glitzandglamour: (💣125)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-26 06:46 am (UTC)(link)
[It doesn't take long for Emet-Selch to give him a reply, a moment's worth of time, but he's taken by the watch and waiting for what Emet-Selch's thoughts are on that. His dedication should be expected, but it warms Mettaton's heart for the other man all the same. A mutual protectiveness and care, an attribute that ought to be present alongside love. He smiles.

Reaching out to Emet-Selch was the right choice, not that there was any other path he would have taken. He trusts him wholly.]


Having you to confide in... and to rely on. I feel better. Immeasurably. You know just how to ease my worries, dearest. I could kiss you.

[Onlookers watching this liberally reclining Puca and his leaning ears as he regards his device with a relieved grin and fixed attention probably think he's messaging a crush, with how totally absorbed he is by the device. They're right. Would That They Knew The Subject Matter, However.

The problem has yet to be solved. That much is true. But Emet-Selch's willingness to help Mettaton, no matter who should come into possession of his history in the future, is an immense relief in a city as precarious as Aefenglom. Who knew what sorts of spells or situations existed that might expose him? Yet with Emet-Selch to help him, he could feel secure in knowing that he'd be taken care of.

A thought strikes the robot. A curiosity he'd never addressed, surprisingly.]


You yourself very quickly admitted to me that you're an Ascian, though in description rather than in word. Do you prefer to keep that secret, here in Aefenglom? I imagine it was a necessity to keep it secret where you're from... Given the reactions I saw humans have to you.

[Twice... Well, Varis already knew, obviously. (He didn't appreciate it. Violence happened.) But there was the time he introduced himself as an Ascian, and all hackles were raised then. (They didn't appreciate it either. There was tension that could be cut with Thancred's readied blade.) Perhaps it has something to do with trying to usher in their demise...]
glitzandglamour: (💣101)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-26 10:46 am (UTC)(link)
[Even then, Mettaton considers telling Emet-Selch to just teleport to him. The temptation is there. What's a physical impossibility between them? It doesn't stand a chance, as far as Mettaton's concerned.

And then they wouldn't be able to stay off each other, and Mettaton's in a particularly summery mood that he'd scarcely care about anyone around him, and it would only devolve from there. A repeat of the Looking-Glass House, only worse... A part of Mettaton's mind is dedicated to this very thought and scenario, fantasies about kissing his Bondmate at the forefront. But he's also preoccupied with the conversation, the unfortunate distance, and the still-present worries about Soren that have been soothed, but not eliminated.]


Amaurot too... I assumed as much. And now I know with certainty, what you consider classified.

[As chatty as Mettaton is, there are two things about him that have kept him from talking much about Emet-Selch to others, from inane details to matters of what he is or where he comes from. The first: Mettaton loves to talk about himself, particularly his capabilities and beauty (and not about his past, thank you). The second: nobody has really asked about his personal life, and Mettaton doesn't readily offer it without being pressed. Emet-Selch constitutes part of his personal life, as his Bonded and his lover.

Rereading, he registers that Emet-Selch has no identity to preserve here. He wonders what it must be like to be like him, caring so little whether or not somebody found out that he was an entity who lost his body and assumed a new one for a lack of one. That he's otherwise incorporeal. Aefenglom's general attitude toward the spectral is wary, and Mettaton dislikes the thought of a human treating him with wariness and concern, or worse. Emet-Selch, on the other hand, he could believe caring less for how others regarded him.

There could have been a hint of progress toward being less fearful of others learning that he's a ghost, but it doesn't occur. He chalks it up to their differences in energy and demeanor. Mettaton has his own misgivings, besides.]


Well. What you consider important is safe with me. Although switching back to Emet-Selch is always a difficulty... I like your name too much. But I manage.

[it's short and the perfect amount of syllables]
glitzandglamour: (💣058)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-26 06:37 pm (UTC)(link)
Your name didn't strike me as something to be upset about... Yes. It's because only special people deserve to know it. Understood.

[Which is very different from his own origin or history, which he'd prefer nobody knows unless they already do, without his intervention, but within his control. It's a very delicate subject and with Emet-Selch serving as his Bondmate, he scarcely sees any need for anyone else to know. It's not as if anyone would think to ask of such a specific scenario, he thinks.

On the other hand, having a name of preference plus a title slots in with the Ascian's preferences about the way he conducts himself. Truly, having been stripped of all that he regards as his, he can see why he'd hold close what's important to him. It's the reverse of the way Mettaton flaunts what he considers his, but because Mettaton only gained, while Emet-Selch only lost. ...It's saddening to think on.]


Let's see... Well, I'm not forthright about my original build. The one intended to win the king's favor. It's as you said, when I first told you that I was built as a human eradication robot. Humans might not like that! But if one of them learned, I'd manage it. For example... I have told Mira that I was built as a weapon first, among a few others. Not that it was to destroy humans, though. Haha.

I can't think of much else. Oh. My age. I have a story to uphold! I claim I'm several years old. Nine, I think. Yes. I believe I would be almost nine, to the public.

Robots, darling. They start out life precisely as programmed. There is another robot here... he's scarcely a year old. You wouldn't guess it.


[Imagine Mettaton trying to ensure that fellow robots do not perceive him as anything but. It's an ordeal, but he's an actor, even though he fails at understanding his own body where most androids are calculating and accurate... It's fine. He makes it work.

From his place remotely, Mettaton nearly jumps in his interested realization. More of the learning process about his Bonded, more details he'd love to know should he possess them.]


That reminds me! Do you have a birthday?? Even old men like you surely have a beginning, thousands of years back.

[He was very amused when Vanitas called him, endearingly, "old man."]
glitzandglamour: (💣170)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-26 11:35 pm (UTC)(link)
I wouldn't mind mentioning it too much, darling. Capricious as they are... I'm sure they would understand in the end. Haha...

[Mettaton is far less worried about people knowing, but at least he's learned to act with a bit of discretion. Some people can know, others might not be a good idea. It wasn't as though it would be a surprise that his people would want to defend themselves... Or kill just a few humans...

More importantly, he's excited to have received a birthday from his Bonded. Late Spring? Good enough for Mettaton! It's likely the most helpful measure he could have, given how different he can imagine some worlds operate. Seasons may even be different, but at least there's an approximate springtime in Aefenglom. (Two springtimes, if the Wilde counts! Mettaton's greedy.) He spares a moment to regard passersby on Aefenglom's streets, noting their attire for warmth with the acknowledgement that Spring has sprung and it's onto Summer already.

This world may not be even remotely close to Emet-Selch's, but Mettaton decides late Spring is his.]


Late Spring. That's perfect. I'm surprised! Not because of the time of year. But because late Spring just passed!! Of course you wouldn't make any note of it. Next time, beautiful.

[He wonders when the last time was that he even celebrated a birthday. (Is that something he was ever accustomed to doing?) More years yet to add atop Emet-Selch's stacks of years. A cake with so many candles on it, it may as well just be a bonfire. A thing to get a fire permit for... Mettaton amuses himself with this thought, because he likes the thought of his Bonded having a birthday at all (and his own humor). The robot just has that kind of energy. Someone excitable about small details like this, and there may be more reasons yet for that, because-]

My birthday... is whenever I want it to be, of course. [So his is "picking a day and going with it".] I pick a month... and that's my birthday! [Oh, or... "picking a month and going with it."] Really though, I wasn't born, like most beings. I'm sure you could have guessed. I don't know where I came from. I just started being! Though I don't have a clue when...

[Seasons do not exist Underground. Neither does any indication of the passing of time, lunar nor solar. He easily realized that was why Monsters in the underground civilization never had to worry about going feral on the full moon, because it simply didn't apply.]

The day I started being a robot. That was late October — mid-Autumn. I'm sure you can imagine what month I favor... but I can have any of them, as I like.
glitzandglamour: (💣057)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-27 05:42 am (UTC)(link)
My origins are a mystery even to me, yes. I'm a blessing unprecedented.

[Given how people everywhere regard ghosts, he's wondered if he is the product of something dead after all... Who knows. Regardless, he's living now, and that's all that really matters to him. If he was something else before, he doesn't remember it. He doesn't think about it too hard.

Mettaton hums in turn, likewise unsurprised that Emet-Selch cannot remember the last he'd regarded his own birthday. It's somehow predictable of him, even if it's still remarkable. To have a concrete birthday - or at least, the rough figure of one - and not to pay it mind is far from what the idol would do, space-time complications aside. To have gone so far as to neglect it, at that... It checks out with so much else the Ascian has neglected about himself, he thinks. Indeed, as Emet-Selch fears, he'll change that. His is a birthday that will go fully acknowledged at the next opportunity, be it within Aefenglom's city limits, or out in the Wilde. Mettaton's not picky.

He doesn't even consider Emet-Selch or himself not being here, because he's busy thinking about this conversation happening right now, and what it pertains to. About birthdays. About knowing Emet-Selch's, and more concretely deciding his own — particularly relevant now that the sun is a thing, and time flows with meaning beyond squares on a calendar and the hands of a clock. He instead dreams about ways to celebrate, closing his eye.]


Any birthday of mine is special. There's never too much of a good thing! It was something to be excited about! An occasion for everyone to celebrate. But I'm glad you agree with my primary choice.

Since you're inclined to forget, I'll be sure to remember for you, Hades, darling. It wouldn't be hard to remember. After all, we're practically opposites again! How lovely.


[Thinking about birthdays is a distraction from the knowledge that another Mirrorbound possesses unwanted knowledge about him. And wouldn't promise to keep it secret, the way Mettaton wants. His attention's on his Bonded.]
Edited (I Wrote "Forget" Instead Of "Remember") 2020-06-27 09:49 (UTC)
glitzandglamour: (💣157)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-27 08:37 pm (UTC)(link)
[Of course his sentiment would be such... Mettaton snorts at the suggestion to forget because it's not relevant to him, though he doesn't connect that reason to his future demise. Instead he connects it to his apathy for the world they inhabit, its laws surely different from where he comes from. He feels inclined once more to kiss him, because he feels even freer to remember it.

So he writes,]


Such liberty to do as I please... I may just take your birthday, then. Yes, I WILL celebrate it.

[Weirdly threatening for just saying "I'm going to celebrate your birthday whether you like it or not." It's also one of the things he feels like biting him for suddenly...

Mettaton does not view his thirst for blood to be tiresome or unwanted. He stares at very human-appearing passersby. The robot remembers when he could smell Mira in a particularly tense moment, how she was just a Witch to him for a fleeting moment that he can barely grasp...

And just as quickly, he banishes the thought. Really, other Witches don't smell like Emet-Selch. There's no reason he'd want their blood as much, logically. That he would ever pursue anyone else's was surely because he only wanted Emet-Selch's. And that makes it all slot comfortably into place, even as he watches two obviously practicing Witches walking by hand-in-hand, watches their skin, thinks of the taste that pulses underneath. Yes, Mettaton's distracted. For him, it's a manageable distraction to the tune of arousal on a body that shows no signs of it. Similarly, he shows the public no signs of his hunger unless there were a perceptive eye in the crowd.

He's just thinking of Emet-Selch bruised and bitten and in his arms. And thinking of him makes him keep reading. Then, of course, he's made to think of himself, given the subject matter.]


I am used to it. Yes. I would get plenty of fan correspondence... Letters, flowers, gifts. Tributes to my splendor. When you have a birthday before a crowd, that's the sort of reception you'd expect. An abundance of adoration foisted upon you... Haha.

[Mettaton is the kind of person who would say he got "so many cards that he couldn't read them all," but he definitely reads every last word. Nonetheless, there wasn't as much in the ways of celebrating from anyone he considered close during those times. So when he thinks of that, he has to dig deeper, and he stops thinking of Witch blood altogether. He stops listening to people conversing around him, sinking into his spot.]

Before that. [Chewing on how to address whatever he did in more intimate company, he wonders if he should send anything like this at all. But of course he... could. Not should. That's part of what makes Emet-Selch unique company: he has the whole of him.] Sometimes... If I wanted to celebrate others, I would try to impress them with something nice. One time, Blooky made a mix CD for me, entirely without me knowing. It was pretty bad. I liked it.
glitzandglamour: (💣037)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-27 11:51 pm (UTC)(link)
[It's the sort of retort that has Mettaton that much more craving of Emet-Selch's skin: the heat of his blood washing his tongue, the warmth of his vitality in his throat, the give of his body flush to his own. A demand to overtake and temper him, to show him how very present they'd both be for the event. The kind of wanting that he glares at his device for. Were anybody watching him closely, he would be a roller-coaster ride of emotional twists and loops in expression, and he grinds his teeth for lack of anywhere to sink them. Emet-Selch misses his point, and he doesn't think he feels threatened enough.

It reminds him a little of how the Ascian would tell him not to get accustomed to the look of surprise on him when in reality, Mettaton relishes it all the more for how frequently he can pull it from him. And so he dedicates himself to surprising him and keeping his attention, something he glares harder at his device for until he levels his gaze with the nightlife unfolding before him. Why is he here... and not where his Bonded is?

He rises to his feet in that moment, incensed and alert and excited, before he gets the next reply.

It softens him in turn. The acknowledgement that the ghost he left behind cares for him so is a bittersweet note, and it feels like too long ago since he's seen them. He saw Napstablook in a memory, but he also saw them right before he showed up here... Those are points to hang onto. He wonders if he'd see them here. If he could introduce Emet-Selch to them — after, of course, awkwardly coming clean once and for all.

And how awkward it would be. Mettaton feels less uncertain about it right now, compared to some months ago. He can't begin to figure out why, not in this moment, especially when his focus is shifted back to the Ascian's sentiments. Mettaton so quickly shifts from ravenous and passionate to tender and infatuated when it comes to Emet-Selch. For his Bonded to have such dramatic sway over his emotions... He feels he met someone very special in him.]


I'm not concerned about you matching anything, darling. So don't worry about that. I have faith in you for what you have a mind for.

[Mettaton has no expectations, but a bar of standard. He's neither easy nor difficult to impress, but affected nonetheless. Emet-Selch's wondering about comparing to his cousin in itself is endearing.]

How about you? Did you commonly celebrate your real birthday? As opposed to my mercurial one.
glitzandglamour: (💣140)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-28 05:02 am (UTC)(link)
[It's just as well that he doesn't think to address anything but Amaurot, because that's what Mettaton's thinking of. The aspect of birthdays losing meaning with years... It makes sense, even though Mettaton's own excitability over things like this scarcely wanes, only takes on new shades and variables. There's nothing mundane about the way the robot would like to live his life — he's been there, he's not a fan, time can disappear with the blink of an eye. Nothing provoking, nothing interesting, nothing stimulating. The Underground was full of that.

How did Emet-Selch deal with it... It makes more sense yet to read that being "individually-invested," or wanting to stand out, wasn't commonplace. He nods to himself. No wonder they didn't appear to care for fashion! No wonder even architecture was formed with such resonant harmony, not one building vying for attention over another! He's contrasting with human cities he's seen in movies with their advertising splendor and bright lights, all things Mettaton... likes... and did not see in Amaurot. It was closer to the towering pressure he wanted than Aefenglom, far closer to the city strips he'd dreamed of, but quite different. Orderly. Beautiful. Elegant. And Mettaton thought that if he were unleashed in such a city, he'd have a hard time figuring out which building was which. Lacking individuality.

He hums thoughtfully. They're not talking about cities, though. Though an undercurrent of possessiveness remains, he remains in a more thoughtful state than a fervent one.]


Then... I'll ensnare you in my own captivation for such investment. I think you can break your streak of apathy a little... and celebrate a birthday. Something exciting to occupy one of those mundane days or hours! An indulgence, yes.

[Even if he's sure Emet-Selch isn't inclined toward being so center stage, it's not like it has to be like that. That may be Mettaton's thing, but he acknowledges their differences. Even if it were just himself, he would be content celebrating Emet-Selch.

Already, Mettaton brainstorms "good ways to celebrate Emet-Selch." A lack of desire for material goods, it would be easy for Mettaton to deliver his sentiment through means of expression. He knows already there are other things he could give him any day, but things made special by dedicating them upon him specifically for a day. Mettaton's aim is always to impress, and he has no doubt he could. He's nothing if not confident in his ability to inspire.]


You wouldn't protest to my want to celebrate you, would you? As I am invested in you, after all...
Edited (he could break his Steak of Apathy, too, i guess) 2020-06-28 05:23 (UTC)
glitzandglamour: (💣062)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-28 04:25 pm (UTC)(link)
[Trade the confusion of harmonious architecture for the confusion of chaotic billboards and flashy advertisements. Would it really be any easier to navigate than a labyrinthine human city with its competing labels and brands, but at least everything is labelled/mislabeled? No. But it's what Mettaton would want.

Mettaton's easy mood is challenged by what he reads, and that spark of aggression returns in him as he smiles maliciously at his device, ears swiveling, angling, flicking. It's not that Emet-Selch would protest — that's fine. If he were really so reluctant, Mettaton would be glad to reduce his celebratory efforts into something compact, a token of his appreciation for being that he thinks would be agreeable to the Ascian. Meeting in-between. No, what incites his ire is, once again, the assertion that time spent here has no meaning elsewhere.

And his aggression is difficult to channel into anything productive, given how uncertain it all continues to be. But he's agitated all the same. He marches onward, in the direction of his Bonded. People part for the tall robotic Puca, his stride so long, so fast, so unstoppable and regarding nothing in his path that he might just stomp someone flat if they didn't yield to him.

Nobody agitates him quite like Emet-Selch does.]


You don't have any surefire proof of that, darling. We've gone over this.

You'll find it reflected elsewhere. It'll haunt you. I'll haunt you. Always. You won't be able to stop thinking about me, and these years you spend with me. You'll be hooked. I'll make sure of it.


[He writes it like slamming his thumbs on his keys... He scarcely thinks about it, emotion high. But he adds on quickly, emotions still high and the smell of the air striking him suddenly (smells, tastes, senses he doesn't want to forget even if he loses them),]

Yes. Your time here matters. Significantly. You'll leave with me yourself, you know. Your impact.

[Mettaton is hellbent on remembering, after all, which he has no say in doing. He considers that a form of reflection. He considers then that he'll remember how much Emet-Selch plays his nerves, and how much he loves him for it.]
glitzandglamour: (💣120)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-28 08:08 pm (UTC)(link)
[Imagine it... Amaurot, but with neon lights and marquee signs... Single-handedly, he would do this. That's Mettaton...

His pace is even, the sound of his footsteps a rhythm unstoppable to his own ears, the tempo of a quickened heartbeat if he were to have one. No outlet indeed, and no way to confirm a thing, Mettaton's forced to acknowledge that there may be no remembering (for most people; he's still decided that he's exempt from all of the rules). But that means that Emet-Selch could forget him, and he realizes he dislikes that.

In his irritation, he denies the very possibility. He grips onto that tether between them with all of his might, letting it determine his course so that he could trace it back to his lover, do exactly what Emet-Selch wrote: carve to bone, drain him completely, and surpass here. He can't whittle his already pinpointed annoyance down into words, feeling it would only do to let likewise sharp claws and teeth do all of the expressing for him. Thoughts could be communicated by way of manner, by way of action and expression: dance, gesture, violence, sex, affection. All of it at once.

Mettaton hates that he has no proof to the contrary.

So even in his trek, he adapts. He may be determined to find Emet-Selch (at whatever place he's calling residence for the night, his Puca-derived ability to track things down a boon), but he tries to figure out how else he could approach this. If they forget everything, if there is no record of it, all scars removed and no physical evidence remaining on Emet-Selch's body regardless of Mettaton's care to establish it...

His device comes back out, though he doesn't slow.]


I bit you raw in our dreams, and you woke without sign of it. However, it happened. Each time you lay claim to my body, each time it disappears from transformation or to silicone... I know of it. Nothing changes that we have everything of each other. Even if it's only here, by some chance... Even were it forgotten. It's here.

More importantly, I'm going to have you right now, gorgeous. Whether I'm right or not, it would be a shame not to occupy myself with what I love and adore in this moment! You do know how to provoke me so completely... Unlike any other.
glitzandglamour: (💣129)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-28 11:04 pm (UTC)(link)
[He wouldn't spend his night anywhere but in Mettaton's arms, he thinks, even as he hastens his pace into a sprint. There's nothing more to write.

Mettaton may be wearing heels, but he has the same power behind his legs granted to him by transforming into a Puca at all, something of an interesting, welcome change, despite their distortion in appearance. He's so fast now, his legs have such substance, and it's a rush just to use them at all when he's this wound up. It's even a rush to know that his Bonded remains, that they're both keyed up and agitated by their circumstances, both of them knowing the same thing yet contending for either side of the issue.

If Mettaton couldn't feel Emet-Selch's emotions clear as day through their Bond, he'd be able to tell in his erratic manner of typing. But even his own mood is clear: his decision, his desperation, his assertion, his possessiveness and his craving. All the idol's adoration manifest.

He's a lot faster when running, making it easy to clear distance from Entertainment District to Haven. He takes shortcuts over buildings - they're nothing to his ability to jump them and his inability to hurt himself in the process - and it's no time at all until he kicks in his own front door, caring little for trying the knob. (He fortunately only breaks it a little.) Mettaton closes it (to the best of his ability), marches up the stairs on steely steps marked by the click of heels, and opens Emet-Selch's door.

He closes it behind him, and locks eyes with his lover's figure. All at once, that flinty coldness to his golden eye ignites into passion, and he crosses the room for him in a matter of strides.]


Hades.

[Mettaton's voice is modulated and firm when he says his name, but low enough for it to be just for his ears as he stands before him. A deliberate use of his name as he confirms what he savors having of him. He pulls Emet-Selch close and... simply presses his forehead to his, first. He tips their noses, closes his eye, loves him and breathes in his presence. It's heavy and heartfelt, the product fondness. Mettaton smiles softly.

Should there be no protest, he slips down to his neck and snaps his teeth into flesh in with a voracity, shuddering and sighing into the heady feeling of his Bonded's magic signature. A long-awaited treat, the feeling of his Bond's soul so close, his body warm and alive in his arms, his blood hot and his favorite thing to taste. His arms pull Emet-Selch so close to his waist that he may very well be lifting him off the floor slightly.]
glitzandglamour: (💣099)

[personal profile] glitzandglamour 2020-06-29 01:42 am (UTC)(link)
[It's true: were he to teleport, Mettaton would track him down again. Bond failing, he would simply think of an object he'd imagine on his person: his earring, if he couldn't simply covet his soul and find him that way. Mettaton has countless ways he'd track him down, and he doesn't imagine Emet-Selch would put up such a fight so as to make him truly untraceable.

This simply means he can devote his energy entirely to ravishing him rather than hunting him.

Blood seeps between his teeth and drains into his mouth. He's gotten good at forming his lips around his bite to reduce the amount of loss, so wanting of his Bonded's blood as he is. His ears perk up, though there's a contentedness to them in their angle, in how they lean and swivel to pick up sounds from his Bondmate over all else. Feeling even his leg locked with his, Mettaton nuzzles into his bite, agitating it, ushering forth a greater gush — has he hit something good already? There's so much...

He sucks; it's a relief beyond measure. He couldn't begin to cough on all of the blood he has in his throat, given that he has no need to breathe, but he swallows and swallows, pleased by its abundance. Mettaton groans into his bite, realizing that he'd been wanting this taste for... days. Ever since he last had his fix of the Ascian, even though it hasn't been long. How stressed he's been, how frantic and agitated, and how immediately Emet-Selch's life serves to ameliorate his troubles, a cure to his anxieties. He is his solace where he can't have one, and his next sigh is crossed with the notes of pleasure and desperation both. And now that he has it, it's a wonderful bite of him, he thinks. One he could suck on for a time, with how plentiful a supply it is. (Perhaps MTT isn't considering any danger to his Emet-Selch. How much is too much? Mettaton doesn't know of such a thing.)

Adjusting his hold on his lover, one of Mettaton's flexible arms winds entirely around Emet-Selch's middle as the other crosses over his back, gripping down onto his ass as he comfortably takes a share of gravity from the Ascian. The idol tugs him as close as he can, shifting his hip into Emet-Selch's leg to form his body against his where he knows it'll give way to his own. Pressing as completely to him as possible as he sucks rapturously upon his injury.

He can only show him he has him in this moment, but this moment has expanse. The uncertainty of their return, should it come, should it be cruel... Whenever it is, it's not now, and now is always happening. Mettaton's upset begins to dissolve with him in his arms: there's nothing to worry about. Emet-Selch is securely in his grip, and surely his loss would feel like danger. He feels nothing of the sort.

This reassurance in place, Mettaton sighs again into his neck, adjusting his lips once more when he feels blood seep from the corner of them. He shudders, even as he remains stable. He swallows again breaking free and sighing long and hard against his skin.

Mettaton kisses him where a bruise blooms around punctures. He bleeds copiously. He shivers again, the smell overwhelming him, intoxicating him. All of his pleasure to have his Bonded so close is immense, and he feels he possesses him all the more for his delight. With a voice deeper and thicker, painted awash in the blood in his throat and the love he harbors, Mettaton speaks against his throat.]


Ah... Y-You didn't tense, darling... I can tell...

[His sharpened teeth slipped through him so readily. It makes him want more.]

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