[His look narrows further, but the mage still refrains from regarding him. He'd injure himself if he wished to, if he felt it was worth it. And if Mettaton admitted that pain was a guarantee, then what did it matter that the Ascian was willing to take the next step into risking injury?
It's only when his hair is touched that his gaze snaps back to him, and though Emet-Selch doesn't flinch from it, he doesn't appear at all soothed by it either. He knew Mettaton had likely only been trying to look out for him, but he didn't want to be looked out for.]
It's a bit late to ask, isn't it? At what point do we return to? What's left to try again?
[With his momentum disrupted, even if he were put back on top, it was hard for him to imagine going at it in the same way as before. He'd finish taking him all the way... and then just sit there, unsatisfied and uncompromising but grimly successful. Not that he thought Mettaton would go so far as to change their positioning- and it would feel its own sort of mockery if he did, as though he were no more than a doll being patronizingly indulged.
--Which was different from wanting him to pull off or stop, even if climax were no longer a sought-after priority. He'd waited months for this; he'd been alone for far longer than that. But the thought of enjoying anything was far from him, the smaller man willing to spite everything because he'd been interrupted.]
...I would have preferred injury. [Staring for a moment longer, his gaze slips to the side again, expression turning into something more stoic, guarded.] Go at whatever pace you prefer. The pain is inevitable. I wouldn't have started this if it mattered.
[So he assumed he'd be hurt by their coupling. They didn't have real lubrication, and with Mettaton's considerable size, he knew an unpleasant amount of drag was inevitable. So why do more than the barest amount of mitigation? Even so- it had been only when he'd had the tip of his cock against him that he'd realized that he wasn't willing to wait, despite the consequence it meant for himself.
And yet, now waiting he was, for moments that stretched on for too long, while his body was only half-full, stretched and barely adapting to what he contained. For all that prior desperation, he makes no appeal towards convincing Mettaton to give him the rest, as it was clear their paces were unaligned. Disgruntled where Mettaton was soft, he clings to agitation and upset- more reliable companions than any others he'd made in his life.]
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It's only when his hair is touched that his gaze snaps back to him, and though Emet-Selch doesn't flinch from it, he doesn't appear at all soothed by it either. He knew Mettaton had likely only been trying to look out for him, but he didn't want to be looked out for.]
It's a bit late to ask, isn't it? At what point do we return to? What's left to try again?
[With his momentum disrupted, even if he were put back on top, it was hard for him to imagine going at it in the same way as before. He'd finish taking him all the way... and then just sit there, unsatisfied and uncompromising but grimly successful. Not that he thought Mettaton would go so far as to change their positioning- and it would feel its own sort of mockery if he did, as though he were no more than a doll being patronizingly indulged.
--Which was different from wanting him to pull off or stop, even if climax were no longer a sought-after priority. He'd waited months for this; he'd been alone for far longer than that. But the thought of enjoying anything was far from him, the smaller man willing to spite everything because he'd been interrupted.]
...I would have preferred injury. [Staring for a moment longer, his gaze slips to the side again, expression turning into something more stoic, guarded.] Go at whatever pace you prefer. The pain is inevitable. I wouldn't have started this if it mattered.
[So he assumed he'd be hurt by their coupling. They didn't have real lubrication, and with Mettaton's considerable size, he knew an unpleasant amount of drag was inevitable. So why do more than the barest amount of mitigation? Even so- it had been only when he'd had the tip of his cock against him that he'd realized that he wasn't willing to wait, despite the consequence it meant for himself.
And yet, now waiting he was, for moments that stretched on for too long, while his body was only half-full, stretched and barely adapting to what he contained. For all that prior desperation, he makes no appeal towards convincing Mettaton to give him the rest, as it was clear their paces were unaligned. Disgruntled where Mettaton was soft, he clings to agitation and upset- more reliable companions than any others he'd made in his life.]