[Meanwhile, of course, Mettaton's outlook is far more optimistic. They wouldn't always be like this. But perhaps there was carryover, each moment different from the next... and he would be the first to admit that he was overeager to try the myriad of positions they enjoyed. Possessed by the desire to feel Emet-Selch writhe under his body just as much as he was to feel him seated on his lap, Mettaton got carried away and pounced.
Finish what he started. Mettaton gives him a sideways look. He did not seem up to continuing what they started, and he wasn't about to exacerbate that.]
What I started? This was us. [He's not chastising, his voice soft if emphatic. A reminder; a protest.] Despite my actions, in taking charge... I didn't mean for it to upset what we started together.
[Which meant that if he couldn't, it was time to back down. Emet-Selch wasn't the only one who was losing steam from the clash, arousal petering, and Mettaton was the one less frantic or pressured for release. Even so, he sympathized with Emet-Selch's ache, and regret flashes on his face for having been the responsible action for depriving the smaller man of that... as this is just how Emet-Selch is. Even if the mage dwelled over how he was the responsible party for halting their ardor, Mettaton knew better than to think he'd react any differently.
Mettaton lets his hand drift closer to Emet-Selch's hairline, where he lets his fingers twine through strands. Scooting his body so that he was in something more of a seated position (rather than hovering over Emet-Selch), he doesn't quite withdraw- but from the position change, he does just a bit.]
And because it's for us both... you know it wouldn't be as enjoyable to either of us, at this rate.
[Because whenever either of them was upset, it just wouldn't be appealing, that much was true. And with the added bonus of bodily tension, it would even hurt more than it would please. Mettaton plants either of his hands against the mattress, waiting patiently. He settles close, though not enough to crush.]
... I want us to be as close as possible, too. [Soft like an admission.] I do.
no subject
Finish what he started. Mettaton gives him a sideways look. He did not seem up to continuing what they started, and he wasn't about to exacerbate that.]
What I started? This was us. [He's not chastising, his voice soft if emphatic. A reminder; a protest.] Despite my actions, in taking charge... I didn't mean for it to upset what we started together.
[Which meant that if he couldn't, it was time to back down. Emet-Selch wasn't the only one who was losing steam from the clash, arousal petering, and Mettaton was the one less frantic or pressured for release. Even so, he sympathized with Emet-Selch's ache, and regret flashes on his face for having been the responsible action for depriving the smaller man of that... as this is just how Emet-Selch is. Even if the mage dwelled over how he was the responsible party for halting their ardor, Mettaton knew better than to think he'd react any differently.
Mettaton lets his hand drift closer to Emet-Selch's hairline, where he lets his fingers twine through strands. Scooting his body so that he was in something more of a seated position (rather than hovering over Emet-Selch), he doesn't quite withdraw- but from the position change, he does just a bit.]
And because it's for us both... you know it wouldn't be as enjoyable to either of us, at this rate.
[Because whenever either of them was upset, it just wouldn't be appealing, that much was true. And with the added bonus of bodily tension, it would even hurt more than it would please. Mettaton plants either of his hands against the mattress, waiting patiently. He settles close, though not enough to crush.]
... I want us to be as close as possible, too. [Soft like an admission.] I do.