[He doesn't respond to that message, for all that he sighs at it. For all that he could've pointed out that there was quite a difference between a Mettaton inert and politely harmless, and a Mettaton that was anything but. (He holds back the demand too, that the robot give him that good reason to feel his health deteriorating, as suggested.)
They weren't Bonded; he had no way of feeling Mettaton's antsiness for himself, for being influenced by it. But there was a co-occurring sense of it nonetheless, an agitation that was provoked by the nearness of his husband, and which could only be soothed by his presence.
Barely having a chance to tuck away his phone, or to cross even halfway to their bedroom, the mage is more than matched by the sound of heels on wood. A quick and decided pace that makes up for his own languid attempt, and without further fanfare they were together. Even as the sight of the taller man- whole, and with his own vision unclouded by aggression and fear- has his heart go unsteady, it's with complete immediacy that he surrenders to the embrace.
Without thinking about it, Emet-Selch presses his face to Mettaton's neck, right where he had when they'd first met here. Right where he'd driven teeth, and been unable to stop. But he's not thinking about that, only the familiarity of the embrace, the rightness of it, to hold and be held like this.
With two arms to them both, and no madness, no injury. This felt like the meeting they should've had on this star.]
Mettaton....
[He whispers it, breathes him in, nuzzles into his neck with a small sound. The relief he feels leaves him weak rather than energized, and for a few moments he relies almost entirely on Mettaton to stand, trusting him with his balance.
Compressing and being compressed against metal as it should be, with the strength he expected, and with the lack of brutal scoring- he gives into it entirely, and encourages being crushed, given the tightness of his own arms.]
I missed you.
[Even though they'd technically been together for some time now. Even as he'd 'enjoyed' the cursed wish of a Mettaton who couldn't escape from him. But he preferred his husband conscious too, as it turned out.]
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They weren't Bonded; he had no way of feeling Mettaton's antsiness for himself, for being influenced by it. But there was a co-occurring sense of it nonetheless, an agitation that was provoked by the nearness of his husband, and which could only be soothed by his presence.
Barely having a chance to tuck away his phone, or to cross even halfway to their bedroom, the mage is more than matched by the sound of heels on wood. A quick and decided pace that makes up for his own languid attempt, and without further fanfare they were together. Even as the sight of the taller man- whole, and with his own vision unclouded by aggression and fear- has his heart go unsteady, it's with complete immediacy that he surrenders to the embrace.
Without thinking about it, Emet-Selch presses his face to Mettaton's neck, right where he had when they'd first met here. Right where he'd driven teeth, and been unable to stop. But he's not thinking about that, only the familiarity of the embrace, the rightness of it, to hold and be held like this.
With two arms to them both, and no madness, no injury. This felt like the meeting they should've had on this star.]
Mettaton....
[He whispers it, breathes him in, nuzzles into his neck with a small sound. The relief he feels leaves him weak rather than energized, and for a few moments he relies almost entirely on Mettaton to stand, trusting him with his balance.
Compressing and being compressed against metal as it should be, with the strength he expected, and with the lack of brutal scoring- he gives into it entirely, and encourages being crushed, given the tightness of his own arms.]
I missed you.
[Even though they'd technically been together for some time now. Even as he'd 'enjoyed' the cursed wish of a Mettaton who couldn't escape from him. But he preferred his husband conscious too, as it turned out.]