[Well, that settles that, doesn't it? He's not moving off of him. He's trapped, under non-restrictive arms. How cute of him, to lean against his head like this... It doesn't escape Mettaton's notice, and he smiles against his skin, nuzzling closer.]

So by your actions, you must wish for me to remain... until we find you breathless in a completely different manner from earlier. Who am I to judge?

[This is comfortable, besides. Of course the machine would find a soft body comfortable, and of course he'd find one so when he admires their form. His ears fold back, close to his head in a demonstration of comfortable relaxation. Though he has his face against his neck, his arm still frames Emet-Selch's face so that his fingers can pet through his hair, which he does so idly, slowly, not with any particular intention.

Though he doesn't remark upon it, he's pleased to know how easily Emet-Selch takes the news of his lovebitten appearance. Somehow, it hardly surprises Mettaton. He clearly cares something of appearance, but perhaps not this... Or maybe he's just that confident. Either or is good. He knows that if it were him, he'd be proud.

He kisses his neck, far more chaste than anything else he's done this entire night. More chaste than what he's about to blurt out, anyway.]

Oh, yes. I've discovered a mood I have, where I'm not speaking, yet conscious.