[It may be against metal, but that scrape of the other man's fingers against his body earns a sigh and a shift in his grip. Such closeness is quick to ignite in Mettaton that craving for intimacy, deep and heady, and he curves his back into the tightness of Emet-Selch's grip with an airy hum. Verbally, he denies him; but in behavior, he grips tighter. As Emet-Selch's fingers draw over the length of his ear, long as it is, he tilts his head somewhat to go from pressing his cheek against his shoulder into pressing his lips there instead. His eye shutters closed, focusing on the variation of Emet-Selch's touch: gentle against his neck, desperate against his back, and firm around his waist, broken as it is.
He associates Emet-Selch's despair to some many other Mirrorbound have, in being "relieved" that there's no possible "always" for them. The nature of their existence in Aefenglom's transitory at best, and "always" can't happen. If he'd ever made some kind of vow to remain "always" by Emet-Selch's side, well... That would be a bargain he couldn't keep. That's upsetting, for some reason. He kisses his shoulder, only to resettle upon it.
When he speaks, his voice is deep and soft.]
Good. I'm beginning to... like it. Being Bonded to you. What a surprise... I'd hate it if you suddenly felt you didn't have to.
[So Mettaton focuses on now, and the kinds of ways he can be close to him here. The Puca shifts his leg, sliding it against the inside of Emet-Selch's. While they're not before an audience of all kinds, Mettaton's far less inclined to hold back on gestures that might prove to be provocative.
The hand he keeps resting upon his shoulder slides down his chest, his fingers deliberately pressing into him on its slow and firm trail down. If Emet-Selch is wearing layers, he chooses to slide his hand beneath them as he wraps his arm around his waist in return while he opens his eye again, his watch on him hungry and intense.]
no subject
He associates Emet-Selch's despair to some many other Mirrorbound have, in being "relieved" that there's no possible "always" for them. The nature of their existence in Aefenglom's transitory at best, and "always" can't happen. If he'd ever made some kind of vow to remain "always" by Emet-Selch's side, well... That would be a bargain he couldn't keep. That's upsetting, for some reason. He kisses his shoulder, only to resettle upon it.
When he speaks, his voice is deep and soft.]
Good. I'm beginning to... like it. Being Bonded to you. What a surprise... I'd hate it if you suddenly felt you didn't have to.
[So Mettaton focuses on now, and the kinds of ways he can be close to him here. The Puca shifts his leg, sliding it against the inside of Emet-Selch's. While they're not before an audience of all kinds, Mettaton's far less inclined to hold back on gestures that might prove to be provocative.
The hand he keeps resting upon his shoulder slides down his chest, his fingers deliberately pressing into him on its slow and firm trail down. If Emet-Selch is wearing layers, he chooses to slide his hand beneath them as he wraps his arm around his waist in return while he opens his eye again, his watch on him hungry and intense.]