[Like this, he was nearly lifted off the ground entirely, but he tries to stretch to match him- even if his own considerable height couldn't beat Mettaton's. But he leans, holds tighter, and shudders faintly at the security of being constricted. A hold nothing like his own arms, or any human arms could manage, caught against a form completely unyielding, while his own was safe to give in. If he could meld any more to him, he would.
His voice itself is muffled, as though it too were being compressed by the silicone his lips and face were pressed to.]
And I love you more than I know how to say.
[And he felt sorrier than he knew how to ask for, for tearing into him. While at the same time knowing that there wasn't any fault, that he couldn't have fought it any more than he did. Couldn't have resisted going after Mettaton, hadn't even known he was there to resist, before that night. But guilt remained, as it would, and he tries to accept its presence, as well as the relief of knowing Mettaton was physically well again.
Breath as shaky as his hold on him was firm- as it insisted on firmness, to not be let go of- his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Knows that Mettaton had had an even longer time to miss him, even if a month wasn't the longest in the scheme of things... it was a month without knowing when the end would come. But just as he felt himself loved... he knew too that Mettaton wouldn't have given up. Not on finding him; not on saving Etheirys as he'd promised.
Somehow, thinking of that reassured too, just as the idol's voice did, close to his ear. Squirming just that bit, impossibly closer (so mostly just squirming in an already flush state), he's more than coaxed to remain by the kiss, by the stroke of his hand down his back. If Mettaton had lured him back only for the sake of saying he loved him, in person- then he felt satisfied entirely, in finding out what he wanted.
Though at hearing himself thanked, the mage snorts, very quietly, against Mettaton's throat. Kisses him, where he'd once bitten. (Is both surprised and humbled that he hadn't been nudged away from it... he wouldn't have blamed him for it.)]
It felt woefully undramatic. Committing my feelings to a silent and unresponsive rock, only to return to find a silent and unresponsive husband.
[There had been no theatre at all to it, no flair. Only an inelegant heap of broken machinery that he loved terribly. Hands absently kneading at his back, it was still hard to believe that it had worked.]
--But as it healed you in the end, I suppose I can forgive it.
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His voice itself is muffled, as though it too were being compressed by the silicone his lips and face were pressed to.]
And I love you more than I know how to say.
[And he felt sorrier than he knew how to ask for, for tearing into him. While at the same time knowing that there wasn't any fault, that he couldn't have fought it any more than he did. Couldn't have resisted going after Mettaton, hadn't even known he was there to resist, before that night. But guilt remained, as it would, and he tries to accept its presence, as well as the relief of knowing Mettaton was physically well again.
Breath as shaky as his hold on him was firm- as it insisted on firmness, to not be let go of- his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Knows that Mettaton had had an even longer time to miss him, even if a month wasn't the longest in the scheme of things... it was a month without knowing when the end would come. But just as he felt himself loved... he knew too that Mettaton wouldn't have given up. Not on finding him; not on saving Etheirys as he'd promised.
Somehow, thinking of that reassured too, just as the idol's voice did, close to his ear. Squirming just that bit, impossibly closer (so mostly just squirming in an already flush state), he's more than coaxed to remain by the kiss, by the stroke of his hand down his back. If Mettaton had lured him back only for the sake of saying he loved him, in person- then he felt satisfied entirely, in finding out what he wanted.
Though at hearing himself thanked, the mage snorts, very quietly, against Mettaton's throat. Kisses him, where he'd once bitten. (Is both surprised and humbled that he hadn't been nudged away from it... he wouldn't have blamed him for it.)]
It felt woefully undramatic. Committing my feelings to a silent and unresponsive rock, only to return to find a silent and unresponsive husband.
[There had been no theatre at all to it, no flair. Only an inelegant heap of broken machinery that he loved terribly. Hands absently kneading at his back, it was still hard to believe that it had worked.]
--But as it healed you in the end, I suppose I can forgive it.