[No, he hadn't really considered that he'd have to move from his lap. It's a bit of a disappointment, but he considers that humans should likely not be flexible in such a manner... It makes sense that Emet-Selch would have to move to kiss him on the lips. Nonetheless, it brings him amusement in return to hear Emet-Selch's weak suggestion of being hassled by Mettaton's request. Even if he were truly burdened by a demand of his, he's dutiful. He can complain to his heart's content.
His voice is playful, singsong... But still a bit more hoarse than usual.]
Your efforts are appreciated, my dearest.
[Though the Puca thoroughly enjoys their position, the very moment Emet-Selch shifts, he realizes how sensitive and raw-feeling his cock's become. He could ignore bleeding out as long as he were doing it with the spark of his lover's embrace to placate him in the meanwhile... Perhaps, then, the detachment is welcome. But it's over and done with, and then he has his lover regaining the use of his (assuredly sore and disagreeable) legs, which also brings Mettaton a weird satisfaction to behold. He smirks at him, appreciating his work.
And appreciating his body in general. There's not a moment where he doesn't consider the man before him and mirror himself back in his thoughts, less of a comparison out of any insecurity and more of one out of appreciation for detail. Yes, he feels perfect this way: for Emet-Selch to notice it would suit Mettaton. He keeps his legs slightly spread to allow the Ascian perfect access and sight of him, still raking his eyes from thighs to face, taking in marks he's too satisfied with.
But that satisfaction simmers into anticipation upon meeting his gaze. Lip cut and swollen and hair tousled, Mettaton feels a wave of heat overcome him as Emet-Selch closes in. The kind of kiss that feels like a cherished first, something to remember.
How much he feels of his feelings through this manner of expression is intoxicating. Even without the Bond, Mettaton relies on that kiss for the other man's feelings, just how much he loves and craves him. A firm, sweet pressure, which Mettaton only presses into in return: how fond his own feelings run, his ardor, how stricken he is by his Bonded, and his love in return. A kiss completely laden with it from both sides, passionate and deep even without the involvement of mouths and tongue and fervor. It pierces him through, and he relishes it all.
When they break apart, it's softly. Mettaton sighs, realizing his pulse has jumped again, that he closed his eyes somewhere along the way. He blinks, dazed by a kiss.
Given the next opportunity to speak, he makes eye contact with his Bondmate.]
Come to bed with me...
[Though Mettaton generally has a lascivious edge to all he says and does as a standard, this is said more imploring, a request to simply be with him. He can't imagine Emet-Selch declining him, anyway. It's more of an expression of his own want.]
no subject
His voice is playful, singsong... But still a bit more hoarse than usual.]
Your efforts are appreciated, my dearest.
[Though the Puca thoroughly enjoys their position, the very moment Emet-Selch shifts, he realizes how sensitive and raw-feeling his cock's become. He could ignore bleeding out as long as he were doing it with the spark of his lover's embrace to placate him in the meanwhile... Perhaps, then, the detachment is welcome. But it's over and done with, and then he has his lover regaining the use of his (assuredly sore and disagreeable) legs, which also brings Mettaton a weird satisfaction to behold. He smirks at him, appreciating his work.
And appreciating his body in general. There's not a moment where he doesn't consider the man before him and mirror himself back in his thoughts, less of a comparison out of any insecurity and more of one out of appreciation for detail. Yes, he feels perfect this way: for Emet-Selch to notice it would suit Mettaton. He keeps his legs slightly spread to allow the Ascian perfect access and sight of him, still raking his eyes from thighs to face, taking in marks he's too satisfied with.
But that satisfaction simmers into anticipation upon meeting his gaze. Lip cut and swollen and hair tousled, Mettaton feels a wave of heat overcome him as Emet-Selch closes in. The kind of kiss that feels like a cherished first, something to remember.
How much he feels of his feelings through this manner of expression is intoxicating. Even without the Bond, Mettaton relies on that kiss for the other man's feelings, just how much he loves and craves him. A firm, sweet pressure, which Mettaton only presses into in return: how fond his own feelings run, his ardor, how stricken he is by his Bonded, and his love in return. A kiss completely laden with it from both sides, passionate and deep even without the involvement of mouths and tongue and fervor. It pierces him through, and he relishes it all.
When they break apart, it's softly. Mettaton sighs, realizing his pulse has jumped again, that he closed his eyes somewhere along the way. He blinks, dazed by a kiss.
Given the next opportunity to speak, he makes eye contact with his Bondmate.]
Come to bed with me...
[Though Mettaton generally has a lascivious edge to all he says and does as a standard, this is said more imploring, a request to simply be with him. He can't imagine Emet-Selch declining him, anyway. It's more of an expression of his own want.]