[It doesn't surprise the Puca to hear that Emet-Selch isn't all right after all, but he's glad to hear it come from him. He'd only just roused from... who knows what sort of arduous process the body goes through to restore itself, and he has more to recover. Yet still, Mettaton fears that if he unhands his neck at all that he'll spring another leak and fall unconscious again. (Wounds can clot. He knows this, logically. It doesn't stop his fears. Too much is at stake.)
Seeing Emet-Selch tearing up in response to his own feelings, an overwhelming concoction of sentiment shared between them, has Mettaton wanting to pull him close and smother him, but he resists. He's not well, and doing that would only make it worse. The robot shifts in place to cope with the desire to kiss him breathless — his Bonded's already struggling with dizziness. Instead, he leans in and kisses his forehead; his temple; the corner of his eye; his cheek. His hand moves to wipe at tears, to remove one more source of liquid to be left cold on his face as he hums thoughtfully, pulling together his composure. Mettaton pulls back, but he remains in Emet-Selch's sights as he sidles his thigh against Emet-Selch's side. (Mettaton hasn't spared the moment to take his heels off, in all of this...)
It's not that he's no longer worried. Just seeing Emet-Selch rouse makes him feel leagues better, but his concern remains. His alertness brings him solace and strength, but his condition's poor, and he wants to keep him safe. (Turns out that Mettaton was the danger.)]
I... You must not remember. [Memory has a funny way of being unreliable like this, he's found. He can't blame Emet-Selch. He has trouble remembering things after a good shut-down, though it usually comes back to him afterward. He imagines it might be the same for the Ascian.] I bit you. I think I bit you too hard... Or maybe in the wrong place.
[Or maybe a combination of the two. Wrong place, just a bit too hard. He looks regretful and sheepish both, glancing at the wad of cloth he's kept pressed to Emet-Selch's neck for... hours.]
You asked me to go to bed. Once we got there, I kept drinking. It was bleeding so much... Too much. [... An unfortunately drool-worthy amount, even when it fills Mettaton with dread. Contradictory feelings. He swallows.] I didn't realize it, until you were passing out. ...Does that jog your memory, darling?
[It's not an excuse. Mettaton's thought about it while he was out cold: he'll figure out more concretely how to deal with bodies like this so that neither of them have to worry. So that they can do whatever they like, without running such risk. He doesn't want to treat Emet-Selch to this manner of suffering. His thumb strokes at his cheek some more, paying close attention to the signs his lover exhibits as he fixes his gaze upon his face again.]
I thought...
[Mettaton swallows again. He worried Emet-Selch would be in critical condition, but he doesn't want to unsettle him right now. He probably already knows, besides. Mettaton sighs and shakes his head, resolving not to ever let Emet-Selch come close to death.]
It's been a few hours since then. Do you need anything right now?
[Is he supposed to hydrate his Ascian after he loses so much blood? Once more, Mettaton is not completely aware of the needs of his body. He thinks that he'll need water, probably. His best guess.]
no subject
Seeing Emet-Selch tearing up in response to his own feelings, an overwhelming concoction of sentiment shared between them, has Mettaton wanting to pull him close and smother him, but he resists. He's not well, and doing that would only make it worse. The robot shifts in place to cope with the desire to kiss him breathless — his Bonded's already struggling with dizziness. Instead, he leans in and kisses his forehead; his temple; the corner of his eye; his cheek. His hand moves to wipe at tears, to remove one more source of liquid to be left cold on his face as he hums thoughtfully, pulling together his composure. Mettaton pulls back, but he remains in Emet-Selch's sights as he sidles his thigh against Emet-Selch's side. (Mettaton hasn't spared the moment to take his heels off, in all of this...)
It's not that he's no longer worried. Just seeing Emet-Selch rouse makes him feel leagues better, but his concern remains. His alertness brings him solace and strength, but his condition's poor, and he wants to keep him safe. (Turns out that Mettaton was the danger.)]
I... You must not remember. [Memory has a funny way of being unreliable like this, he's found. He can't blame Emet-Selch. He has trouble remembering things after a good shut-down, though it usually comes back to him afterward. He imagines it might be the same for the Ascian.] I bit you. I think I bit you too hard... Or maybe in the wrong place.
[Or maybe a combination of the two. Wrong place, just a bit too hard. He looks regretful and sheepish both, glancing at the wad of cloth he's kept pressed to Emet-Selch's neck for... hours.]
You asked me to go to bed. Once we got there, I kept drinking. It was bleeding so much... Too much. [... An unfortunately drool-worthy amount, even when it fills Mettaton with dread. Contradictory feelings. He swallows.] I didn't realize it, until you were passing out. ...Does that jog your memory, darling?
[It's not an excuse. Mettaton's thought about it while he was out cold: he'll figure out more concretely how to deal with bodies like this so that neither of them have to worry. So that they can do whatever they like, without running such risk. He doesn't want to treat Emet-Selch to this manner of suffering. His thumb strokes at his cheek some more, paying close attention to the signs his lover exhibits as he fixes his gaze upon his face again.]
I thought...
[Mettaton swallows again. He worried Emet-Selch would be in critical condition, but he doesn't want to unsettle him right now. He probably already knows, besides. Mettaton sighs and shakes his head, resolving not to ever let Emet-Selch come close to death.]
It's been a few hours since then. Do you need anything right now?
[Is he supposed to hydrate his Ascian after he loses so much blood? Once more, Mettaton is not completely aware of the needs of his body. He thinks that he'll need water, probably. His best guess.]