[Somehow, he manages to hold back a sigh of relief when Mettaton does, at last, pull himself out from him, and while Emet-Selch felt a bit emptier without him, it was certainly more comfortable. And the kiss was more than enough to counter any slight regret, reacting to the energy with a glimmer of his own, a firm reply and press of lips before Mettaton bounds away to inspect the results of his study.
His Bonded's continued grace in movement doesn't surprise him, though the Ascian supposed it probably should, thinking on the different configurations of limbs (and lack thereof) that the idol possessed. But he seemed to have a preternaturally good sense of balance and awareness of his own body... even when it suddenly differed from before. It was hard to imagine him ever appearing truly awkward.
Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Emet-Selch wraps the discarded blanket about his own legs for warmth (without the robot's excessive heat on top of him, he knew he'd become chilled soon enough), and watches as Mettaton began the extensive process of taking himself in.
And what a lot there was to take in, the Ascian also using this opportunity to stare him down, equally as unabashed in the idol's shameless nudity. The time for modesty had long since passed- if it had ever been a relevant subject to start. But having ascertained that his initial impression of Mettaton's transformation had been accurate, with no obvious mistakes, Emet-Selch is more taken by watching his Bonded's own reactions, his fixation and focus, how his gaze absorbs every detail reflected back to him. Mettaton wasn't just brimming with satisfaction, but overflowing with it. A complete mess of satisfaction, able to only be expressed through extensive prodding and posing, every aspect of his body worth the attention.
Though Emet-Selch was a bit surprised to note the scarring around the more hidden of Mettaton's eyes (though at least he had a proper two of them now), he realized after a moment that it matched his own. Considering how pristine the rest of the puca's body was, the Ascian doubted it was a specific choice- but then, if he'd needed to regard his face with particular focus, a detail like that might've bled into his visualization. A harmless flaw, in any case.
Without realizing, his own manner softens slightly in his observation, Mettaton making even a self-inspection appear as a series of deliberate poses, designed to appeal. How bright he looked, as his success gradually seemed to be sinking in- touching himself with such keenness that the Ascian wondered what it was like to be that excited about something. A thought that has him humming quietly to himself.
And he was reminded suddenly of that wistful ghost, pale and translucent, so simple in form, and completely separate from the material world. An entity easy to overlook. That he was looking upon the same person felt remarkable- how much more of himself, his Bonded seemed.
When Mettaton finally looks back to him again, Emet-Selch's response is simple, but given with a serious sort of sincerity. There's nothing glib or flippant or casual about it at all.]
You're beautiful.
[Not that he hadn't been before, really- but Mettaton's excessive self-admiration and pleasure in what he'd obtained... added something. A subtle shift in comfort and rightness, in appearing almost precisely as wanted.]
no subject
His Bonded's continued grace in movement doesn't surprise him, though the Ascian supposed it probably should, thinking on the different configurations of limbs (and lack thereof) that the idol possessed. But he seemed to have a preternaturally good sense of balance and awareness of his own body... even when it suddenly differed from before. It was hard to imagine him ever appearing truly awkward.
Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Emet-Selch wraps the discarded blanket about his own legs for warmth (without the robot's excessive heat on top of him, he knew he'd become chilled soon enough), and watches as Mettaton began the extensive process of taking himself in.
And what a lot there was to take in, the Ascian also using this opportunity to stare him down, equally as unabashed in the idol's shameless nudity. The time for modesty had long since passed- if it had ever been a relevant subject to start. But having ascertained that his initial impression of Mettaton's transformation had been accurate, with no obvious mistakes, Emet-Selch is more taken by watching his Bonded's own reactions, his fixation and focus, how his gaze absorbs every detail reflected back to him. Mettaton wasn't just brimming with satisfaction, but overflowing with it. A complete mess of satisfaction, able to only be expressed through extensive prodding and posing, every aspect of his body worth the attention.
Though Emet-Selch was a bit surprised to note the scarring around the more hidden of Mettaton's eyes (though at least he had a proper two of them now), he realized after a moment that it matched his own. Considering how pristine the rest of the puca's body was, the Ascian doubted it was a specific choice- but then, if he'd needed to regard his face with particular focus, a detail like that might've bled into his visualization. A harmless flaw, in any case.
Without realizing, his own manner softens slightly in his observation, Mettaton making even a self-inspection appear as a series of deliberate poses, designed to appeal. How bright he looked, as his success gradually seemed to be sinking in- touching himself with such keenness that the Ascian wondered what it was like to be that excited about something. A thought that has him humming quietly to himself.
And he was reminded suddenly of that wistful ghost, pale and translucent, so simple in form, and completely separate from the material world. An entity easy to overlook. That he was looking upon the same person felt remarkable- how much more of himself, his Bonded seemed.
When Mettaton finally looks back to him again, Emet-Selch's response is simple, but given with a serious sort of sincerity. There's nothing glib or flippant or casual about it at all.]
You're beautiful.
[Not that he hadn't been before, really- but Mettaton's excessive self-admiration and pleasure in what he'd obtained... added something. A subtle shift in comfort and rightness, in appearing almost precisely as wanted.]