[Mettaton's glad that water doesn't seem to be too difficult for Emet-Selch to down, and his smile takes on a bit of a silly edge with a lightness to his eyes in his observation of his Bonded trying to come back from his poor health. Even most monsters could regard the act of drinking water as normal, a way to cool down, but Mettaton's further removed from that experience than them. And for humans, it's a requirement. How sad would it be to struggle more than he already is with the simple requirement of drinking? He squeezes Emet-Selch's shoulder, keeping him and the glass both stable. Wanting for him to recover, and willing to do whatever it took to facilitate that.
When Emet-Selch responds to his musings upon what he's learned, his ears droop somewhat, thinking about what sort of unpleasant method of learning this truly was. And though one could say that the two of them were complicit in Emet-Selch's deterioration (even Mettaton would agree that they both wanted this, they both wanted Emet-Selch's drain, this possession, this pleasure), he still feels a level of responsibility for his part of blissful ignorance, his true indulgence. Worse yet, for wanting more of his blood even as he sits here at his side, trying to aid in his recovery, acknowledging that were he somehow starved for his Witch's blood in this moment instead of half-filled with it, he might crave it badly enough that he'd take another bite of him if driven to low enough moods. Mettaton glances away for a moment, biting shortly at his lower lip.
Instead, he thinks about their previous... study sessions. The times Mettaton's raked his hands along the expanse of Emet-Selch's skin, kissed him from lips to hips, probed every part of his body with wandering fingertips. Even thinking about it in combination with his muted craving might well be relayed by their Bond, Mettaton knowing how transparent they both are, though it's not an indulgence he's willing to satisfy with his lover like this. A memory is fine. The remembrance of warm skin under his tongue, the give of muscle, the sound of his panting...
Mettaton drags his attention to this new kind of scenario with a soundless sigh. Exhaling heat. One of his ears flicks. He nudges back against Emet-Selch when he's not busy drinking, heated by his infatuation for him but very much in this moment and all of its ills. He nods in agreement, that he's learned, but that he prefers the less terrifying ways of learning about his Bondmate's body. Not the kinds that leave him cold and lifeless, if he could help it.
He would also have to be careful. If not learning to control himself, he's determined to learn to pace himself.
Emet-Selch's question earns a short nod from Mettaton.]
Ah. I called a friend! Her name is Mikasa. She's a human, and she's blunt, no-nonsense... but she's protective, and knows what to do. Since she's a soldier, I figured she'd know how to help in a pinch... Elevating your legs, since you were unconscious and drained. Applying pressure to your wound. I trust her.
[And she could have very well given him advice that would've broken his heart, but she didn't, so all was well and good. She didn't see that Emet-Selch would be a lost cause, but she's probably seen people survive worse. (And if he'd stayed on the line any longer, she probably would have tried to get Emet-Selch a healer. Not that Mettaton knew what she might've been up to, in his panic...)]
I asked her what to do if you lost too much blood, and she wanted to see how big the injury was...
[Mettaton doesn't at all prioritize making private their activities if Emet-Selch's health was on the line, and he doesn't even think of the impression she might've gotten from seeing a Puca bite on an unconscious person's neck atop a bed. He sure showed her that. But he got helpful advice from her, and for that, the idol couldn't be happier with it. She helped Emet-Selch, because of course she would.]
no subject
When Emet-Selch responds to his musings upon what he's learned, his ears droop somewhat, thinking about what sort of unpleasant method of learning this truly was. And though one could say that the two of them were complicit in Emet-Selch's deterioration (even Mettaton would agree that they both wanted this, they both wanted Emet-Selch's drain, this possession, this pleasure), he still feels a level of responsibility for his part of blissful ignorance, his true indulgence. Worse yet, for wanting more of his blood even as he sits here at his side, trying to aid in his recovery, acknowledging that were he somehow starved for his Witch's blood in this moment instead of half-filled with it, he might crave it badly enough that he'd take another bite of him if driven to low enough moods. Mettaton glances away for a moment, biting shortly at his lower lip.
Instead, he thinks about their previous... study sessions. The times Mettaton's raked his hands along the expanse of Emet-Selch's skin, kissed him from lips to hips, probed every part of his body with wandering fingertips. Even thinking about it in combination with his muted craving might well be relayed by their Bond, Mettaton knowing how transparent they both are, though it's not an indulgence he's willing to satisfy with his lover like this. A memory is fine. The remembrance of warm skin under his tongue, the give of muscle, the sound of his panting...
Mettaton drags his attention to this new kind of scenario with a soundless sigh. Exhaling heat. One of his ears flicks. He nudges back against Emet-Selch when he's not busy drinking, heated by his infatuation for him but very much in this moment and all of its ills. He nods in agreement, that he's learned, but that he prefers the less terrifying ways of learning about his Bondmate's body. Not the kinds that leave him cold and lifeless, if he could help it.
He would also have to be careful. If not learning to control himself, he's determined to learn to pace himself.
Emet-Selch's question earns a short nod from Mettaton.]
Ah. I called a friend! Her name is Mikasa. She's a human, and she's blunt, no-nonsense... but she's protective, and knows what to do. Since she's a soldier, I figured she'd know how to help in a pinch... Elevating your legs, since you were unconscious and drained. Applying pressure to your wound. I trust her.
[And she could have very well given him advice that would've broken his heart, but she didn't, so all was well and good. She didn't see that Emet-Selch would be a lost cause, but she's probably seen people survive worse. (And if he'd stayed on the line any longer, she probably would have tried to get Emet-Selch a healer. Not that Mettaton knew what she might've been up to, in his panic...)]
I asked her what to do if you lost too much blood, and she wanted to see how big the injury was...
[Mettaton doesn't at all prioritize making private their activities if Emet-Selch's health was on the line, and he doesn't even think of the impression she might've gotten from seeing a Puca bite on an unconscious person's neck atop a bed. He sure showed her that. But he got helpful advice from her, and for that, the idol couldn't be happier with it. She helped Emet-Selch, because of course she would.]