[He wasn't sure how he felt about a lot of this, but he knew that with such certainty that he spits it out first. His voice is still soft, his guard totally dropped, revealing that hurt core of his that struggled in situations uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in ways that went beyond the sensation of pressing past tight muscle, lubricated only by drying semen... Emet-Selch isn't yielding, and their ejaculate isn't the slickest substance after all, not when compared to proper lubricant. No, his pace isn't hasty; at this rate, he wasn't sure what haste would yield them, given that it wasn't as though Emet-Selch was very pliant, and neither of them had any glide to offer.
Mettaton deliberately ignores Emet-Selch's dismissal when he tells him not to mind. Just as he didn't listen before—but this time, it's having heard him deny him that he continues. But it's because this was a denial rooted in Mettaton's feelings that he continues, feelings that... weren't so severe as despise, much less hate. And the more that moments pass, the more he realizes that it didn't even stray into not wanting this, as much as not wanting the discomfort of the surrounding feelings... but wanting to face it all anyway.
With that in mind, he meets Emet-Selch's eyes again, this time with a brighter light to them. A spark of determination, it could be called, as though a monster were capable of it... (Who really defined that about monsters, anyway? Proper determination was a stupid word for what it was that they really lacked, when Mettaton showed more often than anything that he had the flame of ambition in him.)
It's... a bit less clinical, the way he curls into Emet-Selch, as though he felt better even for hearing Emet-Selch dismiss him out of consideration for his feelings. Still carefully, he shakes his head no, and continues, slow rolls of his hips the answer to their mutual resistance.]
But I want to show you that I do care about what you want, Hades. And that whatever it is that you set your heart on... I want it, too. Even if I can't let go, or act like I know better than you.
[And even if the thought of it makes him uncomfortable. The thought of letting Emet-Selch hurt himself had clearly done that, for some reason... when the hypocrisy of him hurting Emet-Selch was somehow different. Or suddenly stopping, suddenly controlling the minutia of the situation in thinking he knew how to dictate what Emet-Selch was enjoying and had well in hand... Mettaton smiles a little just to consider it, as he'd enjoyed his enjoyment even when he sought to... derail it.
That suggested, Mettaton squeezes Emet-Selch's shoulder.]
no subject
[He wasn't sure how he felt about a lot of this, but he knew that with such certainty that he spits it out first. His voice is still soft, his guard totally dropped, revealing that hurt core of his that struggled in situations uncomfortable. Uncomfortable in ways that went beyond the sensation of pressing past tight muscle, lubricated only by drying semen... Emet-Selch isn't yielding, and their ejaculate isn't the slickest substance after all, not when compared to proper lubricant. No, his pace isn't hasty; at this rate, he wasn't sure what haste would yield them, given that it wasn't as though Emet-Selch was very pliant, and neither of them had any glide to offer.
Mettaton deliberately ignores Emet-Selch's dismissal when he tells him not to mind. Just as he didn't listen before—but this time, it's having heard him deny him that he continues. But it's because this was a denial rooted in Mettaton's feelings that he continues, feelings that... weren't so severe as despise, much less hate. And the more that moments pass, the more he realizes that it didn't even stray into not wanting this, as much as not wanting the discomfort of the surrounding feelings... but wanting to face it all anyway.
With that in mind, he meets Emet-Selch's eyes again, this time with a brighter light to them. A spark of determination, it could be called, as though a monster were capable of it... (Who really defined that about monsters, anyway? Proper determination was a stupid word for what it was that they really lacked, when Mettaton showed more often than anything that he had the flame of ambition in him.)
It's... a bit less clinical, the way he curls into Emet-Selch, as though he felt better even for hearing Emet-Selch dismiss him out of consideration for his feelings. Still carefully, he shakes his head no, and continues, slow rolls of his hips the answer to their mutual resistance.]
But I want to show you that I do care about what you want, Hades. And that whatever it is that you set your heart on... I want it, too. Even if I can't let go, or act like I know better than you.
[And even if the thought of it makes him uncomfortable. The thought of letting Emet-Selch hurt himself had clearly done that, for some reason... when the hypocrisy of him hurting Emet-Selch was somehow different. Or suddenly stopping, suddenly controlling the minutia of the situation in thinking he knew how to dictate what Emet-Selch was enjoying and had well in hand... Mettaton smiles a little just to consider it, as he'd enjoyed his enjoyment even when he sought to... derail it.
That suggested, Mettaton squeezes Emet-Selch's shoulder.]
Will you accept me, at least that far?