[This host of his really was taking a beating... but Emet-Selch wouldn't have exchanged it, even if he could have. Even if none of the memories involved were straightforward, they were worth remembering. A visual reminder of something slow to recover from, uncomfortable and deep, and that would always be there- but that didn't have to be seen as a detriment, or a flaw. They weren't hindrances, these scars. If anything, they were their best defense.
Mettaton touches that spot on his neck, leans in to kiss it. And the Ascian keeps still, stroking slowly at him with his fingers as he tries to hold him near. That the puca had managed to recall that past moment, even in the midst of insanity was- reassuring and saddening alike. It was good that he'd been able to (even if his heart hurt terribly as he remembered the sight of him leaving, the sound of the door slamming after him, with terrible finality--), and very much less good that he'd had to. And as useful as it had been, unfortunate again that he'd had that memory to turn to.
Their cooperation was a striking thing. An alignment fierce and destructive, that usually only served to provide heights of pleasure and adoration, a possessiveness that ensured that they would provide all they could to one another. Like the last time they'd cooperated to nearly kill him, there were occasional... consequences to their tendency towards excess.
For now, his body could try to knit itself, and they could slowly try to follow. Staying close like this... helped. And a robot body did have its advantages, as Emet-Selch watches his lover obtain a covering for them without having to leave his side- even managing to place it on top of them without much issue. And he felt more secure like this, with warmth locked in, even if he was still a mess.
On one hand, that Mettaton only sank his teeth into his shoulder while incensed possibly counted as progress. It would still be a scar to provoke unease, one that would cause thoughts to return to this series of events- but he could take any number of scars like this without dying. Mettaton snapping down anywhere instead of his throat was acceptable, surely (though a part of him wondered what would've happened had he been on his back instead, if his neck had been that much more instantly accessible).
On the other hand, if this was progress, it was only really on Mettaton's side of things, that he had managed to hold himself back, even if it had been profoundly difficult... that even if he had been driven to snap down onto his shoulder so deeply, he hadn't gone further than that. But Emet-Selch- in that moment, soothing his lover's ire had taken all precedence. He would have delivered himself to his jaws if he could have, given himself over to make up for how he hadn't been able to perform as required.
And that... unsettled him. Because of how narrowly they had avoided complete disaster, but only because Mettaton had recalled enough of their previous lesson. If Emet-Selch had been able to successfully follow or prevent him from leaving him, how long would his lover have been able to resist taking his throat? Trying to tighten his arm around him for the moment, he shifts himself some small degree closer, as though wanting to hide against him, wrapped up in both Mettaton and blanket. He kisses him back, just as softly.
And his manner remains uncertain, though due entirely to this reminder of his own nature, something he'd never felt the need to address or acknowledge. That he had that memory of Mettaton being so distraught and concerned over him though... if it weren't for that, the Ascian knew his hesitations would be that much weaker. But how could he learn to prioritize a future that they both wanted (continuing to live, so that they could keep giving themselves to each other, without reserve), over inclinations he'd never bothered to fight before?
He can't even ask, rhetorical as it would be, with his voice like this. But to know that Mettaton had been afraid for how close he'd come to tearing him apart- it was something to keep in mind. He had to. Somehow he had to remember this when he needed to, for Mettaton's sake, if not for his own. He couldn't expect his lover to be the only one to control himself. Yet even with that determination in his thoughts, Emet-Selch felt more uneasy than resolute as he holds him, and is held in turn. There was still the desire to comfort, insufficient and shaky as he felt, to show his appreciation for the effort Mettaton had made, even if it had hurt, and he nuzzles him quietly.]
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Mettaton touches that spot on his neck, leans in to kiss it. And the Ascian keeps still, stroking slowly at him with his fingers as he tries to hold him near. That the puca had managed to recall that past moment, even in the midst of insanity was- reassuring and saddening alike. It was good that he'd been able to (even if his heart hurt terribly as he remembered the sight of him leaving, the sound of the door slamming after him, with terrible finality--), and very much less good that he'd had to. And as useful as it had been, unfortunate again that he'd had that memory to turn to.
Their cooperation was a striking thing. An alignment fierce and destructive, that usually only served to provide heights of pleasure and adoration, a possessiveness that ensured that they would provide all they could to one another. Like the last time they'd cooperated to nearly kill him, there were occasional... consequences to their tendency towards excess.
For now, his body could try to knit itself, and they could slowly try to follow. Staying close like this... helped. And a robot body did have its advantages, as Emet-Selch watches his lover obtain a covering for them without having to leave his side- even managing to place it on top of them without much issue. And he felt more secure like this, with warmth locked in, even if he was still a mess.
On one hand, that Mettaton only sank his teeth into his shoulder while incensed possibly counted as progress. It would still be a scar to provoke unease, one that would cause thoughts to return to this series of events- but he could take any number of scars like this without dying. Mettaton snapping down anywhere instead of his throat was acceptable, surely (though a part of him wondered what would've happened had he been on his back instead, if his neck had been that much more instantly accessible).
On the other hand, if this was progress, it was only really on Mettaton's side of things, that he had managed to hold himself back, even if it had been profoundly difficult... that even if he had been driven to snap down onto his shoulder so deeply, he hadn't gone further than that. But Emet-Selch- in that moment, soothing his lover's ire had taken all precedence. He would have delivered himself to his jaws if he could have, given himself over to make up for how he hadn't been able to perform as required.
And that... unsettled him. Because of how narrowly they had avoided complete disaster, but only because Mettaton had recalled enough of their previous lesson. If Emet-Selch had been able to successfully follow or prevent him from leaving him, how long would his lover have been able to resist taking his throat? Trying to tighten his arm around him for the moment, he shifts himself some small degree closer, as though wanting to hide against him, wrapped up in both Mettaton and blanket. He kisses him back, just as softly.
And his manner remains uncertain, though due entirely to this reminder of his own nature, something he'd never felt the need to address or acknowledge. That he had that memory of Mettaton being so distraught and concerned over him though... if it weren't for that, the Ascian knew his hesitations would be that much weaker. But how could he learn to prioritize a future that they both wanted (continuing to live, so that they could keep giving themselves to each other, without reserve), over inclinations he'd never bothered to fight before?
He can't even ask, rhetorical as it would be, with his voice like this. But to know that Mettaton had been afraid for how close he'd come to tearing him apart- it was something to keep in mind. He had to. Somehow he had to remember this when he needed to, for Mettaton's sake, if not for his own. He couldn't expect his lover to be the only one to control himself. Yet even with that determination in his thoughts, Emet-Selch felt more uneasy than resolute as he holds him, and is held in turn. There was still the desire to comfort, insufficient and shaky as he felt, to show his appreciation for the effort Mettaton had made, even if it had hurt, and he nuzzles him quietly.]