[He frowns at Mettaton's refutation, but he doesn't argue against it, no matter his own skepticism. Perhaps despise had been too strong of a word; it seemed evident, to him, that the other man didn't like this and would rather not do it. And that his dislike was rooted enough that even in the mage's upset, he didn't want Mettaton to persist past it. He was a spiteful sort, but not quite in that way.
But more of a surprise yet, was the conclusion that Mettaton seemed to come to, and that it wasn't to give up and withdraw. For a moment, all Emet-Selch could do was blink, on realizing that the other man wasn't pulling out, permitting that part of their encounter to come to its emotionally uncomfortable and unsatisfying end. The Ascian had thought he'd been as neutral, honest as he could be; it was a genuine permission for Mettaton to stop, rather than a trap to foster further resentment.
Staring at him without entirely realizing he was doing it, he's briefly at a loss for how to react. He wasn't going to insist that the robot stop for his own sake, if he was determined to press on for him- but it was hard to accept that he was, given how previously reluctant he'd been to hurt him. And this would certainly hurt, even with the care Mettaton took in the way he pushed forward, kneading the Ascian's body into what compliance it could give him. Which was a limited amount, even when he was trying not to tense.
Hesitantly, he reaches up with his other arm, taking him into a loose sort of embrace. A non-verbal acceptance of Mettaton's decision, before he can entirely find the words for it. Fingers press gently into metal, as though it were something new to him- or precious, in some intangible way. He still ached to remember what things had been like so recently, when they'd both been so aroused, so desperate. This felt like a sad echo of that moment, but he wanted him all the same.]
...If you're willing, how could I refuse you?
[It already felt a little less clinical at least, a form of intimacy that wasn't comfortable in any regard- but intimacy all the same. Absently adjusting his grip on him, he meets his eye. Takes in the familiar details of his face- the familiar resolution to him as well. He didn't see him as the sort to give up; neither of them were, even if it sometimes manifested differently. And it was one of the many things he loved about him. Sighing more softly yet, he watches him, gold into brilliant violet.]
no subject
But more of a surprise yet, was the conclusion that Mettaton seemed to come to, and that it wasn't to give up and withdraw. For a moment, all Emet-Selch could do was blink, on realizing that the other man wasn't pulling out, permitting that part of their encounter to come to its emotionally uncomfortable and unsatisfying end. The Ascian had thought he'd been as neutral, honest as he could be; it was a genuine permission for Mettaton to stop, rather than a trap to foster further resentment.
Staring at him without entirely realizing he was doing it, he's briefly at a loss for how to react. He wasn't going to insist that the robot stop for his own sake, if he was determined to press on for him- but it was hard to accept that he was, given how previously reluctant he'd been to hurt him. And this would certainly hurt, even with the care Mettaton took in the way he pushed forward, kneading the Ascian's body into what compliance it could give him. Which was a limited amount, even when he was trying not to tense.
Hesitantly, he reaches up with his other arm, taking him into a loose sort of embrace. A non-verbal acceptance of Mettaton's decision, before he can entirely find the words for it. Fingers press gently into metal, as though it were something new to him- or precious, in some intangible way. He still ached to remember what things had been like so recently, when they'd both been so aroused, so desperate. This felt like a sad echo of that moment, but he wanted him all the same.]
...If you're willing, how could I refuse you?
[It already felt a little less clinical at least, a form of intimacy that wasn't comfortable in any regard- but intimacy all the same. Absently adjusting his grip on him, he meets his eye. Takes in the familiar details of his face- the familiar resolution to him as well. He didn't see him as the sort to give up; neither of them were, even if it sometimes manifested differently. And it was one of the many things he loved about him. Sighing more softly yet, he watches him, gold into brilliant violet.]
Would you kiss me?