[If he knew how much Mettaton still dreamed over the dream he had, of a lover impossibly perfect- he wouldn't quite be self-conscious about it, but insulted. He had no intention of living up to someone who didn't exist.
But he was aware of the robot's inability to sleep now. Inability to turn off, to escape, even for a little while, from everything that was wrong. Even if his husband wasn't the sort to use that escape too plentifully, his fascination with life too powerful to escape from- just having the option be there would have to be a relief. Emet-Selch couldn't imagine it to be otherwise, and while there were things he missed more, among them was the impossibility for Mettaton to fall asleep beside him.
Even if Mettaton remained in bed with him while he slept, he'd be awake the entire time... and a life like that still horrified him. Especially now, when he imagined neither of them wanted to feel this sort of upset. And where Mettaton was right that the mage's dreams were rarely untroubled, that even the kinder ones were a source of melancholy (the best option was not remembering his dreams at all), they were better than being awake.
But they were both awake now, made to dwell on what had just happened. Even the stroke down his back, though he appreciated it, was a reminder that Mettaton's senses were dulled; he didn't think it was a coincidence that the touch was firmer than usual. But this was the 'usual' now, if they were going to touch one another at all.
But he couldn't yet imagine trying to have sex again. Not when this result was so raw, and when he couldn't think of anything they could do to fix what went wrong. So while he settles with him, his own form much stiller while Mettaton agitates in place, while they hold onto one another in this measure of intimacy, he just shakes his head at his husband's belief. As they were, this was it.]
I love you too. [That much was certain, unchanging. Inviolate. It had never been contingent on Mettaton's body in the first place.] But that changes nothing about what we have now.
no subject
But he was aware of the robot's inability to sleep now. Inability to turn off, to escape, even for a little while, from everything that was wrong. Even if his husband wasn't the sort to use that escape too plentifully, his fascination with life too powerful to escape from- just having the option be there would have to be a relief. Emet-Selch couldn't imagine it to be otherwise, and while there were things he missed more, among them was the impossibility for Mettaton to fall asleep beside him.
Even if Mettaton remained in bed with him while he slept, he'd be awake the entire time... and a life like that still horrified him. Especially now, when he imagined neither of them wanted to feel this sort of upset. And where Mettaton was right that the mage's dreams were rarely untroubled, that even the kinder ones were a source of melancholy (the best option was not remembering his dreams at all), they were better than being awake.
But they were both awake now, made to dwell on what had just happened. Even the stroke down his back, though he appreciated it, was a reminder that Mettaton's senses were dulled; he didn't think it was a coincidence that the touch was firmer than usual. But this was the 'usual' now, if they were going to touch one another at all.
But he couldn't yet imagine trying to have sex again. Not when this result was so raw, and when he couldn't think of anything they could do to fix what went wrong. So while he settles with him, his own form much stiller while Mettaton agitates in place, while they hold onto one another in this measure of intimacy, he just shakes his head at his husband's belief. As they were, this was it.]
I love you too. [That much was certain, unchanging. Inviolate. It had never been contingent on Mettaton's body in the first place.] But that changes nothing about what we have now.