[At the rawness of his confession, Mettaton withdraws the hand venturing down his spine to cup his cheek, oddly touched at Emet-Selch's desire to express himself for all he can detect that it's inadequate by his standard. Upon contact, he's pleasantly surprised at how similar they are in temperature, palm to face, and both warm. The Puca leans into his venturing lips with a smile, though his fingers withdraw momentarily just to tuck his long bangs behind his ear, giving Emet-Selch's properly functioning eye his face to look at. Strangely, even Mettaton's "non-functioning" eye appears to focus on Emet-Selch somewhat though there's a clear level of struggle as he searches for some detail that he can't grasp. He shifts all attention back to his left eye.
The robot's smile reaches his eyes, and he nuzzles into his Bonded after that slight kiss, leaning back into Emet-Selch's forehead. His thumb runs along his cheek, their proximity such that he traces his features less by sight and more by touch. And Mettaton closes his eyes to focus on those feelings he deems unfamiliar, for all that his own are so excessive in their own right.
When the idol speaks, it's on a voice a bit more sluggish than usual as he comes down from his pleasure, voice an even, softer volume, dripping with his fondness and a touch breathless as a standard.]
The whole of this... It's unfamiliar for us both, in some way or another. From feelings... to impossible intimacy. B... But, who better to explore with than you?
[And, implicitly, with him. His smile grows at that.
He lets out a sigh, finding his muscles slackening so pleasantly, as though slipping off of the torrid high of his desire and into the gentler warmth of security and comfort. The kind of security found in this level of vulnerability, he thinks, continuing to stroke Emet-Selch's cheek with his thumb. A stable sort, the kind he'd always expect to find with his Bonded.]
If you're grateful... Then I take it these feelings I've evoked don't disappoint. [There's pride in his tone, yes. Of course Mettaton would take pride in being the catalyst for feelings unknown, especially as they run so romantic. But he softens some more.] The depths you've taken my own feelings... My. We're quite a pair, aren't we.
[New experiences, new heights, new depths, all of it intense. In this moment, at least, Emet-Selch is in so much better of a mood than he was when he first saw him tonight. Unwound, indulged, loved, cared for, taken into Mettaton's possession, distracted. All of which Mettaton finds gratifying, especially in its effect, their feelings both on tempo with one another's, for all that they usually find themselves in their opposite company. And still, perhaps, they are: similar feelings for each other, manifested differently. Mettaton can't help feeling so dreamy and light, but perhaps... the ache he feels in his chest, that's a feeling he's felt too rarely that he begins to feel more commonly with Emet-Selch. Love, he takes it. The kind of love that aches, in how it's blossomed into something so vibrant.
The arm he has about the Ascian's back tightens. He tries to shift his legs, finding them a unique kind of wobbly and stiff; he exhales in a cross between a sigh and a huff. Trying to shift at all gives him a window into how strange it feels to have Emet-Selch's cock still buried within him... not that Mettaton minds the strange terribly much. So he gives up. The robot relaxes again, not having what it takes to move yet. Bodies of flesh... are fickle.]
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The robot's smile reaches his eyes, and he nuzzles into his Bonded after that slight kiss, leaning back into Emet-Selch's forehead. His thumb runs along his cheek, their proximity such that he traces his features less by sight and more by touch. And Mettaton closes his eyes to focus on those feelings he deems unfamiliar, for all that his own are so excessive in their own right.
When the idol speaks, it's on a voice a bit more sluggish than usual as he comes down from his pleasure, voice an even, softer volume, dripping with his fondness and a touch breathless as a standard.]
The whole of this... It's unfamiliar for us both, in some way or another. From feelings... to impossible intimacy. B... But, who better to explore with than you?
[And, implicitly, with him. His smile grows at that.
He lets out a sigh, finding his muscles slackening so pleasantly, as though slipping off of the torrid high of his desire and into the gentler warmth of security and comfort. The kind of security found in this level of vulnerability, he thinks, continuing to stroke Emet-Selch's cheek with his thumb. A stable sort, the kind he'd always expect to find with his Bonded.]
If you're grateful... Then I take it these feelings I've evoked don't disappoint. [There's pride in his tone, yes. Of course Mettaton would take pride in being the catalyst for feelings unknown, especially as they run so romantic. But he softens some more.] The depths you've taken my own feelings... My. We're quite a pair, aren't we.
[New experiences, new heights, new depths, all of it intense. In this moment, at least, Emet-Selch is in so much better of a mood than he was when he first saw him tonight. Unwound, indulged, loved, cared for, taken into Mettaton's possession, distracted. All of which Mettaton finds gratifying, especially in its effect, their feelings both on tempo with one another's, for all that they usually find themselves in their opposite company. And still, perhaps, they are: similar feelings for each other, manifested differently. Mettaton can't help feeling so dreamy and light, but perhaps... the ache he feels in his chest, that's a feeling he's felt too rarely that he begins to feel more commonly with Emet-Selch. Love, he takes it. The kind of love that aches, in how it's blossomed into something so vibrant.
The arm he has about the Ascian's back tightens. He tries to shift his legs, finding them a unique kind of wobbly and stiff; he exhales in a cross between a sigh and a huff. Trying to shift at all gives him a window into how strange it feels to have Emet-Selch's cock still buried within him... not that Mettaton minds the strange terribly much. So he gives up. The robot relaxes again, not having what it takes to move yet. Bodies of flesh... are fickle.]