now to continue moving. He drifts along and upwards to his neck, though he finds it irresistible if ever he chances upon blood he could lick... which only sets him to shivering some more. Magic, that which he can convert directly into the body he holds so easily in the presence of his lover with the magic he can draw. He exhales against skin through his mouth, a shaky thing in how overwhelmed he becomes all over again. Dizzied to drunkness so simply, post-coital bliss no doubt part of the culprit. While all things of Mettaton's are transparent through their Bond, this is, too. Bad decisions, a descent into addiction to Witch's blood — an addiction to his Bonded, more accurately. Everything else would pale in comparison to this delicacy.
He doesn't quite consider that he's just indulging again, already. Instead, he focuses on his curiosities.]
How do you feel...? Right now. About this.
[Close to his ear as he kisses closer to it, nuzzling into one of his usual spots there. It's a question about their sex, these circumstances, Mettaton's body, Emet-Selch's feelings, living close by, whatever comes to his mind, Mettaton wants to hear it. An open-ended question. Mettaton inhales and falls into Emet-Selch with closed eyes, enjoying that his sense can be overtaken in sensory input by his Bonded.]
no subject
It isn't hard to sense his lover's mood, and how confusion claws to the surface, following an obvious attempt to rationalize, perhaps. Emet-Selch is the kind to try to make sense of emotion, for all that it's senseless, but the Puca finds that his sense for Emet-Selch is rendered equally confused. He couldn't at all liken it to the way he feels and processes this moment... Which is fine. An interesting dimension to add to this moment, Mettaton thinks. Emet-Selch trends in this direction. That he'd make this progress toward a halting of unhappiness brings him a sense of contentment as well, and he wonders if it's the work of a similar afterglow to his own.
Mettaton doesn't verbalize his observations, but there's a longing and caring added to his own bliss. A longing to help, to see his lover understand himself. Caring to find him peace with it, regardless of what it is. Overall compassion, that he'd struggle with it at all.
The idol kisses his shoulder, over and over, finding strength enough now to continue moving. He drifts along and upwards to his neck, though he finds it irresistible if ever he chances upon blood he could lick... which only sets him to shivering some more. Magic, that which he can convert directly into the body he holds so easily in the presence of his lover with the magic he can draw. He exhales against skin through his mouth, a shaky thing in how overwhelmed he becomes all over again. Dizzied to drunkness so simply, post-coital bliss no doubt part of the culprit. While all things of Mettaton's are transparent through their Bond, this is, too. Bad decisions, a descent into addiction to Witch's blood — an addiction to his Bonded, more accurately. Everything else would pale in comparison to this delicacy.
He doesn't quite consider that he's just indulging again, already. Instead, he focuses on his curiosities.]
How do you feel...? Right now. About this.
[Close to his ear as he kisses closer to it, nuzzling into one of his usual spots there. It's a question about their sex, these circumstances, Mettaton's body, Emet-Selch's feelings, living close by, whatever comes to his mind, Mettaton wants to hear it. An open-ended question. Mettaton inhales and falls into Emet-Selch with closed eyes, enjoying that his sense can be overtaken in sensory input by his Bonded.]