[Something had to give eventually. It wasn't a weakness, even if Mettaton had faith that they would... manage. But if they didn't have to, why should they? It was one more second he had to be deprived of the full scope of the world when he wanted otherwise, and he knew he couldn't stand to wait until they figured out their feelings.
And he'd since calmed down on his advances, knowing that it brought Emet-Selch embitterment. He was such a soft-hearted man, he thought... And when he had something to miss, he wondered if Emet-Selch missed it even more than he did.
In a way, Mettaton had made peace with that. Intimacy could be sought in other ways, like raising a dragon together, or sharing thoughts, feelings. And of course, in sharing financial endeavors- such as the purchasing of his sensation back, apparently, even though Mettaton is beside himself at Emet-Selch solely shouldering that burden. Beside himself, and touched. Ultimately touched, as of course they would feel sad at what was lost. Maybe all along, he needed to accept that... And he had, in small ways, even when it frustrated. Even when he wished everything could be normal so hard, that he'd convince himself that he could still feel, still touch, still be reached.
Emet-Selch wanted to reach him further. Mettaton respected that... even when it frustrated to feel so incapable. It hurt. It was bound to hurt.
But he's here in the moment, touching Emet-Selch, palpating flesh and muscle and bone underneath, the softness of fabric a plush shell around soft, smooth skin. Mettaton's screen dims to a heated red, as he squeezes the smaller man against himself, Emet-Selch making it that much easier by wrapping his arms about his bulky figure. Flush to his front, the robot pets down his spine, careful to soak in the feeling of bone, of muscle, of the sleekness of flesh...]
It's unmistakable... It's more than I even had...
[As a robot. It was akin to the sensation of being human, when he felt the chill of air or the nauseating warmth of heat. It was familiar, while completely new all at once, and he squeezes Emet-Selch, compressing him against his front. Crossing his arms along his back, Mettaton leans into him, pressing them so close that Emet-Selch is made to press into him entirely.
... See, this was what they wanted. Mettaton had been aching to live vicariously through Emet-Selch... but the smaller man was the one who wanted it more than he. The pleasure he sees in him now makes everything worth it, from what they endured without, to... the shards MTT didn't have to spend, but that that his husband did. With a shivering sigh, Mettaton's screen dims, pleased to feel Emet-Selch so overcome with that relief.]
... You have a death grip on me, sweetheart. Oh, you drive me wild. [And he wouldn't have it any other way, enjoying the rapture with which Emet-Selch clung to him.
All the while, their dragon young snoozes away. It's sort of flopped onto its side, fanning its wing over its body to better soak in the sun.]
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And he'd since calmed down on his advances, knowing that it brought Emet-Selch embitterment. He was such a soft-hearted man, he thought... And when he had something to miss, he wondered if Emet-Selch missed it even more than he did.
In a way, Mettaton had made peace with that. Intimacy could be sought in other ways, like raising a dragon together, or sharing thoughts, feelings. And of course, in sharing financial endeavors- such as the purchasing of his sensation back, apparently, even though Mettaton is beside himself at Emet-Selch solely shouldering that burden. Beside himself, and touched. Ultimately touched, as of course they would feel sad at what was lost. Maybe all along, he needed to accept that... And he had, in small ways, even when it frustrated. Even when he wished everything could be normal so hard, that he'd convince himself that he could still feel, still touch, still be reached.
Emet-Selch wanted to reach him further. Mettaton respected that... even when it frustrated to feel so incapable. It hurt. It was bound to hurt.
But he's here in the moment, touching Emet-Selch, palpating flesh and muscle and bone underneath, the softness of fabric a plush shell around soft, smooth skin. Mettaton's screen dims to a heated red, as he squeezes the smaller man against himself, Emet-Selch making it that much easier by wrapping his arms about his bulky figure. Flush to his front, the robot pets down his spine, careful to soak in the feeling of bone, of muscle, of the sleekness of flesh...]
It's unmistakable... It's more than I even had...
[As a robot. It was akin to the sensation of being human, when he felt the chill of air or the nauseating warmth of heat. It was familiar, while completely new all at once, and he squeezes Emet-Selch, compressing him against his front. Crossing his arms along his back, Mettaton leans into him, pressing them so close that Emet-Selch is made to press into him entirely.
... See, this was what they wanted. Mettaton had been aching to live vicariously through Emet-Selch... but the smaller man was the one who wanted it more than he. The pleasure he sees in him now makes everything worth it, from what they endured without, to... the shards MTT didn't have to spend, but that that his husband did. With a shivering sigh, Mettaton's screen dims, pleased to feel Emet-Selch so overcome with that relief.]
... You have a death grip on me, sweetheart. Oh, you drive me wild. [And he wouldn't have it any other way, enjoying the rapture with which Emet-Selch clung to him.
All the while, their dragon young snoozes away. It's sort of flopped onto its side, fanning its wing over its body to better soak in the sun.]