[Emet-Selch didn't know what would've been kinder to either of them, if he'd asked Mettaton to stop, rather than trying (and failing) to keep from spoiling the dream for him. As this result, with the both of them upset, wasn't anything that qualified as success. Where Mettaton couldn't cry, and the mage felt close to it himself; a natural response to all that emotional intensity, to something important to them going inevitably awry. It would take time to come down from it all, whether it was electrical impulses that had no outlet, or an organic body that went directly from aroused to miserable.
No longer was Mettaton even pretending to be a puca, and the Ascian watches quietly as his come is cleaned up from the robot's bare thighs as well. (Even though he surely wouldn't be able to feel it dry there, or feel it at all, he thinks pointlessly.) There was nothing sexual about it, not now; maybe he was the one repulsed, in the end.
But he didn't blame Mettaton for what had happened, or for no longer having the body (or rather, the sensations) they both wished of him. Neither for pressing his body against him, or wrapping his thighs around his cock. The Ascian had been aroused by him, of course Mettaton would offer what he could to what was intended to be a pleasurable experience. And yet it hadn't been, despite their efforts.
There was no blame to be designated, as he didn't think he'd done anything wrong either. They'd tried; he still shakes his head to hear Mettaton's thanks, feeling sorry with him at this result. And he's quiet as the robot tries to settle down next to him, in as much as a body that couldn't know rest could. And one that had been encouraged, used towards passion... that much, he remembered from their earliest times in bed together, the difficulty in calming down. But even then, Mettaton had been able to feel so much... all they'd needed was a cock to bridge certain gaps. But now they needed everything.
After a moment, he turns towards him, to curl into Mettaton's body as best he could. The desire for physical closeness was there, even if it couldn't go to the depths they wanted. Making a small sound, he shudders weakly, not as any part of the aftermath of arousal and release, but something more unhappy. Where Mettaton had a hard time holding still, Emet-Selch felt drained out, and not in the pleasant way it should've been.
Mettaton's optimism came as no surprise, and for all that his first reply is a soft exhale, he didn't want to refute it. But any sort of agreement would be a lie, so for a little while he says nothing.]
Could we?
[Is the best he could finally offer, just as quietly.]
no subject
No longer was Mettaton even pretending to be a puca, and the Ascian watches quietly as his come is cleaned up from the robot's bare thighs as well. (Even though he surely wouldn't be able to feel it dry there, or feel it at all, he thinks pointlessly.) There was nothing sexual about it, not now; maybe he was the one repulsed, in the end.
But he didn't blame Mettaton for what had happened, or for no longer having the body (or rather, the sensations) they both wished of him. Neither for pressing his body against him, or wrapping his thighs around his cock. The Ascian had been aroused by him, of course Mettaton would offer what he could to what was intended to be a pleasurable experience. And yet it hadn't been, despite their efforts.
There was no blame to be designated, as he didn't think he'd done anything wrong either. They'd tried; he still shakes his head to hear Mettaton's thanks, feeling sorry with him at this result. And he's quiet as the robot tries to settle down next to him, in as much as a body that couldn't know rest could. And one that had been encouraged, used towards passion... that much, he remembered from their earliest times in bed together, the difficulty in calming down. But even then, Mettaton had been able to feel so much... all they'd needed was a cock to bridge certain gaps. But now they needed everything.
After a moment, he turns towards him, to curl into Mettaton's body as best he could. The desire for physical closeness was there, even if it couldn't go to the depths they wanted. Making a small sound, he shudders weakly, not as any part of the aftermath of arousal and release, but something more unhappy. Where Mettaton had a hard time holding still, Emet-Selch felt drained out, and not in the pleasant way it should've been.
Mettaton's optimism came as no surprise, and for all that his first reply is a soft exhale, he didn't want to refute it. But any sort of agreement would be a lie, so for a little while he says nothing.]
Could we?
[Is the best he could finally offer, just as quietly.]