[Mettaton hums, finding his opinion of his form (and function) to be satisfactory. He does a sort of full-body shift closer, an effort to express his pleasure with their mutual contentment at his presentation. How could the result of this fantastic goal disappoint him? There were things about it that Mettaton found absurd along the way, or difficult to fathom, but when studying, when perfecting, he'd realized that too many mistakes don't a body make. So to have it come together properly is pleasing. That he should be good at putting it to use seems natural to Mettaton, who considers himself someone who knows how to put his body to the best of use. He's only wanted one for his whole life.
Pressing his cheek back to his shoulder, Mettaton watches as Emet-Selch's attention remains skyward, though he can't imagine it's for anything he sees of interest. It's when he starts speaking that he pays mind, blinking slowly and pressing his arms into his lover's waist.
It doesn't surprise the Puca at all, hearing that Emet-Selch has never been with anybody "like this" before. Though he's learned tonight that he's had any number of children (and surely marriages, and surely love affairs), Mettaton is readily capable of assuming that Emet-Selch must have a rough time with being so open about himself for any number of reasons. How could he be Emet-Selch the Ascian with the mortals of his world, much less Hades? Hiding some aspect about the self, no matter if it's a name, an unwanted past, a mourned history, or an ambition larger than life... Mettaton's realized that those things would make a relationship less genuine and vulnerable. He closes his eyes, breathing in the smell of his Bonded's skin.
And then there's the matter of not even beginning to fathom that such tenderness existed in him still. That he could love like this, and feel so intensely. Mettaton smiles, then. Smiles, because he feels it's a blessing that he's found this part of himself intact. Moreover, that it existed at all — the implication that he didn't see himself as someone who could have his feelings run so deep for another, no matter what stage of life he found himself in.
He's felt off-key these past few weeks... But Mettaton feels remarkably himself in this moment. Stable and true. The hand not being traced over slides atop Emet-Selch's, fingers entwining with his.]
Well. To draw out such infatuation in you, it seems you had to meet someone like me. Of which... there's only one.
[Said smugly, as Mettaton does. But he softens again, sighing and nuzzling his cheek gently into his back.]
Who is truly incapable of love? I saw this passion in you almost right away, darling. But the extent of you that I've come to love... That's the treat. [His smile only grows, and his eyes open again, tracing over his jaw and down his painted neck.] ...I'm glad. Glad to have discovered this part of your heart with you. I love it, after all.
[For all that it may hurt him, he acknowledges that. But then, he was already hurting so much even without having found this level of involvement with another person. Metttaton wouldn't say he's gotten better or worse or anything like that, just that he's achieved more expression and emotion out of him the longer he keeps his company. The more of himself he gives, the more it satisfies Mettaton, no matter how daunting or vast. As for his heart, well... That's Mettaton's.]
no subject
Pressing his cheek back to his shoulder, Mettaton watches as Emet-Selch's attention remains skyward, though he can't imagine it's for anything he sees of interest. It's when he starts speaking that he pays mind, blinking slowly and pressing his arms into his lover's waist.
It doesn't surprise the Puca at all, hearing that Emet-Selch has never been with anybody "like this" before. Though he's learned tonight that he's had any number of children (and surely marriages, and surely love affairs), Mettaton is readily capable of assuming that Emet-Selch must have a rough time with being so open about himself for any number of reasons. How could he be Emet-Selch the Ascian with the mortals of his world, much less Hades? Hiding some aspect about the self, no matter if it's a name, an unwanted past, a mourned history, or an ambition larger than life... Mettaton's realized that those things would make a relationship less genuine and vulnerable. He closes his eyes, breathing in the smell of his Bonded's skin.
And then there's the matter of not even beginning to fathom that such tenderness existed in him still. That he could love like this, and feel so intensely. Mettaton smiles, then. Smiles, because he feels it's a blessing that he's found this part of himself intact. Moreover, that it existed at all — the implication that he didn't see himself as someone who could have his feelings run so deep for another, no matter what stage of life he found himself in.
He's felt off-key these past few weeks... But Mettaton feels remarkably himself in this moment. Stable and true. The hand not being traced over slides atop Emet-Selch's, fingers entwining with his.]
Well. To draw out such infatuation in you, it seems you had to meet someone like me. Of which... there's only one.
[Said smugly, as Mettaton does. But he softens again, sighing and nuzzling his cheek gently into his back.]
Who is truly incapable of love? I saw this passion in you almost right away, darling. But the extent of you that I've come to love... That's the treat. [His smile only grows, and his eyes open again, tracing over his jaw and down his painted neck.] ...I'm glad. Glad to have discovered this part of your heart with you. I love it, after all.
[For all that it may hurt him, he acknowledges that. But then, he was already hurting so much even without having found this level of involvement with another person. Metttaton wouldn't say he's gotten better or worse or anything like that, just that he's achieved more expression and emotion out of him the longer he keeps his company. The more of himself he gives, the more it satisfies Mettaton, no matter how daunting or vast. As for his heart, well... That's Mettaton's.]