[It was a bit late to ask now that the moment passed. But Mettaton asked at all; he realizes he should have from the start, now that he's done it. He contemplates this; he nods, agreeing with Emet-Selch for his own failure to do better over an issue they've been dealing with often in their recent history.
Body-altering magic or no, it seemed this was a common thread: Mettaton charging ahead with all of his optimism and enthusiasm, trying for something he idealized; Emet-Selch not on the same page, in another (often more agonizing, despairing) zone.
That it had to become clearer to him in this moment isn't something Mettaton rues, though he settles closer to Emet-Selch, watching as the other man turns away and puts up his guard. Selfishness could be his own turn; Emet-Selch was even enabling it, telling him to do as he liked. He could be entirely self-indulging, while Emet-Selch caved into misery. Spite was easy, and so was ignorance.
Mettaton quiets, gaze clear and fixed, his own erection taking less of a precedence. What mattered to each of them was closeness; what mattered most of all was the companionship of their sex. It could be achieved by depth, but also by vulnerability. Mettaton had known all along that vulnerability could've been achieved even before he had the anatomy to have penetrative sex with... Emet-Selch had been reluctant to try. It wounded him. It still wounds him. In this way, a wounded heart matches with a wounded body.
He reaches for Emet-Selch's face, longing to keep him company alongside agitation, upset. He could say a great many things: that it wasn't all about his preference (his actions said otherwise, he realizes), that he wanted to avoid injury (it was unavoidable without proper lubricant, and Emet-Selch could heal besides), that preserving his body still mattered to Mettaton, but not as much as their intimacy did. He could tell that closeness was imporant to Emet-Selch at any cost, and yet his impulse was to... stop him, to come at another angle, to relieve him from the tension of supporting himself in case it offered the barest bit of ease.
Mettaton presses his palm to Emet-Selch's cheek. The metal of his ring is a prominent sensation like this, against actual, warm skin. Against Emet-Selch. ...He could feel another ring around his cock, and that Emet-Selch's body was scarcely adjusting to his girth. He could sigh; why were inconveniences so stacked against them...]
No... I couldn't undo my rashness. [Nor did he expect to try again in regards to undoing his actions, but rather, the ability to ask.] I'm sorry, Hades. For not consulting you, about my thoughts.
[He wanted their closeness too. They both wanted that most of all. Sometimes, closeness came most of all in vulnerability; Mettaton's not often the sort to admit wrong, but when he knew there was wrong to admit, he would admit it freely to the man he loves.
This time, he remains where he is, not moving any more.]
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Body-altering magic or no, it seemed this was a common thread: Mettaton charging ahead with all of his optimism and enthusiasm, trying for something he idealized; Emet-Selch not on the same page, in another (often more agonizing, despairing) zone.
That it had to become clearer to him in this moment isn't something Mettaton rues, though he settles closer to Emet-Selch, watching as the other man turns away and puts up his guard. Selfishness could be his own turn; Emet-Selch was even enabling it, telling him to do as he liked. He could be entirely self-indulging, while Emet-Selch caved into misery. Spite was easy, and so was ignorance.
Mettaton quiets, gaze clear and fixed, his own erection taking less of a precedence. What mattered to each of them was closeness; what mattered most of all was the companionship of their sex. It could be achieved by depth, but also by vulnerability. Mettaton had known all along that vulnerability could've been achieved even before he had the anatomy to have penetrative sex with... Emet-Selch had been reluctant to try. It wounded him. It still wounds him. In this way, a wounded heart matches with a wounded body.
He reaches for Emet-Selch's face, longing to keep him company alongside agitation, upset. He could say a great many things: that it wasn't all about his preference (his actions said otherwise, he realizes), that he wanted to avoid injury (it was unavoidable without proper lubricant, and Emet-Selch could heal besides), that preserving his body still mattered to Mettaton, but not as much as their intimacy did. He could tell that closeness was imporant to Emet-Selch at any cost, and yet his impulse was to... stop him, to come at another angle, to relieve him from the tension of supporting himself in case it offered the barest bit of ease.
Mettaton presses his palm to Emet-Selch's cheek. The metal of his ring is a prominent sensation like this, against actual, warm skin. Against Emet-Selch. ...He could feel another ring around his cock, and that Emet-Selch's body was scarcely adjusting to his girth. He could sigh; why were inconveniences so stacked against them...]
No... I couldn't undo my rashness. [Nor did he expect to try again in regards to undoing his actions, but rather, the ability to ask.] I'm sorry, Hades. For not consulting you, about my thoughts.
[He wanted their closeness too. They both wanted that most of all. Sometimes, closeness came most of all in vulnerability; Mettaton's not often the sort to admit wrong, but when he knew there was wrong to admit, he would admit it freely to the man he loves.
This time, he remains where he is, not moving any more.]