[The hint of a growl was no less familiar- nor appealing, a light shiver running through the mage's body, one that would be easily felt with how closely they were pressed. An appreciation for the sound, and for the interest that he knew lay behind it, a willingness to steal his air, and for more than that....
But they speak instead, something Emet-Selch couldn't do when his lips were covered. And his heart stirs more quickly still, when Mettaton dips briefly to his neck, an expanse the mage offers to him freely, affected easily by the kiss (though noticing too, the lack of long ears in his face, leaning for him and smacking him as they often did... but that was just how it was now, unless Mettaton deliberately shapeshifted them back).]
Will your presence not suffice for a balm? You're always telling me of your willingness to distract me from my pains....
[A low-voiced murmur, close to his face. And for all that Emet-Selch wanted to curl back to his body, he waits for that too, as he feels his lover's hand between them, against the fabric over his heart, and looks back up to meet his gaze. Returns one kiss with another, at the edge of Mettaton's lips, tempering the want to linger there, to coax him into more.
His heart so often ended up scarred. Emet-Selch realizes it too, and isn't sure what to think about it. If there was any way to think about it at all, that it wasn't just... what it was. A natural place to find wounded.
And one that he would willingly show him. Wordlessly, he nods, caught up just as easily in Mettaton's violet eye. Though he'd been used to the gold, this was something he was drawn to no less, a look he could drown in with no hope of coming up for air. And no desire to.
There had been little time to spend together properly, not with one or the other of them being out of commission, unconscious, or insane. This was as good as it might be- as it was true enough that Emet-Selch was frequently sore anyway (if not generally from the aftermath of having been electrocuted and shot).
It wasn't with the same stumbling heat that drove them now, the breathless passion that barely managed to reach a bed, with their legs tangled and bodies aching. But it was with a kind of passion nonetheless, an insistence, for closeness, for intimacy. And though it was Mettaton's suggestion, he pulls back to answer it, to step towards the bedroom- though without his own hands leaving the robot's body entirely, trailing instead to his sides, his hips.]
I'll show you anything you want. We've the time for it now.
[Time and place and sanity. The reassurance that they were together, he wanted to feel it in his touch.]
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But they speak instead, something Emet-Selch couldn't do when his lips were covered. And his heart stirs more quickly still, when Mettaton dips briefly to his neck, an expanse the mage offers to him freely, affected easily by the kiss (though noticing too, the lack of long ears in his face, leaning for him and smacking him as they often did... but that was just how it was now, unless Mettaton deliberately shapeshifted them back).]
Will your presence not suffice for a balm? You're always telling me of your willingness to distract me from my pains....
[A low-voiced murmur, close to his face. And for all that Emet-Selch wanted to curl back to his body, he waits for that too, as he feels his lover's hand between them, against the fabric over his heart, and looks back up to meet his gaze. Returns one kiss with another, at the edge of Mettaton's lips, tempering the want to linger there, to coax him into more.
His heart so often ended up scarred. Emet-Selch realizes it too, and isn't sure what to think about it. If there was any way to think about it at all, that it wasn't just... what it was. A natural place to find wounded.
And one that he would willingly show him. Wordlessly, he nods, caught up just as easily in Mettaton's violet eye. Though he'd been used to the gold, this was something he was drawn to no less, a look he could drown in with no hope of coming up for air. And no desire to.
There had been little time to spend together properly, not with one or the other of them being out of commission, unconscious, or insane. This was as good as it might be- as it was true enough that Emet-Selch was frequently sore anyway (if not generally from the aftermath of having been electrocuted and shot).
It wasn't with the same stumbling heat that drove them now, the breathless passion that barely managed to reach a bed, with their legs tangled and bodies aching. But it was with a kind of passion nonetheless, an insistence, for closeness, for intimacy. And though it was Mettaton's suggestion, he pulls back to answer it, to step towards the bedroom- though without his own hands leaving the robot's body entirely, trailing instead to his sides, his hips.]
I'll show you anything you want. We've the time for it now.
[Time and place and sanity. The reassurance that they were together, he wanted to feel it in his touch.]