[The best he could do was stay quiet, for all that he knew it was unnatural between them. To that end, they're both silent, and he regretted bitterly that he'd found climax at all. He couldn't feel how Mettaton felt, but it seemed clear that he wasn't enjoying it, and in his own aftermath there was only grief.
It startled him to feel Mettaton lift so immediately from his body, and he wondered if he'd somehow repulsed him, that he hadn't expected or wanted him to come- and when the other man moves to claim a towel, that doesn't do anything to dispel the impression. Apart from Mettaton not using it to wipe himself clean... so he considered instead whether it was just some means of getting a small bit of energy out. His lover always was the sort to take action.
He keeps his thoughts to himself though, expression stoic as the robot returns to clean him, though he glances aside, not observing the process. Removing himself from it, though the discomfort of the moment remained.
All in silence, beyond the small creak of the bed as Mettaton moved to and from it, along with the rustle of fabric. Even his own breath wasn't that loud, as it was already settling, the mage having not needed to exert himself that far. As 'afterglows' went, this was one of the more disconcerting ones, and he wished again that he'd avoided it entirely.
With his own body cleaner of the mess he'd unfortunately made, and Mettaton shifting closer, he looks back up to him when he finally speaks, when he feels the hand at his chest. His own expression remains neutral, his manner lethargic. But he shakes his head after a moment.]
We would have tried sooner or later.
[With the same result. They were too ardent, each other's company something that so frequently included sex. There had been nothing particularly wrong about this moment, nothing that he saw that they could've done differently. This was their reality now, he supposed. And for all that he knew desire would remain... it was hard to imagine trying again.]
no subject
It startled him to feel Mettaton lift so immediately from his body, and he wondered if he'd somehow repulsed him, that he hadn't expected or wanted him to come- and when the other man moves to claim a towel, that doesn't do anything to dispel the impression. Apart from Mettaton not using it to wipe himself clean... so he considered instead whether it was just some means of getting a small bit of energy out. His lover always was the sort to take action.
He keeps his thoughts to himself though, expression stoic as the robot returns to clean him, though he glances aside, not observing the process. Removing himself from it, though the discomfort of the moment remained.
All in silence, beyond the small creak of the bed as Mettaton moved to and from it, along with the rustle of fabric. Even his own breath wasn't that loud, as it was already settling, the mage having not needed to exert himself that far. As 'afterglows' went, this was one of the more disconcerting ones, and he wished again that he'd avoided it entirely.
With his own body cleaner of the mess he'd unfortunately made, and Mettaton shifting closer, he looks back up to him when he finally speaks, when he feels the hand at his chest. His own expression remains neutral, his manner lethargic. But he shakes his head after a moment.]
We would have tried sooner or later.
[With the same result. They were too ardent, each other's company something that so frequently included sex. There had been nothing particularly wrong about this moment, nothing that he saw that they could've done differently. This was their reality now, he supposed. And for all that he knew desire would remain... it was hard to imagine trying again.]