[It was because it never felt like enough and that they were so insatiable that Mettaton could feel the breadth of it, he thought. As he feels Emet-Selch cling tight to his synthetic body, the robot squeezes him close, urges his spine to bend in just the right places so that their figures were flush in many spots. So that Emet-Selch was pressed around his broad chest, and right down to his tapered, dramatic waist. Against his core; Mettaton was warmest of all right there, especially while his body lacked access to all of its heating enhancements meant to channel his core temperature into something worthwhile.
Emet-Selch's sorrow over his loneliness is felt, and Mettaton continues to rub his lower back with a pitiful sound. Their eyes are matched, but Mettaton disturbs the connection by pressing forward and meeting lips instead. Taking Emet-Selch's lovingly between his own, it's a lingering, warm kiss. Even if he lacked saliva, it was made up for by the softness of silicone—and Mettaton could feel the tenderness of Emet-Selch's lips, if not his warmth. He craved him more and more as every second passed, but this... This felt sublime.
He wondered how long it would take for his desire for him to overwhelm him, to the point of frustration. It was something to talk to Emet-Selch about at some point. Inevitably, he'd have to address all that he lacked—which would have never been a problem or a point of conversation, had he never been granted it in the first place. Mettaton is perfect just the way he is, he would agree to the claim.
But he wanted more. Ravenously, he wanted more.
His heated desire is a conveyance through a tender, somber kiss, gentle but full and with the edge of heat both metaphorical, and physical- as MTT's internal components didn't stop generating heat, and that heat could escape from past his lips. Nuzzling noses, Mettaton even stoops in to press his cheek against Emet-Selch's in something of a scenting gesture of all things. You could take the Puca from Mettaton, but now that he's been one, there were certain habits he'd developed that he, too, found congenial and hard to break. ...In a way, maybe Emet-Selch was being scented, if a cherry-scented robot was scent enough.]
... Thank you, for managing for as long as you did, darling. But no longer! [He smiles wide and bright.] We have each other once again, and doing well, at that. That is...
[Drawing back slightly, Mettaton fixes Emet-Selch with a more analytical look.] How are your injuries doing, Hades? I see your face has improved... a bit. Ah...
[His hand winds up Emet-Selch's body until digits can prod gently at healing welts, which have become more like reddened flesh. Still, there were more injuries than that—and MTT's hand reflexively moves to his heart next.]
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Emet-Selch's sorrow over his loneliness is felt, and Mettaton continues to rub his lower back with a pitiful sound. Their eyes are matched, but Mettaton disturbs the connection by pressing forward and meeting lips instead. Taking Emet-Selch's lovingly between his own, it's a lingering, warm kiss. Even if he lacked saliva, it was made up for by the softness of silicone—and Mettaton could feel the tenderness of Emet-Selch's lips, if not his warmth. He craved him more and more as every second passed, but this... This felt sublime.
He wondered how long it would take for his desire for him to overwhelm him, to the point of frustration. It was something to talk to Emet-Selch about at some point. Inevitably, he'd have to address all that he lacked—which would have never been a problem or a point of conversation, had he never been granted it in the first place. Mettaton is perfect just the way he is, he would agree to the claim.
But he wanted more. Ravenously, he wanted more.
His heated desire is a conveyance through a tender, somber kiss, gentle but full and with the edge of heat both metaphorical, and physical- as MTT's internal components didn't stop generating heat, and that heat could escape from past his lips. Nuzzling noses, Mettaton even stoops in to press his cheek against Emet-Selch's in something of a scenting gesture of all things. You could take the Puca from Mettaton, but now that he's been one, there were certain habits he'd developed that he, too, found congenial and hard to break. ...In a way, maybe Emet-Selch was being scented, if a cherry-scented robot was scent enough.]
... Thank you, for managing for as long as you did, darling. But no longer! [He smiles wide and bright.] We have each other once again, and doing well, at that. That is...
[Drawing back slightly, Mettaton fixes Emet-Selch with a more analytical look.] How are your injuries doing, Hades? I see your face has improved... a bit. Ah...
[His hand winds up Emet-Selch's body until digits can prod gently at healing welts, which have become more like reddened flesh. Still, there were more injuries than that—and MTT's hand reflexively moves to his heart next.]