Ah, he thinks I'm too hot. Hot enough for fever... Isn't that appropriate for a man so sexy?
[Mettaton licks his neck. Fever, because he's diseased.
But he's pleased to hear that he appears natural, besides a perceived temperature flaw that he decides is of no consequence, and requires no correcting. He's a slightly warmer human, and that can't be bad. He also doubts that he's too warm, because if he were, why is he so cold? (Somebody around here may not understand temperature.) A disturbingly effective transformation. It brings him such satisfaction that he feels it overwhelm his body from head to toe, a spark of delight that has him shudder — or maybe it's because the Ascian trembles first, mild though it was.
Emet-Selch's fingers against his scalp is nice, and he melts further into him, holding him with a secure, firm grip as he closes his eyes. His sigh carries a soft note on it, pleased both with himself and, strangely enough, with the reception of his Bonded. He's not typically the type to seek out approval, and were he not to receive it, he's sure he would've been perfectly fine regardless. But he can feel that the pleasure of his effort goes both ways.
Mettaton's energy is largely returned to him, but not due to any sort of actual human recovery. Willpower, mostly, and focused almost entirely on his vanity. His excitement he mentioned earlier is another great contributor toward his sprightliness. Though he remains relaxed in Emet-Selch's grasp, his lively spirit's a part of his bearing in the moment.]
Well. I haven't gotten a chance to see this fully-formed me yet, either. At its best. Ooh, and marked up, I'm sure...
[Mettaton shifts a bit, raising his head to give Emet-Selch a look, suggestive and accusatory all at once — but in a contented manner, rather than upset. But he quickly brightens up, another shift of limbs. It's a movement indicative of his intent to rise and escape the blanket, despite his comfort. He's possessed by this notion.]
no subject
[Mettaton licks his neck. Fever, because he's diseased.
But he's pleased to hear that he appears natural, besides a perceived temperature flaw that he decides is of no consequence, and requires no correcting. He's a slightly warmer human, and that can't be bad. He also doubts that he's too warm, because if he were, why is he so cold? (Somebody around here may not understand temperature.) A disturbingly effective transformation. It brings him such satisfaction that he feels it overwhelm his body from head to toe, a spark of delight that has him shudder — or maybe it's because the Ascian trembles first, mild though it was.
Emet-Selch's fingers against his scalp is nice, and he melts further into him, holding him with a secure, firm grip as he closes his eyes. His sigh carries a soft note on it, pleased both with himself and, strangely enough, with the reception of his Bonded. He's not typically the type to seek out approval, and were he not to receive it, he's sure he would've been perfectly fine regardless. But he can feel that the pleasure of his effort goes both ways.
Mettaton's energy is largely returned to him, but not due to any sort of actual human recovery. Willpower, mostly, and focused almost entirely on his vanity. His excitement he mentioned earlier is another great contributor toward his sprightliness. Though he remains relaxed in Emet-Selch's grasp, his lively spirit's a part of his bearing in the moment.]
Well. I haven't gotten a chance to see this fully-formed me yet, either. At its best. Ooh, and marked up, I'm sure...
[Mettaton shifts a bit, raising his head to give Emet-Selch a look, suggestive and accusatory all at once — but in a contented manner, rather than upset. But he quickly brightens up, another shift of limbs. It's a movement indicative of his intent to rise and escape the blanket, despite his comfort. He's possessed by this notion.]
I need to see. I've waited long enough.