[A passion all its own, and as Emet-Selch suggests MTT's inclination toward soothing him with all of himself thoroughly applied, he can't help but smile. And smile more, hopelessly enamored by the touch of hands on his hips that felt... agonizingly sensitive, in the way it was so dull. A bizarre combination, that, and one he'd get a chance to pour over later.
But for now, he rocks his hip; he presses himself into Emet-Selch's touch, a sway to his step that was seductive and deliberate in. He nearly wavers, affected. (Gods, it was insanity, to be deprived of vivid and mind-numbing sensation. Then, to go a month without the feeling of touch... Mettaton knew without labelling it explicitly that he was addicted, and his body as it is registered sensation dully compared to a robotic Puca. He thinks this without words, a buzzing in the back of his head.) He wanted to be the balm that soothed, the distraction Emet-Selch coveted to make the pain drain into pleasure- to override it with sensation generated by himself, and to leave him properly loved. And with that feeling, Mettaton wobbles, overcome.
It's a glamorously graceful wobble, though. A tip of his head that exposes neck; the tease of his thighs pressing together mid-step, paired with a heated exhale. Mettaton wraps his arm affectionately around Emet-Selch in return, kissing the side of his head in a fleeting peck of lips.]
Show me... and I'll whip up a remedy to soothe your aches, darling.
[Another small smile curves upon his lips and colors his tone. They had time; this was a moment all their own, the world outside peaceful, the rain starting to drizzle gently upon the cottage roof. It was homey; it was safe, because Emet-Selch was here.
Mettaton never thought he'd appreciate safety as much as he does now that he has Emet-Selch in his life. Safety in ways that exceed being protected. It was the safety of intimate company, in a world where he gave himself in the form of an object of fantasy, an indulgence to be shared. Emet-Selch was where he was wholly himself, including every part others wouldn't be permitted to handle.
Toward the bedroom their gradual pace takes them, steady as the pitter-patter of rain tapping lightly the cobblestone pathway outside the concealing fabric of plain curtains. This bedroom didn't have Mettaton's flair, not yet; it had some belongings, a torn robe here or a wool sweater there, complete with a damaged robotic arm- but it hadn't been properly taken apart. A lack of resources is to blame for sure. But at least in its middle is a proper, if modest, bed, suited for the two of them to fit.
Even though it's a home all their own, Mettaton closes the door behind them. His arm trails low against the small of Emet-Selch's back, toying with fabric, the itch to strip him something he has patience for because he knew he'd have him exposed soon enough. But his gaze is warm and pointed, watching the Ascian at his side hungrily. He spares him a smile before glancing around their accomodations.]
... The last time you and I stayed in something so spartan, it was a room hardly yours, back in your shared abode in Aefenglom. That, or... some of what we enjoyed in Nippon. Though that was nicer. I didn't have to barter for running water there. [He snorts, leaning in to give Emet-Selch's temple a kiss.]
no subject
But for now, he rocks his hip; he presses himself into Emet-Selch's touch, a sway to his step that was seductive and deliberate in. He nearly wavers, affected. (Gods, it was insanity, to be deprived of vivid and mind-numbing sensation. Then, to go a month without the feeling of touch... Mettaton knew without labelling it explicitly that he was addicted, and his body as it is registered sensation dully compared to a robotic Puca. He thinks this without words, a buzzing in the back of his head.) He wanted to be the balm that soothed, the distraction Emet-Selch coveted to make the pain drain into pleasure- to override it with sensation generated by himself, and to leave him properly loved. And with that feeling, Mettaton wobbles, overcome.
It's a glamorously graceful wobble, though. A tip of his head that exposes neck; the tease of his thighs pressing together mid-step, paired with a heated exhale. Mettaton wraps his arm affectionately around Emet-Selch in return, kissing the side of his head in a fleeting peck of lips.]
Show me... and I'll whip up a remedy to soothe your aches, darling.
[Another small smile curves upon his lips and colors his tone. They had time; this was a moment all their own, the world outside peaceful, the rain starting to drizzle gently upon the cottage roof. It was homey; it was safe, because Emet-Selch was here.
Mettaton never thought he'd appreciate safety as much as he does now that he has Emet-Selch in his life. Safety in ways that exceed being protected. It was the safety of intimate company, in a world where he gave himself in the form of an object of fantasy, an indulgence to be shared. Emet-Selch was where he was wholly himself, including every part others wouldn't be permitted to handle.
Toward the bedroom their gradual pace takes them, steady as the pitter-patter of rain tapping lightly the cobblestone pathway outside the concealing fabric of plain curtains. This bedroom didn't have Mettaton's flair, not yet; it had some belongings, a torn robe here or a wool sweater there, complete with a damaged robotic arm- but it hadn't been properly taken apart. A lack of resources is to blame for sure. But at least in its middle is a proper, if modest, bed, suited for the two of them to fit.
Even though it's a home all their own, Mettaton closes the door behind them. His arm trails low against the small of Emet-Selch's back, toying with fabric, the itch to strip him something he has patience for because he knew he'd have him exposed soon enough. But his gaze is warm and pointed, watching the Ascian at his side hungrily. He spares him a smile before glancing around their accomodations.]
... The last time you and I stayed in something so spartan, it was a room hardly yours, back in your shared abode in Aefenglom. That, or... some of what we enjoyed in Nippon. Though that was nicer. I didn't have to barter for running water there. [He snorts, leaning in to give Emet-Selch's temple a kiss.]