[It's reassuring to hear him call them friends, and Mettaton believes him. He has no reason not to, but at least he knows where they stand with Emet-Selch. (It's a private victory for Mira in his mind, even though she'd already said they called each other friends.) He wonders when he started considering them friends in addition to... all else. Even more complicated: befriending these Warriors, and knowing they also kill you. How poetic.
At least he's committed to his four Bonds, as dubiously inadvisable as that is. Just as Emet-Selch moves to kiss him, Mettaton dons a smile. His lips against his are by no means a shock, but his intent, soft as it is, earns a hum, part surprise and contentment. But... it's that feeling again, the one that fills Mettaton with nostalgia, grief. And he can only do so much to temper that.
But he returns the kiss lovingly. The arm he has around Emet-Selch's body tightens, and he runs his tongue along Emet-Selch's lower lip. As soon as the Ascian breaks free of him (which will usually always be his call, considering), Mettaton kisses the side of his mouth one last time before tucking Emet-Selch's head back under his chin with another one of his nuzzles. It's his approval.]
Good. [Mettaton settles against Emet-Selch, drawing him close and running his fingers appreciatively over bare skin. He's... inviting himself to stay.] Tell me, however. If something goes awry, with this four-pointed arrangement of yours. Will you, beautiful?
[He doesn't know what he'd do or what it would look like, but he doesn't want to not know.]
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At least he's committed to his four Bonds, as dubiously inadvisable as that is. Just as Emet-Selch moves to kiss him, Mettaton dons a smile. His lips against his are by no means a shock, but his intent, soft as it is, earns a hum, part surprise and contentment. But... it's that feeling again, the one that fills Mettaton with nostalgia, grief. And he can only do so much to temper that.
But he returns the kiss lovingly. The arm he has around Emet-Selch's body tightens, and he runs his tongue along Emet-Selch's lower lip. As soon as the Ascian breaks free of him (which will usually always be his call, considering), Mettaton kisses the side of his mouth one last time before tucking Emet-Selch's head back under his chin with another one of his nuzzles. It's his approval.]
Good. [Mettaton settles against Emet-Selch, drawing him close and running his fingers appreciatively over bare skin. He's... inviting himself to stay.] Tell me, however. If something goes awry, with this four-pointed arrangement of yours. Will you, beautiful?
[He doesn't know what he'd do or what it would look like, but he doesn't want to not know.]