[The torrent of his Bonded's feelings don't go unnoticed by Mettaton, whose kiss remains passionate while also gentling: striking that perfect balance, a state they both seem to encourage out of each other. The strength of his legs returns enough for him to press his thighs against the side of Emet-Selch's body, his own hold on the Ascian firming up despite himself. His fingers trace around the curve of Emet-Selch's ear, rubbing gently around the back of it toward the base of his skull in small circles, a slight hum slipping from his throat even as he takes him in another easy, firm kiss.
Mettaton remains firmly grounded in the moment. He lets each sense of his take him, the warmth of his body against his thighs, the feeling of Emet-Selch's fingers against his cheek, the hold he keeps on Mettaton's body in return, the way that he remains on his lap, still filled with him. The knowledge that Emet-Selch's filled with him, too. The earthly desire for both, for all of his body in every regard, for giving himself in return. He strokes sensitive fingertips through his hair, relishing the newness of it that he can't quite pinpoint. Everything takes on a new dimension to Mettaton in this body, perhaps the temperature of it all the contributing factor.
The world around him feels colder than he imagined, but everything in his immediate presence is warm, hot, alluring enough to slip into like a bath. From his lover's arms to his mouth to his body, but also the current of his internal state, everything he can reach through their Bond.
Mettaton's hand skirts down from Emet-Selch's ear to rest over his heart, fingertips pressing firmly into bare skin. He stills. Stills enough to try to feel for a pulse, for all that it's not the best place for detecting a pulse. It's what Mettaton wants.
He breaks their kiss, but remains so close to his Bonded's lips that he speaks against them.]
I like to share my thoughts, as you know. But... You know I'll be here for you, too.
[It might be too difficult for him to even want to unravel such threads of complicated, built-up emotion, but his Bonded is terribly emotional. Mettaton learned that quickly. So much he feels, and he scarcely ever gives himself any outlets for it.
And yet, is physical expression not some manner of outlet? Mettaton pulls away from his face then, a glint in his eye. An invitation, a method of expression that could transcend words if it's impossible to untangle them for the linear restriction of speech. Mettaton has favor for expression even without words, after all. He rubs the spot over his chest with his thumb, his smile a natural part of his features that takes on a unique glow in his Bonded's presence. He leans in to Emet-Selch's neck, burying his nose just beneath his ear and breathing him in before giving him a firm kiss.
On a low, inquisitive tone, the Puca lets a few more kisses trail up to his jaw: a thorough job of delivering affection enough to break him and to mend him simultaneously on the horizon. He would take to him so intensely that it would have to suffuse him soul-deep, his body a conduit for the feelings Mettaton has for his lover at his very core. From his perpetual gloom to his keenness, from the agreeable to the disagreeable.]
no subject
Mettaton remains firmly grounded in the moment. He lets each sense of his take him, the warmth of his body against his thighs, the feeling of Emet-Selch's fingers against his cheek, the hold he keeps on Mettaton's body in return, the way that he remains on his lap, still filled with him. The knowledge that Emet-Selch's filled with him, too. The earthly desire for both, for all of his body in every regard, for giving himself in return. He strokes sensitive fingertips through his hair, relishing the newness of it that he can't quite pinpoint. Everything takes on a new dimension to Mettaton in this body, perhaps the temperature of it all the contributing factor.
The world around him feels colder than he imagined, but everything in his immediate presence is warm, hot, alluring enough to slip into like a bath. From his lover's arms to his mouth to his body, but also the current of his internal state, everything he can reach through their Bond.
Mettaton's hand skirts down from Emet-Selch's ear to rest over his heart, fingertips pressing firmly into bare skin. He stills. Stills enough to try to feel for a pulse, for all that it's not the best place for detecting a pulse. It's what Mettaton wants.
He breaks their kiss, but remains so close to his Bonded's lips that he speaks against them.]
I like to share my thoughts, as you know. But... You know I'll be here for you, too.
[It might be too difficult for him to even want to unravel such threads of complicated, built-up emotion, but his Bonded is terribly emotional. Mettaton learned that quickly. So much he feels, and he scarcely ever gives himself any outlets for it.
And yet, is physical expression not some manner of outlet? Mettaton pulls away from his face then, a glint in his eye. An invitation, a method of expression that could transcend words if it's impossible to untangle them for the linear restriction of speech. Mettaton has favor for expression even without words, after all. He rubs the spot over his chest with his thumb, his smile a natural part of his features that takes on a unique glow in his Bonded's presence. He leans in to Emet-Selch's neck, burying his nose just beneath his ear and breathing him in before giving him a firm kiss.
On a low, inquisitive tone, the Puca lets a few more kisses trail up to his jaw: a thorough job of delivering affection enough to break him and to mend him simultaneously on the horizon. He would take to him so intensely that it would have to suffuse him soul-deep, his body a conduit for the feelings Mettaton has for his lover at his very core. From his perpetual gloom to his keenness, from the agreeable to the disagreeable.]
Is there anything you want, Hades, darling...?