[How sweet Emet-Selch is, always. When he's weakened like this, he's just more forthright with it — there are no defenses he can rely on, making him all the more worth protecting in this state. He gets this way around Mettaton sometimes. He only wishes that it were under less morbid circumstances that he could hear him pay him such a compliment. Of course he'd love his voice — and Mettaton loves his in turn.
Like the other compliments he's paid him, it's one that touches him deeply — especially knowing he'd heard him. He swells with pride, love, and relief, and he nods.]
I was talking to you! You weren't imagining it, gorgeous. I'm glad you heard me...
[He's very excited at having been heard and in his thrill, he leans in to kiss Emet-Selch next to his lips. He rubs his nose to his with a short, airy laugh, both at the pleasure to have been perceived at all, and at the acceptance of his compliment. It meant that maybe, Emet-Selch had something to hold onto in his lonely subconscious. The pads of his fingers rub at his face in small circles, careful to keep claws from digging in at all while he tries to come down from his roller coaster of emotions, jumping from despair to relief to fear to sorrow to this blithe euphoria. Glad to be here, glad Emet-Selch is, too.
And he has to simper at Emet-Selch's exasperation. He sure did that... attempt to drain him so thoroughly, as though trying to leave nothing behind to lose. His ears don't quite fold back, but they do fall, and they posture at either side of his head almost in the direction of a lop's. At feeling the Ascian's fingers reach for his, he captures them between his own and holds his hand, though it's the back of his hand to Emet-Selch's palm.
Emet-Selch's free to show the whole of himself, and Mettaton expects as much. Mettaton demonstrates in turn his excessiveness to its fullest degree. There's little he can do to return his blood to him... It's his, and it's always been his, but he acknowledges that he went overboard. Terrifyingly overboard, sedated into feeling all was fine.
He could elaborate some more on that matter upon his return, as his ears spring to attention at Emet-Selch's request. He nods. Mettaton feels validated for predicting what he might need. Maybe he's not so bad at understanding Emet-Selch's needs after all, as a creature of flesh and blood. His fingers pet Emet-Selch's cheek, and he realizes that he's still holding onto his neck...]
Ah.
[It's palpable, how quickly Mettaton chills through their Bond, as though his heart sunk. He shifts, uneasy.]
I... can get you water. Will you be able to hold this? Against your neck.
[Mettaton doesn't even consider that it might be safe to pull it off. That maybe he could switch to bandages, in fact. He just keeps imagining that he'll keep holding this for all of these moments, into infinity, for however long it's necessary to feel reassured that Emet-Selch won't just bleed out again.]
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Like the other compliments he's paid him, it's one that touches him deeply — especially knowing he'd heard him. He swells with pride, love, and relief, and he nods.]
I was talking to you! You weren't imagining it, gorgeous. I'm glad you heard me...
[He's very excited at having been heard and in his thrill, he leans in to kiss Emet-Selch next to his lips. He rubs his nose to his with a short, airy laugh, both at the pleasure to have been perceived at all, and at the acceptance of his compliment. It meant that maybe, Emet-Selch had something to hold onto in his lonely subconscious. The pads of his fingers rub at his face in small circles, careful to keep claws from digging in at all while he tries to come down from his roller coaster of emotions, jumping from despair to relief to fear to sorrow to this blithe euphoria. Glad to be here, glad Emet-Selch is, too.
And he has to simper at Emet-Selch's exasperation. He sure did that... attempt to drain him so thoroughly, as though trying to leave nothing behind to lose. His ears don't quite fold back, but they do fall, and they posture at either side of his head almost in the direction of a lop's. At feeling the Ascian's fingers reach for his, he captures them between his own and holds his hand, though it's the back of his hand to Emet-Selch's palm.
Emet-Selch's free to show the whole of himself, and Mettaton expects as much. Mettaton demonstrates in turn his excessiveness to its fullest degree. There's little he can do to return his blood to him... It's his, and it's always been his, but he acknowledges that he went overboard. Terrifyingly overboard, sedated into feeling all was fine.
He could elaborate some more on that matter upon his return, as his ears spring to attention at Emet-Selch's request. He nods. Mettaton feels validated for predicting what he might need. Maybe he's not so bad at understanding Emet-Selch's needs after all, as a creature of flesh and blood. His fingers pet Emet-Selch's cheek, and he realizes that he's still holding onto his neck...]
Ah.
[It's palpable, how quickly Mettaton chills through their Bond, as though his heart sunk. He shifts, uneasy.]
I... can get you water. Will you be able to hold this? Against your neck.
[Mettaton doesn't even consider that it might be safe to pull it off. That maybe he could switch to bandages, in fact. He just keeps imagining that he'll keep holding this for all of these moments, into infinity, for however long it's necessary to feel reassured that Emet-Selch won't just bleed out again.]