[Sighing very quietly, Emet-Selch settles into the moment. Even sitting up like this he thought he might drift off; the nuzzling and petting was most soothing, and Mettaton's very presence moreso. Something so strange, and something he's not sure if he'd ever get used to- the chance to let go, if just a bit, to trust in someone enough to be at ease like this. To fall asleep without concern, despite having little capacity for defending himself. It was something he felt very fortunate to possess, even if being made more conscious of it in a moment like this was, perhaps, leaning towards the unfortunate side of things.
But he was warm and safe; he couldn't take either of those things for granted.
Even if it would've probably been better for them both for this whole incident to be avoided, the degree to which he felt looked after, cared for- the gentle side of possession- was something he still had a hard time grasping. Nearly as difficult was the awareness of love experienced to this degree, and he's not sure if the unsteadiness that he continues to feel is a result of that, or the loss of blood.
(And 'Useful' was still a reasonably-high compliment for a human from the Ascian, really. Something that any insect should be grateful for.)]
No doubt we'll find- something. Determined as we are.
[There was still an endless amount to catch up on, affections that couldn't be expressed only once. Mettaton could still take his blood, bruise and bite him (Emet-Selch didn't see the point of stopping something they both enjoyed just because of a single overindulgence), just not, perhaps, to this degree. Which only meant spreading that intensity into other aspects. No reduction in it, only more ways to express it... yes. Dying was best avoided.
(Even if 'death by amorous puca-bite' would've been a unique one for the Ascian.)
Mettaton's prophetic senses are working so well today (even if his danger sensing ones were briefly offline), as the Ascian makes a soft noise of assent at the suggestion of rest. Apart from being sore and achy, he was mostly just tired, and letting his body get on with replenishing its blood supply was probably the best thing either of them could do for him.]
And... I think sleep will suffice for now.
[Said as he attempts to shuffle back down against the mattress without losing any bit of that contact with the robot. Even if physical comfort wasn't going to be a part of his near future, he knew he'd be able to sleep regardless. He always could, and now he had a fine excuse to stay in bed for a while and not move. Truly, every encounter with Mettaton had its advantages....]
[Emet-Selch's desire for gravity to take him back down is aided by Mettaton's easing of his body, letting him gradually fall with his head against the pillow. Physical contact is lost, but he shifts around enough to rejoin and reunite with him under the covers, turning onto his side so he can curl his arm along his chest. (Continuing to forget that he's still wearing heels... They just feel like they ought to be there, really.)
He'd love to pull him in close, but there's that issue with manhandling again. He almost wonders if enough movement would cause him to feel faint again, in his currently healing state. He doesn't want to test it. Needless to say, he's content with letting Emet-Selch lay on his back.]
Sleep, then. I'll be here. Hopefully, following suit. If not, that's fine.
[Feeling the need to announce what he'll (try to) do with his time, considering most people just go to bed and sleep... But sleep is still novel to him, and he feels the need to clarify what he, a robot, will be doing with his time: lying there, or sleeping, or recharging while lying there, any manner of options. He's definitely spent some nights lying there alert while Emet-Selch slept, of course.
Feeling significantly reassured that Emet-Selch is in better form and is only bound to further recover over time, Mettaton feels he can relax — that, should anything go awry, he'll be able to tell. With another shift of his body, he tucks himself closer to his Bonded before he's possessed by the desire to kiss him on the lips. An indulgence he allows: he lifts up again to lean over his figure, brushing his lips against Emet-Selch's first as a warning before gently capturing his the other man's lips with his own.
It's a gentle, soft kiss that doesn't last long, but an expression of his fondness and relief both. A softness, an invitation to his warmth, an attempt at comforting the both of them where a bite wouldn't suffice. Yes, really... kisses are just one of those outlets they have at their disposal, he thinks, and Emet-Selch could always use more of them. He could express any manner of feeling through them, even the ones that run burning hot enough for teeth to feel like the only appropriate choice. He can imagine it, how feverish kisses would serve as the gesture he needs to convey a possessiveness, a need, an overwhelming capture of his lover. This, on the other hand, is the intent not to suffocate him. A simple kiss to show him he cares.]
[Apart from the inherent discomfort involved in moving at all, it felt better to be on his back again, the meager effort of sitting up and sort of conversing and drinking water using up what bits of stamina he'd collected. He wasn't the worse off for it; to the contrary, in a practical sense Emet-Selch could only improve with the water, but it was time to sleep more if he ever wanted to continue doing such strenuous tasks. But this was as comfortable as he could probably be right now; Mettaton settling down next to him was most congenial, as was knowing that he would remain, possibly sleeping with him. That would be nice, he thought- the robot could always use some more sleep....
But his company alone would be enough, and while he can't burrow against him to show his approval, his appreciation, the Ascian can at least lean. Can nudge, just a little. He was sure that just having him nearby would help, somehow, even if it wasn't as though Mettaton could cause his blood to regenerate any faster (and that technically, he was his greatest risk for losing more of it). But he was a reason to heal... someone concrete to heal for, some small task he could achieve for someone.
Plans for the immediate future in place, Emet-Selch's consciousness already begins to drift, until he feels a small shifting, a soft touch of lips against his own that turns into the most gentle of kisses. It's a contact that causes the quietest of sounds to form in his throat, something that's scarcely given any opportunity to escape, and not because it's trapped there by force. But it's all the Ascian can manage, his approval faint in tone but not in sentiment.
This softness was exactly what they both needed, he thought; these feelings were the ones most needed to express. Sometimes there was heat and pressure, air stolen from his lungs, noise suffocated in his chest, sometimes there were kisses pressed to all parts of either of their bodies, some firm, some wet, some accompanied by gasps or interrupted by moans. There was a lot that a kiss could encompass, and when shared with his lover, they could only be a pleasure.
But they each had their time and place, and this time only gentleness would suffice.
By the time Mettaton pulls back, his consciousness is already fading again, though the darkness that follows didn't seem quite so absolute, not so beset by confusion and fear. No, this time he knew exactly where he was, and it... it wasn't a bad place.]
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But he was warm and safe; he couldn't take either of those things for granted.
Even if it would've probably been better for them both for this whole incident to be avoided, the degree to which he felt looked after, cared for- the gentle side of possession- was something he still had a hard time grasping. Nearly as difficult was the awareness of love experienced to this degree, and he's not sure if the unsteadiness that he continues to feel is a result of that, or the loss of blood.
(And 'Useful' was still a reasonably-high compliment for a human from the Ascian, really. Something that any insect should be grateful for.)]
No doubt we'll find- something. Determined as we are.
[There was still an endless amount to catch up on, affections that couldn't be expressed only once. Mettaton could still take his blood, bruise and bite him (Emet-Selch didn't see the point of stopping something they both enjoyed just because of a single overindulgence), just not, perhaps, to this degree. Which only meant spreading that intensity into other aspects. No reduction in it, only more ways to express it... yes. Dying was best avoided.
(Even if 'death by amorous puca-bite' would've been a unique one for the Ascian.)
Mettaton's prophetic senses are working so well today (even if his danger sensing ones were briefly offline), as the Ascian makes a soft noise of assent at the suggestion of rest. Apart from being sore and achy, he was mostly just tired, and letting his body get on with replenishing its blood supply was probably the best thing either of them could do for him.]
And... I think sleep will suffice for now.
[Said as he attempts to shuffle back down against the mattress without losing any bit of that contact with the robot. Even if physical comfort wasn't going to be a part of his near future, he knew he'd be able to sleep regardless. He always could, and now he had a fine excuse to stay in bed for a while and not move. Truly, every encounter with Mettaton had its advantages....]
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He'd love to pull him in close, but there's that issue with manhandling again. He almost wonders if enough movement would cause him to feel faint again, in his currently healing state. He doesn't want to test it. Needless to say, he's content with letting Emet-Selch lay on his back.]
Sleep, then. I'll be here. Hopefully, following suit. If not, that's fine.
[Feeling the need to announce what he'll (try to) do with his time, considering most people just go to bed and sleep... But sleep is still novel to him, and he feels the need to clarify what he, a robot, will be doing with his time: lying there, or sleeping, or recharging while lying there, any manner of options. He's definitely spent some nights lying there alert while Emet-Selch slept, of course.
Feeling significantly reassured that Emet-Selch is in better form and is only bound to further recover over time, Mettaton feels he can relax — that, should anything go awry, he'll be able to tell. With another shift of his body, he tucks himself closer to his Bonded before he's possessed by the desire to kiss him on the lips. An indulgence he allows: he lifts up again to lean over his figure, brushing his lips against Emet-Selch's first as a warning before gently capturing his the other man's lips with his own.
It's a gentle, soft kiss that doesn't last long, but an expression of his fondness and relief both. A softness, an invitation to his warmth, an attempt at comforting the both of them where a bite wouldn't suffice. Yes, really... kisses are just one of those outlets they have at their disposal, he thinks, and Emet-Selch could always use more of them. He could express any manner of feeling through them, even the ones that run burning hot enough for teeth to feel like the only appropriate choice. He can imagine it, how feverish kisses would serve as the gesture he needs to convey a possessiveness, a need, an overwhelming capture of his lover. This, on the other hand, is the intent not to suffocate him. A simple kiss to show him he cares.]
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But his company alone would be enough, and while he can't burrow against him to show his approval, his appreciation, the Ascian can at least lean. Can nudge, just a little. He was sure that just having him nearby would help, somehow, even if it wasn't as though Mettaton could cause his blood to regenerate any faster (and that technically, he was his greatest risk for losing more of it). But he was a reason to heal... someone concrete to heal for, some small task he could achieve for someone.
Plans for the immediate future in place, Emet-Selch's consciousness already begins to drift, until he feels a small shifting, a soft touch of lips against his own that turns into the most gentle of kisses. It's a contact that causes the quietest of sounds to form in his throat, something that's scarcely given any opportunity to escape, and not because it's trapped there by force. But it's all the Ascian can manage, his approval faint in tone but not in sentiment.
This softness was exactly what they both needed, he thought; these feelings were the ones most needed to express. Sometimes there was heat and pressure, air stolen from his lungs, noise suffocated in his chest, sometimes there were kisses pressed to all parts of either of their bodies, some firm, some wet, some accompanied by gasps or interrupted by moans. There was a lot that a kiss could encompass, and when shared with his lover, they could only be a pleasure.
But they each had their time and place, and this time only gentleness would suffice.
By the time Mettaton pulls back, his consciousness is already fading again, though the darkness that follows didn't seem quite so absolute, not so beset by confusion and fear. No, this time he knew exactly where he was, and it... it wasn't a bad place.]