[It was an interesting texture, at least, different than skin and lacking a pulse. There's a small drag of teeth towards neck, where the Ascian sucks, very briefly, at the center of Mettaton's throat before answering, as though he weren't trying to distract him at all.]

--I imagine we can be quite restful, if one can accept the more depressive aspects. ...Although, I'll say that I've experienced the same phenomena. In reverse, obviously- but those I knew best were the obnoxiously sociable type.

[He says it like it's a bad thing, even as his hand continues its exploration of Mettaton's neck. There's an alternation of pressures; the light drag of a nail, a firmer rubbing with the pads of his fingers, a gentle stroke with the whole of his hand, from the top of his neck down towards his shoulder. Even as he notes the puca's responses, Emet-Selch wondered about seeking this sort of dynamic, on either side of it. It was one thing to speak of balance, but it seemed as though it should bring nothing but frustration.

Not that frustration didn't exist, but it wasn't the whole of it.

Though possessing just a cheerful demeanor wasn't enough, Emet-Selch was certain of that much. Plenty of people were friendly with no substance. A superficial shell that covered far worse traits- or nothing at all. The Ascian had no patience for that. That there was something there besides a teasing chattiness- that was crucial, annoying, and appealing.

He still huffs a little on general principle at the kiss to his head; such an affectionate sort of gesture, and what were those for? Nevermind that they'd been cuddling for some time. Or the quietly pleased noise he finds himself making at the attention to his hair, the small grip to his waist.]

I wouldn't go so far as to call it allure... but you're occasionally more tolerable than I initially believed.

[High... praise?]