[Distantly, Emet-Selch does wonder if he'll be woken up at some point during the night by a sudden bodily-inflexibility on the part of his partner, of having the soft give of skin replaced by a more unforgiving metal-and-fur shell. Well, even when it happens, the Ascian knows he'd be fine with it after some initial startle. He was used to sleeping alongside a robotic form by now. But he would appreciate this softer version of Mettaton for as long as it lasted.
It wasn't as though it should be hard to see again later, now that Mettaton knew what he was doing. It was a perfect transformation, after all, and one success means permanent success, surely.
An embrace at all meant contact with injuries, so Mettaton's agitation of bitten skin comes as no surprise and no concern. In both touch and ache alike, there was the reminder of being possessed, of having that connection to him. So long as he remained marked, how could he ever lose him?
And though Mettaton seemed tired (unusual in itself, really), there was an unexpected edge to it alongside all of the normal feelings that Emet-Selch was used to sensing. It's just enough to have his grip firm up for a moment, nuzzle against his face before settling back down. As though he could sooth something that he wasn't sure needed soothed, or impress upon it with his presence, somehow.
Not that Emet-Selch could do so with much conscious effort, as the events and activities of the night were quickly catching up to him. But it was a pleasant sensation to be worn out through means like this, as opposed to the unnatural drain from too many Bonds. As well as to know that when he woke up (which would almost undoubtedly be after Mettaton; even in his normal state, he slept too much) that he'd be relatively rested. Insomuch as Emet-Selch ever was, at least.
And with as safe as he felt, a soft kiss at his lips was the perfect complement to the quiet ache of the rest of him, and he drifts into sleep in not very much time at all.]
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It wasn't as though it should be hard to see again later, now that Mettaton knew what he was doing. It was a perfect transformation, after all, and one success means permanent success, surely.
An embrace at all meant contact with injuries, so Mettaton's agitation of bitten skin comes as no surprise and no concern. In both touch and ache alike, there was the reminder of being possessed, of having that connection to him. So long as he remained marked, how could he ever lose him?
And though Mettaton seemed tired (unusual in itself, really), there was an unexpected edge to it alongside all of the normal feelings that Emet-Selch was used to sensing. It's just enough to have his grip firm up for a moment, nuzzle against his face before settling back down. As though he could sooth something that he wasn't sure needed soothed, or impress upon it with his presence, somehow.
Not that Emet-Selch could do so with much conscious effort, as the events and activities of the night were quickly catching up to him. But it was a pleasant sensation to be worn out through means like this, as opposed to the unnatural drain from too many Bonds. As well as to know that when he woke up (which would almost undoubtedly be after Mettaton; even in his normal state, he slept too much) that he'd be relatively rested. Insomuch as Emet-Selch ever was, at least.
And with as safe as he felt, a soft kiss at his lips was the perfect complement to the quiet ache of the rest of him, and he drifts into sleep in not very much time at all.]