[Emet-Selch was the sort to leave people deliberately on read. And when he initially receives the text from Mettaton, that's exactly what he does. Reads it- all the way to its disjointed conclusion- and puts the phone back down. Exhales slowly into the evening air.
When he'd asked the Crystal for help, he hadn't known what to expect. His hopes hadn't been high, but his desperation had been increasing as the days passed. While Mettaton was technically in no danger of dying from his wounds, they were also alarmingly permanent, disfiguring. Inconvenient. And for all the cheerfulness his lover exhibited, the reassurance they both felt at being there together, there was no getting around that this wasn't how he wanted to be. For vanity and practicality both.
So once Emet-Selch was well enough to leave the cottage, he'd gone to the one possibility he knew about. And he asked, as politely- and genuinely- as he could. ...Of course, there had been no response, no sign that he hadn't been wishing it all to himself.
It was only when he'd returned to find one(1) Mettaton crumpled onto the floor of their modest abode that he had any sort of confirmation that the Crystal had heard him. This couldn't be a coincidence, and he felt first an exhausted sort of pique that this was his answer. His husband was made worse, because he'd dared to ask for anything (Though fortunately not dead, he could tell that much from the glow of his core. But unreachable, unresponsive, no matter what he tried.).
...He'd still carried Mettaton to bed, even though it wasn't as though robots could wake up with a sore back. He still muttered to himself about the dead weight he was made to haul around, as he tried to hold back his concern, his fears. Setting Mettaton up into a position 'comfortable', he set his severed arm next to him as it would surely be needed if it were going to... attach itself, somehow. He didn't know what to think.
Fortunately, it hadn't been long until he'd seen the first signs of change, if not of waking. A creep of silicone where there had been chunks missing; metal being filled in, thin layers at a time. Slow as it was, Emet-Selch first thought he was deluding himself, going completely mad over this new trial. But it was real. (He also took several photos to compare it, to further confirm to himself that he wasn't imagining things, and there were definitely changes. From hour to hour, things grew.)
Mettaton was healing. Bizarrely. Yet there was no sign of wires reaching out to reconnect to his old, mangled arm, but before Emet-Selch had the chance to worry that it wouldn't be included, he witnessed the birth of tubing curling out from under shoulderguards (which had also regrown from weird metal nubs into their normal dramatic shape). And from that modest nest... fingers. Mettaton was healing.
So Emet-Selch left their cottage from time to time, and this happened to be one of those times. And if he were wholly honest, he'd been sort of expecting Mettaton to rouse soonish. The last he checked, the damage that remained had been light, and it followed to him that it would all be concluded with a return to consciousness. Which doesn't mean he's not relieved to see the idol's message; he is, and his immediate delay in replying is partially due to that.
But it was also deliberate to chance not being there. And Mettaton's text justified that pettiness, to him. But he does eventually reply.]
An empty threat, you've no way of tracking me in your current form.
And I've done nothing. The air of this star must be good for you. Should I have disposed of the spare?
[He notes he's awoken in bed. It's... probably soft against his every angle and plane, compressed under unyielding metal and framework. He'd appreciate it all if he had muscles to feel sore with—and ultimately, he does note how good he feels. He feels refreshed, as though he were in possession of muscles, and they'd all been rubbed down until every twitch and need for exertion had been worked out of him. He felt so good.
Mettaton blames this on the dream-Emet-Selch, who so lovingly massaged him from head to toe, then back again, and generously so upon... some areas.
So he was in bed, and he did appreciate it. It was more glamorous besides, though he knew that Emet-Selch would remain on the floor with him if need be, as he had before. The point was this: he much preferred bed rest to being an appliance left as a heap on the floor!
He also just wanted Emet-Selch next to him. And he wasn't here, the way he would be upon waking as usual. He had two-to-three arms now, and could hold him tight... Mettaton huffs at his phone, as Emet-Selch deliberately delays the inevitable. (And MTT gets a growing sense that he was casually biding his time, for a very particular reason. More a reason to huff.)]
I may not be a Puca. But I don't need earrings or finding magic to hunt you down, darling. No, what I have on my side is my love for you... and everything I've come to learn about you. I could find you in a snap!
[That is the more playful, if heated, message. One that he still sends with a daunting smile upon his lips. The next, though, is more heartfelt.]
The air... Hades, are you sure you had nothing to do with this? It may not be unusual for me to dream about you... but I feel as though I spent the night in a luxurious resort, massaged up and down by your graceful hands and dexterous fingers. I feel I have you written all over me.
[The third arm is an oddity. Mettaton sends this message, and regards it quietly. What should've been done with this...]
[Once he'd ascertained that Mettaton wouldn't set the bed or anything else on fire, Emet-Selch had situated him there, even unattended. Mechanical body or not, he knew his lover would appreciate the gesture- as he appreciated it himself, for sentimental and practical reasons both. The Ascian still spent much of his time napping, and while he would've accepted the floor if required, it was nicer to do in a bed.
As he stayed with him, for more time than he didn't. Noting both his recovery and his stillness- a combination that reassured as much as it left him uneasy. A quiet, motionless Mettaton was an unnerving thing, and when he didn't know exactly why he was like that, beyond it having some connection to his wish for healing- left his own rest unsettled. What would he do if Mettaton healed entirely, but never woke up? What more would he have to be indebted to this Crystal for?
Fortunately, none of that came about, even if he hadn't been there to see it. Emet-Selch still ignores outright Mettaton's comment about being able to find him regardless. He knew it was true.]
Your imagination arrived intact, I see. Why in the world was I massaging you? You don't even have muscles.
[Sure, he had no hesitation, and no lack of desire towards placing his hands all over him. And if his dream self was anything like him, then he would've been the same. But that wasn't a massage... that was just groping. Handling. Even teasing.
He didn't know why he didn't just outright admit to having gone to the Crystal for help. Stubbornness, maybe. His relief to know it worked translating into pointless contrarianism.]
And you know entirely well that I don't have the means to repair you as I am. You're free to continue reminding me of this, again and again, if you choose.
[On Mettaton's end of things, he's convinced more and more that Emet-Selch was responsible for his complete recovery. And he sighs, dreamy, tossing his head down upon less-than-luxurious pillows and letting his "phone" drop loosely upon the blankets. Somehow, he grew a whole arm. If it weren't his creation magic, it still had to be a miracle of some kind... and what sort of miracle could take place here than a wish?
His phone vibrates with impending messages, but Mettaton's too busy dreaming of Emet-Selch wishing for his health, bowing before the Crystal with his husband in mind. How dreamy... Mettaton loves to be thought of and cared for, and it was a good use of shards. If he didn't wish it, it would have to be some spin on healing magic.
He was the culprit. That, Mettaton was sure of.
So he picks up his phone by twisting his wrist, reading over Emet-Selch's messages with a cheerful hum. (He felt so good, his mood included. The red moons felt lightyears away... even when he knew they'd just happened.) He taps away again, pulling his phone closer to his face as he relaxes his weight into the bed.]
My imagination, at our service! I don't need muscles to enjoy your touch, my love. And you were so thorough... Your touch, so deep. So, so deep... I'd salivate, if I could.
[Another thing lost: Mettaton's ability to produce saliva. Awkward as it was to sprout that function, it was a shame to lose.]
You haven't lost your resourcefulness, darling. And I bet you knew exactly what to do... and you did it in secret! Oh, Hades, you doll. Could I ask of you another favor? I want to tell you something, but I want to do so in person... Would you come to me?
[That Mettaton takes his time to even read his messages... the Ascian would be (unreasonably) irked, if he hadn't similarly zoned out. Less cheerfully, far less in a good mood, despite the relief that his husband had woken up. Not in a terrible mood either, but something muted, tired.
Shaking off a bit of the haze when he hears the notification sound, Emet-Selch frowns before he even begins reading it.]
Another thing left behind us.
[Mettaton's ability to salivate, that is. And strange as it was as a thing to miss- it had its uses.]
What 'resourcefulness' is it, when there's only one option left?
[Dissatisfaction remained, that he'd given in and asked this dubious source for a boon, and his fingers tighten around the phone. Even if some payment had been taken from him, it was one he couldn't completely quantify, which inspired his caution. He was certainly grateful for it as well, no matter the concern his lover's unconsciousness had brought, but that didn't mean he liked it.
Ambivalence, at best. He sighs into the night air, looks back up at the Crystal itself that he'd been lingering in the vicinity of. No more wishes required, for now.]
I'll return. How much should I be dreading whatever it is you're holding back from me? Your answer will determine my pace.
[A pause; he even takes a few steps, before stopping, and adding on impulse.]
[He could feel Emet-Selch's listlessness even from afar, inspired by his dull circumstances. It would feel like a hopeless circumstance indeed... Fiddling with his phone, he closes his eye, basks in the tired feeling he could imagine out of Emet-Selch—as if they were still Bonded in Aefenglom.
Another thing long left behind. He still misses it, even though he had grown so practiced that he could feel Emet-Selch's emotions even when they weren't technically there. They've... become something of a part of him, he thinks fondly.
But his own feelings were separate entities, so different as they were. So blissfully upbeat and relaxed, all of his troubles having been put on hold for a good night's sleep... Acknowledging Emet-Selch's intent with a smile, he continues reading his every word, until his eye blows wide and his smile drops.
A good... three night's sleep.]
Three days?????? You're kidding me! That's preposterous. I could never!
[Except for the fact that he believes it. Emet-Selch wouldn't lie to him like that, and there's no question he has about it. Mettaton gazes about the room for some sign of the passing days, before readjusting himself so the's not looking toward his side, but more propped up. ...The shoulder guards, despite having freshly grown them back, come off with an easy click. Mettaton wants to cuddle, and those are in the way for that. He sets them neatly aside.]
Oh, darling... I hope you didn't fret about my safety. Though I know it must have inspired unease. Whatever you asked for, I feel positively perfect, as fresh as having a new body. So... I hope you will come with great haste.
I want to see you.
[With something to tell him, he wanted it to be in person. He also wanted to see Emet-Selch's state after that mess, if three days have passed... He wanted to take a survey of his demeanor, his health, his injuries—and even though he wasn't the one with healing powers, even though Emet-Selch was the one who'd been left with those, he would still do what he could to heal him in return.
And additionally, Mettaton resolves, he wanted his husband to have his self back. If Kate could do it, then surely the same could be said for Emet-Selch. ...If on a larger scale.]
[Emet-Selch doesn't reiterate that yes, he did mean three days. Three whole days of None Mettaton. Longer than he'd ever taken to recharge, even from an entirely dead battery. Longer than he'd ever been in his company while simultaneously been without him. Three days that felt longer than they were, that passed in a dull haze of unease.
But they had passed all the same.]
Why would I fret when I was enjoying the quiet, the peace it provided my healing?
[Translation: fret. But smaller frets, or else he would've been more serious in his reply. It was difficult to type and walk, so during his replies, he pauses to write them out.]
I've now witnessed a robot heal as though he were made of flesh. 'Tis a sight I will not forget, no matter how I wish it were otherwise. I think it will take another Crystal-inspired miracle to erase those visions from my already crowded memory.
I also note you've yet to warn me as to this personal message you have for me. My steps slow even now.
[They do not. (He wanted to see him too, alive and whole and himself.) He's moving at his normal pace when he isn't typing, and while that could never be described as 'hurried', it's intent, and he's not that far besides. ...Ugh, maybe it would be worth his pride to plead for having teleportation back, if nothing else, sooner rather than later.]
[All of these admissions and lack of reiteration suggests indeed Emet-Selch's true feelings. He worried. It wasn't a severe worry, if he'd been... re-growing his body, which should suggest that he was unconscious for some healing-related purpose. Mettaton bites at his lip, still regretting the pain Emet-Selch had to endure, while appreciating terribly the result.
More than the regret, he felt the gratitude. It was unfortunate that he had to pass out, but he was well; he felt wonderful. He flexes the fingers of his once-missing hand.
Reading Emet-Selch's messages, though, Mettaton can't help but coyly reply at first:] I know what your healing needs. 💗💗💗 More of ME! 💗💗💗
[Apply Mettaton and feel healed. Mettaton knows this would be true; he also knows that Emet-Selch was advancing toward him, and he wiggles in place with the anticipation of it. He'd move to meet him part-way, but he decides against it, given that he ultimately wants them to unite right here. So his restless energy is heavied into the bed again, where he wriggles.]
You wouldn't forget many things without force involved, and don't lie to me. You don't care to forget my creeping recovery. Let visions of me continue to cloud that impeccable memory of yours. [Because aside from awful happenstance, yes, Emet-Selch's memory was impeccable and he means it. This is not to rub anything in. He remembered well, and it required intervention to make him forget, much to his dismay.
Mettaton sighs, reaching back to fluff up some pillows, to scoot to the side, making some more room for Emet-Selch to land. Fondly, he regards the spot.]
It's a personal message, all right. And one that I NEED to tell you. Oh, I can't keep still, I need to tell you so bad...!
[Is that enough of a warning? Mettaton knows Emet-Selch will not really slow. He was on his way, that, he was sure of.]
[He could, and does, snort at that response, which came with about six hearts too many.
Though Emet-Selch didn't quite feel better for talking to him, for walking back to their modest residence and knowing that Mettaton was awake and waiting for him, healed and apparently energized- he did feel a degree less generally terrible.]
To the contrary, I fear the sight of you will set me back at least a week. Perhaps more, depending on your enthusiasm.
[Or Mettaton would be ready to leave different sorts of MTT-Brand injuries on his body, ones different from marks of electrocution. As while there was still some sign of it on his face, some lingering bruises on his body (and particular soreness above his heart), the Ascian was much recovered. He'd even practiced his healing a bit more, while waiting for Mettaton to wake up. While he still felt clumsy and weak at it, it had sped things up a little.
His steps don't quite speed up a little, but his curiosity was definitely there. Maybe even anticipation- but that was more to just see him again. For the first time on this world where they'd both been alive and as well as they could be. Neither insane nor missing limbs.]
You're clouding too much as it is. What is even so important
[He just sends that with one hand as he opens the door, not bothering to complete the question or to add any others. If unaccosted, he'll move (definitely, deliberately at his own pace) towards the bedroom and it's specially fluffed pillows.]
[The comment earns a chuckle. Emet-Selch is free to feel as set back as he thinks he wants to be, if it's Mettaton who inspires it. Mettaton knows that even if he's set back, he'll carry on. Besides...]
Haven't you been watching over me these past three days? Come on... Will the sight of me AWAKE really impact you so starkly? I'll have to give you a good reason to feel that way, honestly.
[Give Emet-Selch something to remember.
As he dwells on Emet-Selch's impending approach, Mettaton grows... antsier. He squirms. He readjusts himself. He realizes that he is totally brimming with energy—and the fleeting idea that he'd put to bed earlier about meeting Emet-Selch half-way resurfaces, an itch in his legs that couldn't be rubbed away. Even as he presses his shins together in an attempt to alleviate the urge, he realizes that even his heart is increasingly set on the desire. He would meet Emet-Selch... and he would walk where his magnificent heels take him, as he knew he'd be possessed to find Emet-Selch in his path.
With a flourish, he springs to his feet. And from there he advances, heading on quick steps toward the front door. But the idol doesn't get very far toward the bedroom door as he hears the front door open and close, his phone vibrating with a message he glances at as he smiles.]
Hades!! There you are!
[The bedroom door flies open. Mettaton skips toward the front door and closes distance between himself and Emet-Selch's lumbering pace- and more than ever, MTT knows, knows that this was an act of heavier steps, for as much as it was also a very appropriate Emet-Selch-pace. Mettaton would speed up their union.
With a pounce, MTT lunges around a corner. He grins ear to ear, and as he reaches Emet-Selch, he snatches him up in spread arms. Two arms, both in perfect condition, and strong as can be, they wind around the Ascian's person as he buries his face into the side of his head.]
Oh, I love you. What a magnificent man you are...
[He squeezes him close to his body, stooping slightly so that Emet-Selch's chin would reach his exposed shoulder—and so that his own neck was well within reach.]
[He doesn't respond to that message, for all that he sighs at it. For all that he could've pointed out that there was quite a difference between a Mettaton inert and politely harmless, and a Mettaton that was anything but. (He holds back the demand too, that the robot give him that good reason to feel his health deteriorating, as suggested.)
They weren't Bonded; he had no way of feeling Mettaton's antsiness for himself, for being influenced by it. But there was a co-occurring sense of it nonetheless, an agitation that was provoked by the nearness of his husband, and which could only be soothed by his presence.
Barely having a chance to tuck away his phone, or to cross even halfway to their bedroom, the mage is more than matched by the sound of heels on wood. A quick and decided pace that makes up for his own languid attempt, and without further fanfare they were together. Even as the sight of the taller man- whole, and with his own vision unclouded by aggression and fear- has his heart go unsteady, it's with complete immediacy that he surrenders to the embrace.
Without thinking about it, Emet-Selch presses his face to Mettaton's neck, right where he had when they'd first met here. Right where he'd driven teeth, and been unable to stop. But he's not thinking about that, only the familiarity of the embrace, the rightness of it, to hold and be held like this.
With two arms to them both, and no madness, no injury. This felt like the meeting they should've had on this star.]
Mettaton....
[He whispers it, breathes him in, nuzzles into his neck with a small sound. The relief he feels leaves him weak rather than energized, and for a few moments he relies almost entirely on Mettaton to stand, trusting him with his balance.
Compressing and being compressed against metal as it should be, with the strength he expected, and with the lack of brutal scoring- he gives into it entirely, and encourages being crushed, given the tightness of his own arms.]
I missed you.
[Even though they'd technically been together for some time now. Even as he'd 'enjoyed' the cursed wish of a Mettaton who couldn't escape from him. But he preferred his husband conscious too, as it turned out.]
[His arms wrap tight around Emet-Selch, and he feels the smaller man give into gravity. But MTT takes his balance for himself, greedily absorbing his stature and weight into his metal frame like he couldn't get enough of it. Greedily, metal, winding arms coil around his prey,doubling around Emet-Selch's figure as he kisses his ear and welcomes Emet-Selch against his neck without even flinching.
Trauma could have been heavily rooted into his heart. But the entire union still felt romantic, in its way... and Mettaton saw it through rose-colored glasses. His husband was under some celestial influence and couldn't control his hunger. He's been there too many times for himself... And if anything he felt very flattered that the Ascian was so starved for him and him alone.
Even as the memory of his teeth rending silicone enough for it to sear occurs to him, Mettaton does nothing but sink into Emet-Selch. He sighs, something of a shudder wracking his body as he thinks about how much of himself he'd love to give to Emet-Selch. It was a no-brainer, that even should he wish to devour him, he'd allow it. Even if pain was the result, it was Emet-Selch's application... though the Ascian's obvious upset and distant loss wasn't the ideal situation for anything sensual nor romantic. Mettaton still forgave him without forgiveness even being asked for.
And he takes Emet-Selch's body against his own, straightening out his posture so that the mage would either be lifted, or brought to his toes. One strong embrace is returned for another, and Mettaton makes a small noise against the side of his head.]
And you, Hades... I missed you more than I could describe in words.
[He was asleep. He knows they're talking about that, but MTT references the broad umbrella of his experienced time apart. He'd spent a month without Emet-Selch, and they were put through turmoil upon his arrival... MTT missed him, even as he kept himself going with the knowledge that his wish—to traverse the stars and galaxies and universes—would eventually afford him his husband.
Or, at the very least... his husband's universe, where he could task himself with restoring him and his world. He'd promised, and it exceeded a Puca's binding commitment. Just in case becoming a god didn't afford him access to his world, he could now secure it. That was the underlying goal—Mettaton knew it immediately, even in his dreams.
Running a hand along Emet-Selch's lower back, the robot kisses his scalp. His voice is low against the side of his head, warm and steady.]
Thank you for healing me. Even if it knocked me out... In a pinch, you did something dramatic for my sake. [Mettaton squeezes Emet-Selch to punctuate his appreciation.] What I wanted to tell you is... that I love you.
[Which he already said. Yes... that was the statement of importance.]
[Like this, he was nearly lifted off the ground entirely, but he tries to stretch to match him- even if his own considerable height couldn't beat Mettaton's. But he leans, holds tighter, and shudders faintly at the security of being constricted. A hold nothing like his own arms, or any human arms could manage, caught against a form completely unyielding, while his own was safe to give in. If he could meld any more to him, he would.
His voice itself is muffled, as though it too were being compressed by the silicone his lips and face were pressed to.]
And I love you more than I know how to say.
[And he felt sorrier than he knew how to ask for, for tearing into him. While at the same time knowing that there wasn't any fault, that he couldn't have fought it any more than he did. Couldn't have resisted going after Mettaton, hadn't even known he was there to resist, before that night. But guilt remained, as it would, and he tries to accept its presence, as well as the relief of knowing Mettaton was physically well again.
Breath as shaky as his hold on him was firm- as it insisted on firmness, to not be let go of- his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Knows that Mettaton had had an even longer time to miss him, even if a month wasn't the longest in the scheme of things... it was a month without knowing when the end would come. But just as he felt himself loved... he knew too that Mettaton wouldn't have given up. Not on finding him; not on saving Etheirys as he'd promised.
Somehow, thinking of that reassured too, just as the idol's voice did, close to his ear. Squirming just that bit, impossibly closer (so mostly just squirming in an already flush state), he's more than coaxed to remain by the kiss, by the stroke of his hand down his back. If Mettaton had lured him back only for the sake of saying he loved him, in person- then he felt satisfied entirely, in finding out what he wanted.
Though at hearing himself thanked, the mage snorts, very quietly, against Mettaton's throat. Kisses him, where he'd once bitten. (Is both surprised and humbled that he hadn't been nudged away from it... he wouldn't have blamed him for it.)]
It felt woefully undramatic. Committing my feelings to a silent and unresponsive rock, only to return to find a silent and unresponsive husband.
[There had been no theatre at all to it, no flair. Only an inelegant heap of broken machinery that he loved terribly. Hands absently kneading at his back, it was still hard to believe that it had worked.]
--But as it healed you in the end, I suppose I can forgive it.
[Without saying it, he knew the way he squeezes him tight would speak for itself. Then don't say it. Just show me, as he'd often ask—and Emet-Selch had grown skilled at demonstrating his love in expressions and words, actions and sentiment. He did plenty of it in their day-to-day, even when Emet-Selch had once claimed that surely, whatever he had left of himself to spare would not be pleasant.
Mettaton breathes him in and imagines his scent. He misses that, but he imagines it. (If he shapeshifted a rabbits nose, would he be capable of smelling with it...?)
He knew Emet-Selch would resist being thanked. It was in his nature, but Mettaton still wanted him to know of his gratitude. He was always helpful, even when he attempted to skirt the consequence of his actions (that is, the action of "being considerate and helpful", with the consequence being "gratitude and praise"). Mettaton hums close to his ear and squeezes him, rocking slightly with his husband held tight.]
What a horrible outcome... that required just a bit more patience. [He sighs. They had thoughts on patience, the two of them. He rubs at Emet-Selch's back some more, his hold growing more expansive around Emet-Selch's body, steady and strong.] But I'm feeling as if I've just been slipped into a well-oiled, calibrated, and freshly-made body, thanks to you. And you didn't even have to use your healing powers on me!
[The healing powers Emet-Selch had been assigned... Mettaton hadn't gotten a perfect look at the Ascian's face, but he hoped he's tried to practice it in the meantime. If not, though, he couldn't blame him.]
It did heal me. You healed me, with your deepest wish... And the Crystal even brought you to me. So... I think we can put any distrust aside, darling. We were taken to this world for some reason. And if we wrack up some kind of cosmic debt, why, we'll simply pay it off. It's the trade for continuing to live as brilliantly as we can together!
[At that, he sighs, laying his head against Emet-Selch's. He pulls back just enough so that he can meet eyes.]
I longed for you, darling... I longed for you while you were gone, and while you recovered. I even dreamed of you... But now, I have you in my arms. [He bows his head, matching their foreheads.] How have you been faring, Hades?
[Words like those had never been his strongest suit, and that remained the case. So he held Mettaton tight; wrapped him up as much as his arms could manage, and it still didn't feel like enough. It never would, but he held him all the same. Lips pressed to his throat, he kisses him again, softly.
There was no hint of fur in his lover's scent, nothing of whatever attribute being a puca had once added to him. But Mettaton was still recognizably himself, just as his form was familiar, even though it was also no longer distorted by a rabbit's features. (Emet-Selch tried not to think about how Mettaton wouldn't be able to smell him, nor scent him as he once had. Nor would he be able to taste him... or anything else.
Why would something so base and primitive matter? And yet he missed it, selfishly.)
He still didn't see what exactly he'd done to be worthy of gratitude, considering that all he'd done is ask the big rock for help, because he couldn't do anything himself. His magic and knowledge had been useless, non-existent. So he shakes his head at Mettaton's insistence on thanking him- and sighs more heavily at the idea of not being suspicious over their "good" "fortune".]
You can put any distrust wherever you'd like. I'll keep mine right where it is. Nor do I plan on going into debt, cosmic or otherwise, no matter how well-oiled you feel.
[Because all that just sounded like an excuse for Mettaton to indulge in whatever sort of extravagant living he could wish or buy on credit. And he didn't want to be dragged into the afterlife of financial ruin with him.
But he can't manage to look too dubious when Mettaton leans his head back, and their eyes meet. Sentiment was still too strong, and he felt it keenly. Gaze lowering, eyes nearly closing again when their foreheads brush together, his voice lowers again to match the intimacy.]
Though 'twas far briefer of a time, I... [Did much the same. Longed for, dreamed. Waited. Longed more. Swallowing back a low, unhappy noise, he shakes his head, just a little.] I've managed, one way or another.
[It was because it never felt like enough and that they were so insatiable that Mettaton could feel the breadth of it, he thought. As he feels Emet-Selch cling tight to his synthetic body, the robot squeezes him close, urges his spine to bend in just the right places so that their figures were flush in many spots. So that Emet-Selch was pressed around his broad chest, and right down to his tapered, dramatic waist. Against his core; Mettaton was warmest of all right there, especially while his body lacked access to all of its heating enhancements meant to channel his core temperature into something worthwhile.
Emet-Selch's sorrow over his loneliness is felt, and Mettaton continues to rub his lower back with a pitiful sound. Their eyes are matched, but Mettaton disturbs the connection by pressing forward and meeting lips instead. Taking Emet-Selch's lovingly between his own, it's a lingering, warm kiss. Even if he lacked saliva, it was made up for by the softness of silicone—and Mettaton could feel the tenderness of Emet-Selch's lips, if not his warmth. He craved him more and more as every second passed, but this... This felt sublime.
He wondered how long it would take for his desire for him to overwhelm him, to the point of frustration. It was something to talk to Emet-Selch about at some point. Inevitably, he'd have to address all that he lacked—which would have never been a problem or a point of conversation, had he never been granted it in the first place. Mettaton is perfect just the way he is, he would agree to the claim.
But he wanted more. Ravenously, he wanted more.
His heated desire is a conveyance through a tender, somber kiss, gentle but full and with the edge of heat both metaphorical, and physical- as MTT's internal components didn't stop generating heat, and that heat could escape from past his lips. Nuzzling noses, Mettaton even stoops in to press his cheek against Emet-Selch's in something of a scenting gesture of all things. You could take the Puca from Mettaton, but now that he's been one, there were certain habits he'd developed that he, too, found congenial and hard to break. ...In a way, maybe Emet-Selch was being scented, if a cherry-scented robot was scent enough.]
... Thank you, for managing for as long as you did, darling. But no longer! [He smiles wide and bright.] We have each other once again, and doing well, at that. That is...
[Drawing back slightly, Mettaton fixes Emet-Selch with a more analytical look.] How are your injuries doing, Hades? I see your face has improved... a bit. Ah...
[His hand winds up Emet-Selch's body until digits can prod gently at healing welts, which have become more like reddened flesh. Still, there were more injuries than that—and MTT's hand reflexively moves to his heart next.]
[Even though there were limits to his spine, to what his back could tolerate, Emet-Selch ignores it as much as he could, to better fit to Mettaton's particular shape. That the taller man couldn't offer the same heating services as before, he's unaware; he seemed warm enough as it was, the ambient robot temperature enough for him, especially when he was still clothed himself.
A kiss between them was inevitable, and Emet-Selch leans to meet it with the smallest sound that's quickly consumed by the security of their lips together.
He knew, of course, of Mettaton's lack of saliva. He'd kissed him before without it, and even if that made things a bit dryer between them than usual- the softness was just as he remembered. And the warmth with it, both features that felt entirely alive to him, even though they were synthetic in their most literal sense.
And it was tempting to deepen it, to offer all the breath he had to give- more than tempting, no matter how serious the kiss, and his heart speeds from the thought of how much he wanted. But he doesn't protest when it's paused, when Mettaton nudges their noses together, when he even rubs his cheek with his own, in a gesture that felt so familiar that it left him briefly stricken. Even if Mettaton lacked the glands and the pheromones of a puca, surely something of him would rub off all the same....
And it was sweetly affectionate besides. Gathering himself anew as Mettaton speaks, he nods to him.]
A bit sore... [He confesses, but it was an honest assessment. Neither elevated for the sake of complaint, nor downplayed because it was genuinely unpleasant. The inspection of his face through sight and touch goes without flinching or tension, though the welts themselves were still tender. But not raw, the redness of healing flesh rather than inflamed with infection.] I think natural healing still outpaces what I can do with magic....
[That bit was more of a grumble, but less frustrated than it could've been. And he goes still as Mettaton's winding grip moves onward, before pressing deliberately into his touch.]
--That part, is likely sorest of all.
[Metaphorically and literally. But literally too, as while even cushioned by fabric, he felt a distinct ache when Mettaton's hand snakes around to touch his heart. The bruises of injury there were still dark, and the arrow-wound notable, if closed over by healing skin. It would almost certainly scar.]
[Mettaton smiles against Emet-Selch's lips at the feeling of him bending, contorting with the coaxing of his touch to meld against metal. If any of them was to form against the other, it would have to be Emet-Selch, as it always was. He was even contributing, pressing himself as firmly as he could- and even pressing deep into their kiss, their lips locked enough that he knew they could easily deepen that kiss until there was no way they could break from it.
A low, soft growl- a brief thing, really. It's a sign of Mettaton's willingness to steal his breath. But... he wanted to address something else. So they break apart, just far enough to converse. Though he's not a Puca, enough of being one has become a part of him. It doesn't take a thought for him to want to scent Emet-Selch, nor does growling seem foreign when claiming his husband. He could easily envision himself working from his neck down to his shoulders, his chest, over his soft abdomen and lower still.....
But what reaches his chest instead is his own hand, though the touch is firm as much as it is tender. He offers Emet-Selch a warm, soft smile. Would Emet-Selch even practice his healing talents while he had them?
The mage's stillness is followed by a press, and Mettaton exhales heat. That smile sobers slightly, as the robot stoops forward to press a kiss to the base of Emet-Selch's neck. ...For once, tall ears do not press or slap against his face in the process, and though it had never been something he thought about before, he notices its absence. Even still, kissing him wasn't the part that felt off.]
And with sore as the improvement, I take it... How I wish I could speed your recovery. [He says this at first close to his neck, as he pulls back. His fingers gently rub against Emet-Selch's chest, a tender touch followed by the press of his palm.] I'd like to see it for myself.
[Mettaton was visual, just as much as he was tactile. He wanted to see Emet-Selch's chest, the wound that came from ending a senseless night of agonizing loneliness and savagery. He kisses at his jaw, holding Emet-Selch still tight to his body, and knew even without seeing it that it would scar. One way or another, it would scar. ...Often, these scars ended up right over Emet-Selch's heart, he thinks with a small, soft smile.
Transfixed momentarily by Emet-Selch's eyes, Mettaton's lips part with no sound to pair it.]
Will you come with me, darling? We've barely had a moment just to ourselves.
[Starting strong with violence and terror, then moving along to injury and recovery. Then more of it... and now, they were something resembling stability. Emet-Selch was the only one sore, and that was close to normalcy.]
[The hint of a growl was no less familiar- nor appealing, a light shiver running through the mage's body, one that would be easily felt with how closely they were pressed. An appreciation for the sound, and for the interest that he knew lay behind it, a willingness to steal his air, and for more than that....
But they speak instead, something Emet-Selch couldn't do when his lips were covered. And his heart stirs more quickly still, when Mettaton dips briefly to his neck, an expanse the mage offers to him freely, affected easily by the kiss (though noticing too, the lack of long ears in his face, leaning for him and smacking him as they often did... but that was just how it was now, unless Mettaton deliberately shapeshifted them back).]
Will your presence not suffice for a balm? You're always telling me of your willingness to distract me from my pains....
[A low-voiced murmur, close to his face. And for all that Emet-Selch wanted to curl back to his body, he waits for that too, as he feels his lover's hand between them, against the fabric over his heart, and looks back up to meet his gaze. Returns one kiss with another, at the edge of Mettaton's lips, tempering the want to linger there, to coax him into more.
His heart so often ended up scarred. Emet-Selch realizes it too, and isn't sure what to think about it. If there was any way to think about it at all, that it wasn't just... what it was. A natural place to find wounded.
And one that he would willingly show him. Wordlessly, he nods, caught up just as easily in Mettaton's violet eye. Though he'd been used to the gold, this was something he was drawn to no less, a look he could drown in with no hope of coming up for air. And no desire to.
There had been little time to spend together properly, not with one or the other of them being out of commission, unconscious, or insane. This was as good as it might be- as it was true enough that Emet-Selch was frequently sore anyway (if not generally from the aftermath of having been electrocuted and shot).
It wasn't with the same stumbling heat that drove them now, the breathless passion that barely managed to reach a bed, with their legs tangled and bodies aching. But it was with a kind of passion nonetheless, an insistence, for closeness, for intimacy. And though it was Mettaton's suggestion, he pulls back to answer it, to step towards the bedroom- though without his own hands leaving the robot's body entirely, trailing instead to his sides, his hips.]
I'll show you anything you want. We've the time for it now.
[Time and place and sanity. The reassurance that they were together, he wanted to feel it in his touch.]
[A passion all its own, and as Emet-Selch suggests MTT's inclination toward soothing him with all of himself thoroughly applied, he can't help but smile. And smile more, hopelessly enamored by the touch of hands on his hips that felt... agonizingly sensitive, in the way it was so dull. A bizarre combination, that, and one he'd get a chance to pour over later.
But for now, he rocks his hip; he presses himself into Emet-Selch's touch, a sway to his step that was seductive and deliberate in. He nearly wavers, affected. (Gods, it was insanity, to be deprived of vivid and mind-numbing sensation. Then, to go a month without the feeling of touch... Mettaton knew without labelling it explicitly that he was addicted, and his body as it is registered sensation dully compared to a robotic Puca. He thinks this without words, a buzzing in the back of his head.) He wanted to be the balm that soothed, the distraction Emet-Selch coveted to make the pain drain into pleasure- to override it with sensation generated by himself, and to leave him properly loved. And with that feeling, Mettaton wobbles, overcome.
It's a glamorously graceful wobble, though. A tip of his head that exposes neck; the tease of his thighs pressing together mid-step, paired with a heated exhale. Mettaton wraps his arm affectionately around Emet-Selch in return, kissing the side of his head in a fleeting peck of lips.]
Show me... and I'll whip up a remedy to soothe your aches, darling.
[Another small smile curves upon his lips and colors his tone. They had time; this was a moment all their own, the world outside peaceful, the rain starting to drizzle gently upon the cottage roof. It was homey; it was safe, because Emet-Selch was here.
Mettaton never thought he'd appreciate safety as much as he does now that he has Emet-Selch in his life. Safety in ways that exceed being protected. It was the safety of intimate company, in a world where he gave himself in the form of an object of fantasy, an indulgence to be shared. Emet-Selch was where he was wholly himself, including every part others wouldn't be permitted to handle.
Toward the bedroom their gradual pace takes them, steady as the pitter-patter of rain tapping lightly the cobblestone pathway outside the concealing fabric of plain curtains. This bedroom didn't have Mettaton's flair, not yet; it had some belongings, a torn robe here or a wool sweater there, complete with a damaged robotic arm- but it hadn't been properly taken apart. A lack of resources is to blame for sure. But at least in its middle is a proper, if modest, bed, suited for the two of them to fit.
Even though it's a home all their own, Mettaton closes the door behind them. His arm trails low against the small of Emet-Selch's back, toying with fabric, the itch to strip him something he has patience for because he knew he'd have him exposed soon enough. But his gaze is warm and pointed, watching the Ascian at his side hungrily. He spares him a smile before glancing around their accomodations.]
... The last time you and I stayed in something so spartan, it was a room hardly yours, back in your shared abode in Aefenglom. That, or... some of what we enjoyed in Nippon. Though that was nicer. I didn't have to barter for running water there. [He snorts, leaning in to give Emet-Selch's temple a kiss.]
[Only Mettaton could turn what would be a stagger in others, into something both seductive and graceful. They weren't Bonded, but he could almost feel that edge of overcome himself- perhaps because he felt it in his own right, as their souls didn't need to be tied for sympathetic responses to exist between them. And for all that Mettaton didn't usually wear clothes, his body on full and technically naked display as a rule, that didn't keep him from being a lure to Emet-Selch regardless, a tease that asked for his touch.
He wondered over how much his lover could feel, even as he plainly reacted to having his hands on his body. He knew of the senses that would be missing entirely... but touch. How much did Mettaton have as a corporealized ghost, and how much had being a puca given him?
But the mage hums a small sound, an assent to Mettaton's idea of remedy- and a sign of small pleasure to his kiss. And they make the short distance to their bedroom, as rain begins to beat down on the roof somewhere above. An encouragement to remain indoors for a time; a pleasant ambient noise to further block out the rest of the world. This was all the safety they could manage; this was all that was needed, for a little while.
Their accommodations were modest, to be polite. Far moreso than what they were used to. Not terrible in structure, if small, a base for more to be added... so long as they could somehow obtain the more from somewhere.]
Both were somewhat more well-equipped. [He sighs to follow Mettaton's snort. Not only the worlds, but they themselves were made lesser here. Had he his powers, it wouldn't matter if their residence were simple, as he could create anything they lacked. Leaning in, he presses a kiss of his own to Mettaton's neck.] Thank you for bartering all the same, for luxuries you barely need.
[Running water wasn't quite as useful to a robot. And electricity, with charging apparently not an issue anymore (a small mercy), in a similar extraneous position. But organic bodies needed water, and benefited from being able to cook their food.
But they both needed more than that, things outside of a roof above them, or a bed underneath them, but which benefited from both. Where Mettaton barely resists stripping him, Emet-Selch barely resists dragging him tight to his body again, in kissing him hard. Instead he slips back to the bed, even if it meant pulling away from his arm, to sit down at the side of it, facing him.
Leaning over to quickly unfasten and remove his shoes, in preparation for getting into bed properly, he sighs another time.]
[Even this felt somewhat nostalgic. Rain, indoors; intimacy, exploration. Experimentation. God, what a night that had been, when they took to the sheets on a rainy evening, their hearts a lure to the other they couldn't deny. And Emet-Selch had been so eager to grip the cock Mettaton had manifested just for them, leading to certain and unending arousal for nights to come...
Even if, on that particular evening, Emet-Selch was possessed by fits of unconsciousness. It was the more unfortunate part of the time, but Mettaton regarded it fondly all the same.
The two lovers found themselves here, an island in space and time and supposedly locked in the realm of dreams. But they were together, and Mettaton couldn't be more thankful.
With a small smile, he answers Emet-Selch's gratitude with a small nod, and a bend to press another whisper of a kiss against the corner of Emet-Selch's lips. Need is barely contained, and teased in the brush of lips, as the robot sighs a push of heat.]
We've already begun. We're here. Together, you... you and I.
[Emet-Selch may be pulling away, removing his shoes (which seemed much easier than his boots ever had, these charming little shoes, simple in design), in answer to the restraint they barely possessed. But Mettaton responds to their heat all the same, a tension in his voice of eager, tight desire, the sort that would inflict leaning rabbit ears if he possessed them. Lips parted, he ogles Emet-Selch's figure in the meantime without a shred of shame. Why should he have that, when he was enjoying the sight of his husband?
Heels click upon weathered wooden floorboards in Mettaton's advance, and his fingertips graze along the bed. He'd so recently awoken here that he wondered if it would be warm where he'd been... And he felt anything but groggy. As soon as the mage has his shoes removed, Mettaton slinks onto the bed knees-first, hands reaching to slip 'round his waist in a gentle hold.]
We'll make this place our own retreat. And as I ever have... I will watch out for you, Hades-darling. [He pecks the side of Emet-Selch's head.] Just as I know you always will, me.
[There were no dangers to keep track of for now. All they had was the promise of each other's bodies, and Mettaton licks his lips as he pines for the warm figure beneath clothing that he could prod and touch. His digits slip underneath, coaxing Emet-Selch closer, with fewer articles of clothing preferred. His fingers pick at fabric near Emet-Selch's hips.
He smiles at him, sunny and warm.]
And... I'm here for you, dearest. We'll take care of our desires. One by one.
[Though he's not thinking of any specific past instance himself, the moment did strike Emet-Selch as somewhat nostalgic. Familiar, in the way they settled together in what privacy they could find, shutting out the outside world for a time. One more world to shut out, in favor of their lover- an easy preference, to turn their attention to this.
Shamelessly, they gaze upon each other. There had never been any lack of hesitation there, nor self-consciousness. And no reason for it to start, when need was only ever tempered for the sake of something more. Mettaton slips onto the bed with all the grace he was familiar with, and no less affected by- as there was no coaxing required for the mage to lean towards him, to seek out his arms and body.
Interest was certainly alight, between them. And distraction with it; already, Emet-Selch was less conscious of his various less-pleasant aches and sores. And if he wasn't as well-rested as Mettaton, he was about as awake as he ever was, all his consciousness focused on the man beside him.
There were no dangers, for now, and no telling when the next crisis would arise. For right now they were together, and that was all they ever seemed to have. Only the present, for as long as it managed to last.]
Then... stay with me, this time.
[The bed underneath might very well have some remnant of robotic-heat left on its covers. Clothed as he was, Emet-Selch couldn't tell, but there was an easy solution to that problem. The plucking at the fabric at his hips could easily transition to a removal of it all. And while he wasn't impatient for his greater touch, there was no hiding that he dearly wanted it.]
You can't take care of anything if you're not here. [His voice is quiet, lifting a hand to cup the side of his husband's face- no longer rent by anyone's claws.] But I don't think we'll ever catch up, like this.
[To the request to stay, he nods. The demand to stay. Of course he'd stay. He had always intended to... There hadn't been a single moment where he ever thought to depart from Emet-Selch's side, save for fleetingly. He would return. He always would.
Emet-Selch is on the bed and Mettaton is on his knees, encircling the smaller man in an embrace. Interest was electricity, and the two of them were equally charged, a contagion that intensified as it bounced between them, as they infected each other over and again. Crises seemed to follow them... but Mettaton lived in this moment where there was none, and Emet-Selch was miraculously drawn in with him.
The hand pressed his cheek is leaned into with a curtaining of lashes, a sweet smile pulling the corner of his lips. His face was restored, and the sensation of Emet-Selch's hand there is something he cherishes with his eye closed. With a hum, he cracks open his eye, but only slightly.
He doesn't think they'll catch up like this. His eyebrow lifts; his pupil runs down Emet-Selch's clothes, where his own fingers are.]
How do you mean? We won't catch up...
[He runs over the statement in his head as he scoots closer, straddling Emet-Selch from behind him with knees on either side of his thighs. And from there, Mettaton maintains as much contact as he can with the hand against his cheek as he presses his hands fully against bare skin. Starting from his hips, Mettaton lifts Emet-Selch's clothes off, making deft but desirous work of both shucking fabric, and giving Emet-Selch a good feel-up. Up and over his head comes flowing fabric, baring Emet-Selch's torso to the air. Contentedly, he sighs.]
Hmm... If you mean to say that we'll never truly conquer the full of our desires, yes. We won't. [He leans in, kissing the back of Emet-Selch's neck as he sidles his entire body flush to Emet-Selch's.] But that's because you keep encouraging more and more in me.
[... And there would be regrettable desires more that would go un-cared for. Mettaton tries not to think about his lacking body for the moment. Someday... someday, he would be in possession of an anatomy, of powers that suited him—and enabled him the same sexual indulgence they'd once enjoyed. He holds fast to the confidence that he still wants Emet-Selch carnally; that Emet-Selch had always been able to drive him mad.]
[Letting his hand fall away from Mettaton's face in order to facilitate the removal of his clothes (and with the robot fully behind him, it wasn't exactly comfortable anyway), his torso is left bare to the open air. Air that wasn't quite chilly, but he shivers all the same, and is encouraged to lean back for him.
Beyond the fresh scarring above his heart, there's the sign of lesser injuries on the mage's body. Bruises that were turning towards the greenish-yellow were scattered across him, along with patches of scabbing. Places where fur had grown, and that he'd torn out. None of it was serious, but it added a bit of soreness to him.
Which he's not thinking of too clearly when Mettaton was kissing his neck, when he could feel his body against skin, a sensation he stretches into with a small sound.]
I would do more than encourage. More and more that....
[--would they even be able to fulfill? Emet-Selch can't help but recall that unfortunate aspect of their combination currently. It wouldn't be for the first time, but for far longer than otherwise, Mettaton had been more than able to match him in the ability to demonstrate arousal. He looks down towards the bed, even as he rests against his body.]
You'll have to learn to shapeshift properly. Soon.
[Mettaton wouldn't be the only one frustrated, at this rate. Though he would admit that the former-puca would have it worse, in not having a cock at all... he wouldn't pretend otherwise that so much of his own pleasure was tied up in the robot's. Not only when it came with the sensation of being filled by him, but just being in the company of his aroused state was enticing.
Though Emet-Selch was already getting hard, a firming line notable within his trousers, he tried to temper his expectations. Which mostly led to a dampening of them, in actuality, and his exhale is as sad as it is interested.]
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When he'd asked the Crystal for help, he hadn't known what to expect. His hopes hadn't been high, but his desperation had been increasing as the days passed. While Mettaton was technically in no danger of dying from his wounds, they were also alarmingly permanent, disfiguring. Inconvenient. And for all the cheerfulness his lover exhibited, the reassurance they both felt at being there together, there was no getting around that this wasn't how he wanted to be. For vanity and practicality both.
So once Emet-Selch was well enough to leave the cottage, he'd gone to the one possibility he knew about. And he asked, as politely- and genuinely- as he could. ...Of course, there had been no response, no sign that he hadn't been wishing it all to himself.
It was only when he'd returned to find one(1) Mettaton crumpled onto the floor of their modest abode that he had any sort of confirmation that the Crystal had heard him. This couldn't be a coincidence, and he felt first an exhausted sort of pique that this was his answer. His husband was made worse, because he'd dared to ask for anything (Though fortunately not dead, he could tell that much from the glow of his core. But unreachable, unresponsive, no matter what he tried.).
...He'd still carried Mettaton to bed, even though it wasn't as though robots could wake up with a sore back. He still muttered to himself about the dead weight he was made to haul around, as he tried to hold back his concern, his fears. Setting Mettaton up into a position 'comfortable', he set his severed arm next to him as it would surely be needed if it were going to... attach itself, somehow. He didn't know what to think.
Fortunately, it hadn't been long until he'd seen the first signs of change, if not of waking. A creep of silicone where there had been chunks missing; metal being filled in, thin layers at a time. Slow as it was, Emet-Selch first thought he was deluding himself, going completely mad over this new trial. But it was real. (He also took several photos to compare it, to further confirm to himself that he wasn't imagining things, and there were definitely changes. From hour to hour, things grew.)
Mettaton was healing. Bizarrely. Yet there was no sign of wires reaching out to reconnect to his old, mangled arm, but before Emet-Selch had the chance to worry that it wouldn't be included, he witnessed the birth of tubing curling out from under shoulderguards (which had also regrown from weird metal nubs into their normal dramatic shape). And from that modest nest... fingers. Mettaton was healing.
So Emet-Selch left their cottage from time to time, and this happened to be one of those times. And if he were wholly honest, he'd been sort of expecting Mettaton to rouse soonish. The last he checked, the damage that remained had been light, and it followed to him that it would all be concluded with a return to consciousness. Which doesn't mean he's not relieved to see the idol's message; he is, and his immediate delay in replying is partially due to that.
But it was also deliberate to chance not being there. And Mettaton's text justified that pettiness, to him. But he does eventually reply.]
An empty threat, you've no way of tracking me in your current form.
And I've done nothing. The air of this star must be good for you. Should I have disposed of the spare?
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Mettaton blames this on the dream-Emet-Selch, who so lovingly massaged him from head to toe, then back again, and generously so upon... some areas.
So he was in bed, and he did appreciate it. It was more glamorous besides, though he knew that Emet-Selch would remain on the floor with him if need be, as he had before. The point was this: he much preferred bed rest to being an appliance left as a heap on the floor!
He also just wanted Emet-Selch next to him. And he wasn't here, the way he would be upon waking as usual. He had two-to-three arms now, and could hold him tight... Mettaton huffs at his phone, as Emet-Selch deliberately delays the inevitable. (And MTT gets a growing sense that he was casually biding his time, for a very particular reason. More a reason to huff.)]
I may not be a Puca. But I don't need earrings or finding magic to hunt you down, darling. No, what I have on my side is my love for you... and everything I've come to learn about you. I could find you in a snap!
[That is the more playful, if heated, message. One that he still sends with a daunting smile upon his lips. The next, though, is more heartfelt.]
The air... Hades, are you sure you had nothing to do with this? It may not be unusual for me to dream about you... but I feel as though I spent the night in a luxurious resort, massaged up and down by your graceful hands and dexterous fingers. I feel I have you written all over me.
[The third arm is an oddity. Mettaton sends this message, and regards it quietly. What should've been done with this...]
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As he stayed with him, for more time than he didn't. Noting both his recovery and his stillness- a combination that reassured as much as it left him uneasy. A quiet, motionless Mettaton was an unnerving thing, and when he didn't know exactly why he was like that, beyond it having some connection to his wish for healing- left his own rest unsettled. What would he do if Mettaton healed entirely, but never woke up? What more would he have to be indebted to this Crystal for?
Fortunately, none of that came about, even if he hadn't been there to see it. Emet-Selch still ignores outright Mettaton's comment about being able to find him regardless. He knew it was true.]
Your imagination arrived intact, I see. Why in the world was I massaging you? You don't even have muscles.
[Sure, he had no hesitation, and no lack of desire towards placing his hands all over him. And if his dream self was anything like him, then he would've been the same. But that wasn't a massage... that was just groping. Handling. Even teasing.
He didn't know why he didn't just outright admit to having gone to the Crystal for help. Stubbornness, maybe. His relief to know it worked translating into pointless contrarianism.]
And you know entirely well that I don't have the means to repair you as I am. You're free to continue reminding me of this, again and again, if you choose.
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His phone vibrates with impending messages, but Mettaton's too busy dreaming of Emet-Selch wishing for his health, bowing before the Crystal with his husband in mind. How dreamy... Mettaton loves to be thought of and cared for, and it was a good use of shards. If he didn't wish it, it would have to be some spin on healing magic.
He was the culprit. That, Mettaton was sure of.
So he picks up his phone by twisting his wrist, reading over Emet-Selch's messages with a cheerful hum. (He felt so good, his mood included. The red moons felt lightyears away... even when he knew they'd just happened.) He taps away again, pulling his phone closer to his face as he relaxes his weight into the bed.]
My imagination, at our service! I don't need muscles to enjoy your touch, my love. And you were so thorough... Your touch, so deep. So, so deep... I'd salivate, if I could.
[Another thing lost: Mettaton's ability to produce saliva. Awkward as it was to sprout that function, it was a shame to lose.]
You haven't lost your resourcefulness, darling. And I bet you knew exactly what to do... and you did it in secret! Oh, Hades, you doll. Could I ask of you another favor? I want to tell you something, but I want to do so in person... Would you come to me?
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Shaking off a bit of the haze when he hears the notification sound, Emet-Selch frowns before he even begins reading it.]
Another thing left behind us.
[Mettaton's ability to salivate, that is. And strange as it was as a thing to miss- it had its uses.]
What 'resourcefulness' is it, when there's only one option left?
[Dissatisfaction remained, that he'd given in and asked this dubious source for a boon, and his fingers tighten around the phone. Even if some payment had been taken from him, it was one he couldn't completely quantify, which inspired his caution. He was certainly grateful for it as well, no matter the concern his lover's unconsciousness had brought, but that didn't mean he liked it.
Ambivalence, at best. He sighs into the night air, looks back up at the Crystal itself that he'd been lingering in the vicinity of. No more wishes required, for now.]
I'll return. How much should I be dreading whatever it is you're holding back from me? Your answer will determine my pace.
[A pause; he even takes a few steps, before stopping, and adding on impulse.]
You were unconscious for three days, Mettaton.
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Another thing long left behind. He still misses it, even though he had grown so practiced that he could feel Emet-Selch's emotions even when they weren't technically there. They've... become something of a part of him, he thinks fondly.
But his own feelings were separate entities, so different as they were. So blissfully upbeat and relaxed, all of his troubles having been put on hold for a good night's sleep... Acknowledging Emet-Selch's intent with a smile, he continues reading his every word, until his eye blows wide and his smile drops.
A good... three night's sleep.]
Three days?????? You're kidding me! That's preposterous. I could never!
[Except for the fact that he believes it. Emet-Selch wouldn't lie to him like that, and there's no question he has about it. Mettaton gazes about the room for some sign of the passing days, before readjusting himself so the's not looking toward his side, but more propped up. ...The shoulder guards, despite having freshly grown them back, come off with an easy click. Mettaton wants to cuddle, and those are in the way for that. He sets them neatly aside.]
Oh, darling... I hope you didn't fret about my safety. Though I know it must have inspired unease. Whatever you asked for, I feel positively perfect, as fresh as having a new body. So... I hope you will come with great haste.
I want to see you.
[With something to tell him, he wanted it to be in person. He also wanted to see Emet-Selch's state after that mess, if three days have passed... He wanted to take a survey of his demeanor, his health, his injuries—and even though he wasn't the one with healing powers, even though Emet-Selch was the one who'd been left with those, he would still do what he could to heal him in return.
And additionally, Mettaton resolves, he wanted his husband to have his self back. If Kate could do it, then surely the same could be said for Emet-Selch. ...If on a larger scale.]
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But they had passed all the same.]
Why would I fret when I was enjoying the quiet, the peace it provided my healing?
[Translation: fret. But smaller frets, or else he would've been more serious in his reply. It was difficult to type and walk, so during his replies, he pauses to write them out.]
I've now witnessed a robot heal as though he were made of flesh. 'Tis a sight I will not forget, no matter how I wish it were otherwise. I think it will take another Crystal-inspired miracle to erase those visions from my already crowded memory.
I also note you've yet to warn me as to this personal message you have for me. My steps slow even now.
[They do not. (He wanted to see him too, alive and whole and himself.) He's moving at his normal pace when he isn't typing, and while that could never be described as 'hurried', it's intent, and he's not that far besides. ...Ugh, maybe it would be worth his pride to plead for having teleportation back, if nothing else, sooner rather than later.]
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More than the regret, he felt the gratitude. It was unfortunate that he had to pass out, but he was well; he felt wonderful. He flexes the fingers of his once-missing hand.
Reading Emet-Selch's messages, though, Mettaton can't help but coyly reply at first:] I know what your healing needs. 💗💗💗 More of ME! 💗💗💗
[Apply Mettaton and feel healed. Mettaton knows this would be true; he also knows that Emet-Selch was advancing toward him, and he wiggles in place with the anticipation of it. He'd move to meet him part-way, but he decides against it, given that he ultimately wants them to unite right here. So his restless energy is heavied into the bed again, where he wriggles.]
You wouldn't forget many things without force involved, and don't lie to me. You don't care to forget my creeping recovery. Let visions of me continue to cloud that impeccable memory of yours. [Because aside from awful happenstance, yes, Emet-Selch's memory was impeccable and he means it. This is not to rub anything in. He remembered well, and it required intervention to make him forget, much to his dismay.
Mettaton sighs, reaching back to fluff up some pillows, to scoot to the side, making some more room for Emet-Selch to land. Fondly, he regards the spot.]
It's a personal message, all right. And one that I NEED to tell you. Oh, I can't keep still, I need to tell you so bad...!
[Is that enough of a warning? Mettaton knows Emet-Selch will not really slow. He was on his way, that, he was sure of.]
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Though Emet-Selch didn't quite feel better for talking to him, for walking back to their modest residence and knowing that Mettaton was awake and waiting for him, healed and apparently energized- he did feel a degree less generally terrible.]
To the contrary, I fear the sight of you will set me back at least a week. Perhaps more, depending on your enthusiasm.
[Or Mettaton would be ready to leave different sorts of MTT-Brand injuries on his body, ones different from marks of electrocution. As while there was still some sign of it on his face, some lingering bruises on his body (and particular soreness above his heart), the Ascian was much recovered. He'd even practiced his healing a bit more, while waiting for Mettaton to wake up. While he still felt clumsy and weak at it, it had sped things up a little.
His steps don't quite speed up a little, but his curiosity was definitely there. Maybe even anticipation- but that was more to just see him again. For the first time on this world where they'd both been alive and as well as they could be. Neither insane nor missing limbs.]
You're clouding too much as it is. What is even so important
[He just sends that with one hand as he opens the door, not bothering to complete the question or to add any others. If unaccosted, he'll move (definitely, deliberately at his own pace) towards the bedroom and it's specially fluffed pillows.]
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Haven't you been watching over me these past three days? Come on... Will the sight of me AWAKE really impact you so starkly? I'll have to give you a good reason to feel that way, honestly.
[Give Emet-Selch something to remember.
As he dwells on Emet-Selch's impending approach, Mettaton grows... antsier. He squirms. He readjusts himself. He realizes that he is totally brimming with energy—and the fleeting idea that he'd put to bed earlier about meeting Emet-Selch half-way resurfaces, an itch in his legs that couldn't be rubbed away. Even as he presses his shins together in an attempt to alleviate the urge, he realizes that even his heart is increasingly set on the desire. He would meet Emet-Selch... and he would walk where his magnificent heels take him, as he knew he'd be possessed to find Emet-Selch in his path.
With a flourish, he springs to his feet. And from there he advances, heading on quick steps toward the front door. But the idol doesn't get very far toward the bedroom door as he hears the front door open and close, his phone vibrating with a message he glances at as he smiles.]
Hades!! There you are!
[The bedroom door flies open. Mettaton skips toward the front door and closes distance between himself and Emet-Selch's lumbering pace- and more than ever, MTT knows, knows that this was an act of heavier steps, for as much as it was also a very appropriate Emet-Selch-pace. Mettaton would speed up their union.
With a pounce, MTT lunges around a corner. He grins ear to ear, and as he reaches Emet-Selch, he snatches him up in spread arms. Two arms, both in perfect condition, and strong as can be, they wind around the Ascian's person as he buries his face into the side of his head.]
Oh, I love you. What a magnificent man you are...
[He squeezes him close to his body, stooping slightly so that Emet-Selch's chin would reach his exposed shoulder—and so that his own neck was well within reach.]
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They weren't Bonded; he had no way of feeling Mettaton's antsiness for himself, for being influenced by it. But there was a co-occurring sense of it nonetheless, an agitation that was provoked by the nearness of his husband, and which could only be soothed by his presence.
Barely having a chance to tuck away his phone, or to cross even halfway to their bedroom, the mage is more than matched by the sound of heels on wood. A quick and decided pace that makes up for his own languid attempt, and without further fanfare they were together. Even as the sight of the taller man- whole, and with his own vision unclouded by aggression and fear- has his heart go unsteady, it's with complete immediacy that he surrenders to the embrace.
Without thinking about it, Emet-Selch presses his face to Mettaton's neck, right where he had when they'd first met here. Right where he'd driven teeth, and been unable to stop. But he's not thinking about that, only the familiarity of the embrace, the rightness of it, to hold and be held like this.
With two arms to them both, and no madness, no injury. This felt like the meeting they should've had on this star.]
Mettaton....
[He whispers it, breathes him in, nuzzles into his neck with a small sound. The relief he feels leaves him weak rather than energized, and for a few moments he relies almost entirely on Mettaton to stand, trusting him with his balance.
Compressing and being compressed against metal as it should be, with the strength he expected, and with the lack of brutal scoring- he gives into it entirely, and encourages being crushed, given the tightness of his own arms.]
I missed you.
[Even though they'd technically been together for some time now. Even as he'd 'enjoyed' the cursed wish of a Mettaton who couldn't escape from him. But he preferred his husband conscious too, as it turned out.]
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Trauma could have been heavily rooted into his heart. But the entire union still felt romantic, in its way... and Mettaton saw it through rose-colored glasses. His husband was under some celestial influence and couldn't control his hunger. He's been there too many times for himself... And if anything he felt very flattered that the Ascian was so starved for him and him alone.
Even as the memory of his teeth rending silicone enough for it to sear occurs to him, Mettaton does nothing but sink into Emet-Selch. He sighs, something of a shudder wracking his body as he thinks about how much of himself he'd love to give to Emet-Selch. It was a no-brainer, that even should he wish to devour him, he'd allow it. Even if pain was the result, it was Emet-Selch's application... though the Ascian's obvious upset and distant loss wasn't the ideal situation for anything sensual nor romantic. Mettaton still forgave him without forgiveness even being asked for.
And he takes Emet-Selch's body against his own, straightening out his posture so that the mage would either be lifted, or brought to his toes. One strong embrace is returned for another, and Mettaton makes a small noise against the side of his head.]
And you, Hades... I missed you more than I could describe in words.
[He was asleep. He knows they're talking about that, but MTT references the broad umbrella of his experienced time apart. He'd spent a month without Emet-Selch, and they were put through turmoil upon his arrival... MTT missed him, even as he kept himself going with the knowledge that his wish—to traverse the stars and galaxies and universes—would eventually afford him his husband.
Or, at the very least... his husband's universe, where he could task himself with restoring him and his world. He'd promised, and it exceeded a Puca's binding commitment. Just in case becoming a god didn't afford him access to his world, he could now secure it. That was the underlying goal—Mettaton knew it immediately, even in his dreams.
Running a hand along Emet-Selch's lower back, the robot kisses his scalp. His voice is low against the side of his head, warm and steady.]
Thank you for healing me. Even if it knocked me out... In a pinch, you did something dramatic for my sake. [Mettaton squeezes Emet-Selch to punctuate his appreciation.] What I wanted to tell you is... that I love you.
[Which he already said. Yes... that was the statement of importance.]
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His voice itself is muffled, as though it too were being compressed by the silicone his lips and face were pressed to.]
And I love you more than I know how to say.
[And he felt sorrier than he knew how to ask for, for tearing into him. While at the same time knowing that there wasn't any fault, that he couldn't have fought it any more than he did. Couldn't have resisted going after Mettaton, hadn't even known he was there to resist, before that night. But guilt remained, as it would, and he tries to accept its presence, as well as the relief of knowing Mettaton was physically well again.
Breath as shaky as his hold on him was firm- as it insisted on firmness, to not be let go of- his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Knows that Mettaton had had an even longer time to miss him, even if a month wasn't the longest in the scheme of things... it was a month without knowing when the end would come. But just as he felt himself loved... he knew too that Mettaton wouldn't have given up. Not on finding him; not on saving Etheirys as he'd promised.
Somehow, thinking of that reassured too, just as the idol's voice did, close to his ear. Squirming just that bit, impossibly closer (so mostly just squirming in an already flush state), he's more than coaxed to remain by the kiss, by the stroke of his hand down his back. If Mettaton had lured him back only for the sake of saying he loved him, in person- then he felt satisfied entirely, in finding out what he wanted.
Though at hearing himself thanked, the mage snorts, very quietly, against Mettaton's throat. Kisses him, where he'd once bitten. (Is both surprised and humbled that he hadn't been nudged away from it... he wouldn't have blamed him for it.)]
It felt woefully undramatic. Committing my feelings to a silent and unresponsive rock, only to return to find a silent and unresponsive husband.
[There had been no theatre at all to it, no flair. Only an inelegant heap of broken machinery that he loved terribly. Hands absently kneading at his back, it was still hard to believe that it had worked.]
--But as it healed you in the end, I suppose I can forgive it.
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Mettaton breathes him in and imagines his scent. He misses that, but he imagines it. (If he shapeshifted a rabbits nose, would he be capable of smelling with it...?)
He knew Emet-Selch would resist being thanked. It was in his nature, but Mettaton still wanted him to know of his gratitude. He was always helpful, even when he attempted to skirt the consequence of his actions (that is, the action of "being considerate and helpful", with the consequence being "gratitude and praise"). Mettaton hums close to his ear and squeezes him, rocking slightly with his husband held tight.]
What a horrible outcome... that required just a bit more patience. [He sighs. They had thoughts on patience, the two of them. He rubs at Emet-Selch's back some more, his hold growing more expansive around Emet-Selch's body, steady and strong.] But I'm feeling as if I've just been slipped into a well-oiled, calibrated, and freshly-made body, thanks to you. And you didn't even have to use your healing powers on me!
[The healing powers Emet-Selch had been assigned... Mettaton hadn't gotten a perfect look at the Ascian's face, but he hoped he's tried to practice it in the meantime. If not, though, he couldn't blame him.]
It did heal me. You healed me, with your deepest wish... And the Crystal even brought you to me. So... I think we can put any distrust aside, darling. We were taken to this world for some reason. And if we wrack up some kind of cosmic debt, why, we'll simply pay it off. It's the trade for continuing to live as brilliantly as we can together!
[At that, he sighs, laying his head against Emet-Selch's. He pulls back just enough so that he can meet eyes.]
I longed for you, darling... I longed for you while you were gone, and while you recovered. I even dreamed of you... But now, I have you in my arms. [He bows his head, matching their foreheads.] How have you been faring, Hades?
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There was no hint of fur in his lover's scent, nothing of whatever attribute being a puca had once added to him. But Mettaton was still recognizably himself, just as his form was familiar, even though it was also no longer distorted by a rabbit's features. (Emet-Selch tried not to think about how Mettaton wouldn't be able to smell him, nor scent him as he once had. Nor would he be able to taste him... or anything else.
Why would something so base and primitive matter? And yet he missed it, selfishly.)
He still didn't see what exactly he'd done to be worthy of gratitude, considering that all he'd done is ask the big rock for help, because he couldn't do anything himself. His magic and knowledge had been useless, non-existent. So he shakes his head at Mettaton's insistence on thanking him- and sighs more heavily at the idea of not being suspicious over their "good" "fortune".]
You can put any distrust wherever you'd like. I'll keep mine right where it is. Nor do I plan on going into debt, cosmic or otherwise, no matter how well-oiled you feel.
[Because all that just sounded like an excuse for Mettaton to indulge in whatever sort of extravagant living he could wish or buy on credit. And he didn't want to be dragged into the afterlife of financial ruin with him.
But he can't manage to look too dubious when Mettaton leans his head back, and their eyes meet. Sentiment was still too strong, and he felt it keenly. Gaze lowering, eyes nearly closing again when their foreheads brush together, his voice lowers again to match the intimacy.]
Though 'twas far briefer of a time, I... [Did much the same. Longed for, dreamed. Waited. Longed more. Swallowing back a low, unhappy noise, he shakes his head, just a little.] I've managed, one way or another.
[So not terribly well.]
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Emet-Selch's sorrow over his loneliness is felt, and Mettaton continues to rub his lower back with a pitiful sound. Their eyes are matched, but Mettaton disturbs the connection by pressing forward and meeting lips instead. Taking Emet-Selch's lovingly between his own, it's a lingering, warm kiss. Even if he lacked saliva, it was made up for by the softness of silicone—and Mettaton could feel the tenderness of Emet-Selch's lips, if not his warmth. He craved him more and more as every second passed, but this... This felt sublime.
He wondered how long it would take for his desire for him to overwhelm him, to the point of frustration. It was something to talk to Emet-Selch about at some point. Inevitably, he'd have to address all that he lacked—which would have never been a problem or a point of conversation, had he never been granted it in the first place. Mettaton is perfect just the way he is, he would agree to the claim.
But he wanted more. Ravenously, he wanted more.
His heated desire is a conveyance through a tender, somber kiss, gentle but full and with the edge of heat both metaphorical, and physical- as MTT's internal components didn't stop generating heat, and that heat could escape from past his lips. Nuzzling noses, Mettaton even stoops in to press his cheek against Emet-Selch's in something of a scenting gesture of all things. You could take the Puca from Mettaton, but now that he's been one, there were certain habits he'd developed that he, too, found congenial and hard to break. ...In a way, maybe Emet-Selch was being scented, if a cherry-scented robot was scent enough.]
... Thank you, for managing for as long as you did, darling. But no longer! [He smiles wide and bright.] We have each other once again, and doing well, at that. That is...
[Drawing back slightly, Mettaton fixes Emet-Selch with a more analytical look.] How are your injuries doing, Hades? I see your face has improved... a bit. Ah...
[His hand winds up Emet-Selch's body until digits can prod gently at healing welts, which have become more like reddened flesh. Still, there were more injuries than that—and MTT's hand reflexively moves to his heart next.]
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A kiss between them was inevitable, and Emet-Selch leans to meet it with the smallest sound that's quickly consumed by the security of their lips together.
He knew, of course, of Mettaton's lack of saliva. He'd kissed him before without it, and even if that made things a bit dryer between them than usual- the softness was just as he remembered. And the warmth with it, both features that felt entirely alive to him, even though they were synthetic in their most literal sense.
And it was tempting to deepen it, to offer all the breath he had to give- more than tempting, no matter how serious the kiss, and his heart speeds from the thought of how much he wanted. But he doesn't protest when it's paused, when Mettaton nudges their noses together, when he even rubs his cheek with his own, in a gesture that felt so familiar that it left him briefly stricken. Even if Mettaton lacked the glands and the pheromones of a puca, surely something of him would rub off all the same....
And it was sweetly affectionate besides. Gathering himself anew as Mettaton speaks, he nods to him.]
A bit sore... [He confesses, but it was an honest assessment. Neither elevated for the sake of complaint, nor downplayed because it was genuinely unpleasant. The inspection of his face through sight and touch goes without flinching or tension, though the welts themselves were still tender. But not raw, the redness of healing flesh rather than inflamed with infection.] I think natural healing still outpaces what I can do with magic....
[That bit was more of a grumble, but less frustrated than it could've been. And he goes still as Mettaton's winding grip moves onward, before pressing deliberately into his touch.]
--That part, is likely sorest of all.
[Metaphorically and literally. But literally too, as while even cushioned by fabric, he felt a distinct ache when Mettaton's hand snakes around to touch his heart. The bruises of injury there were still dark, and the arrow-wound notable, if closed over by healing skin. It would almost certainly scar.]
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A low, soft growl- a brief thing, really. It's a sign of Mettaton's willingness to steal his breath. But... he wanted to address something else. So they break apart, just far enough to converse. Though he's not a Puca, enough of being one has become a part of him. It doesn't take a thought for him to want to scent Emet-Selch, nor does growling seem foreign when claiming his husband. He could easily envision himself working from his neck down to his shoulders, his chest, over his soft abdomen and lower still.....
But what reaches his chest instead is his own hand, though the touch is firm as much as it is tender. He offers Emet-Selch a warm, soft smile. Would Emet-Selch even practice his healing talents while he had them?
The mage's stillness is followed by a press, and Mettaton exhales heat. That smile sobers slightly, as the robot stoops forward to press a kiss to the base of Emet-Selch's neck. ...For once, tall ears do not press or slap against his face in the process, and though it had never been something he thought about before, he notices its absence. Even still, kissing him wasn't the part that felt off.]
And with sore as the improvement, I take it... How I wish I could speed your recovery. [He says this at first close to his neck, as he pulls back. His fingers gently rub against Emet-Selch's chest, a tender touch followed by the press of his palm.] I'd like to see it for myself.
[Mettaton was visual, just as much as he was tactile. He wanted to see Emet-Selch's chest, the wound that came from ending a senseless night of agonizing loneliness and savagery. He kisses at his jaw, holding Emet-Selch still tight to his body, and knew even without seeing it that it would scar. One way or another, it would scar. ...Often, these scars ended up right over Emet-Selch's heart, he thinks with a small, soft smile.
Transfixed momentarily by Emet-Selch's eyes, Mettaton's lips part with no sound to pair it.]
Will you come with me, darling? We've barely had a moment just to ourselves.
[Starting strong with violence and terror, then moving along to injury and recovery. Then more of it... and now, they were something resembling stability. Emet-Selch was the only one sore, and that was close to normalcy.]
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But they speak instead, something Emet-Selch couldn't do when his lips were covered. And his heart stirs more quickly still, when Mettaton dips briefly to his neck, an expanse the mage offers to him freely, affected easily by the kiss (though noticing too, the lack of long ears in his face, leaning for him and smacking him as they often did... but that was just how it was now, unless Mettaton deliberately shapeshifted them back).]
Will your presence not suffice for a balm? You're always telling me of your willingness to distract me from my pains....
[A low-voiced murmur, close to his face. And for all that Emet-Selch wanted to curl back to his body, he waits for that too, as he feels his lover's hand between them, against the fabric over his heart, and looks back up to meet his gaze. Returns one kiss with another, at the edge of Mettaton's lips, tempering the want to linger there, to coax him into more.
His heart so often ended up scarred. Emet-Selch realizes it too, and isn't sure what to think about it. If there was any way to think about it at all, that it wasn't just... what it was. A natural place to find wounded.
And one that he would willingly show him. Wordlessly, he nods, caught up just as easily in Mettaton's violet eye. Though he'd been used to the gold, this was something he was drawn to no less, a look he could drown in with no hope of coming up for air. And no desire to.
There had been little time to spend together properly, not with one or the other of them being out of commission, unconscious, or insane. This was as good as it might be- as it was true enough that Emet-Selch was frequently sore anyway (if not generally from the aftermath of having been electrocuted and shot).
It wasn't with the same stumbling heat that drove them now, the breathless passion that barely managed to reach a bed, with their legs tangled and bodies aching. But it was with a kind of passion nonetheless, an insistence, for closeness, for intimacy. And though it was Mettaton's suggestion, he pulls back to answer it, to step towards the bedroom- though without his own hands leaving the robot's body entirely, trailing instead to his sides, his hips.]
I'll show you anything you want. We've the time for it now.
[Time and place and sanity. The reassurance that they were together, he wanted to feel it in his touch.]
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But for now, he rocks his hip; he presses himself into Emet-Selch's touch, a sway to his step that was seductive and deliberate in. He nearly wavers, affected. (Gods, it was insanity, to be deprived of vivid and mind-numbing sensation. Then, to go a month without the feeling of touch... Mettaton knew without labelling it explicitly that he was addicted, and his body as it is registered sensation dully compared to a robotic Puca. He thinks this without words, a buzzing in the back of his head.) He wanted to be the balm that soothed, the distraction Emet-Selch coveted to make the pain drain into pleasure- to override it with sensation generated by himself, and to leave him properly loved. And with that feeling, Mettaton wobbles, overcome.
It's a glamorously graceful wobble, though. A tip of his head that exposes neck; the tease of his thighs pressing together mid-step, paired with a heated exhale. Mettaton wraps his arm affectionately around Emet-Selch in return, kissing the side of his head in a fleeting peck of lips.]
Show me... and I'll whip up a remedy to soothe your aches, darling.
[Another small smile curves upon his lips and colors his tone. They had time; this was a moment all their own, the world outside peaceful, the rain starting to drizzle gently upon the cottage roof. It was homey; it was safe, because Emet-Selch was here.
Mettaton never thought he'd appreciate safety as much as he does now that he has Emet-Selch in his life. Safety in ways that exceed being protected. It was the safety of intimate company, in a world where he gave himself in the form of an object of fantasy, an indulgence to be shared. Emet-Selch was where he was wholly himself, including every part others wouldn't be permitted to handle.
Toward the bedroom their gradual pace takes them, steady as the pitter-patter of rain tapping lightly the cobblestone pathway outside the concealing fabric of plain curtains. This bedroom didn't have Mettaton's flair, not yet; it had some belongings, a torn robe here or a wool sweater there, complete with a damaged robotic arm- but it hadn't been properly taken apart. A lack of resources is to blame for sure. But at least in its middle is a proper, if modest, bed, suited for the two of them to fit.
Even though it's a home all their own, Mettaton closes the door behind them. His arm trails low against the small of Emet-Selch's back, toying with fabric, the itch to strip him something he has patience for because he knew he'd have him exposed soon enough. But his gaze is warm and pointed, watching the Ascian at his side hungrily. He spares him a smile before glancing around their accomodations.]
... The last time you and I stayed in something so spartan, it was a room hardly yours, back in your shared abode in Aefenglom. That, or... some of what we enjoyed in Nippon. Though that was nicer. I didn't have to barter for running water there. [He snorts, leaning in to give Emet-Selch's temple a kiss.]
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He wondered over how much his lover could feel, even as he plainly reacted to having his hands on his body. He knew of the senses that would be missing entirely... but touch. How much did Mettaton have as a corporealized ghost, and how much had being a puca given him?
But the mage hums a small sound, an assent to Mettaton's idea of remedy- and a sign of small pleasure to his kiss. And they make the short distance to their bedroom, as rain begins to beat down on the roof somewhere above. An encouragement to remain indoors for a time; a pleasant ambient noise to further block out the rest of the world. This was all the safety they could manage; this was all that was needed, for a little while.
Their accommodations were modest, to be polite. Far moreso than what they were used to. Not terrible in structure, if small, a base for more to be added... so long as they could somehow obtain the more from somewhere.]
Both were somewhat more well-equipped. [He sighs to follow Mettaton's snort. Not only the worlds, but they themselves were made lesser here. Had he his powers, it wouldn't matter if their residence were simple, as he could create anything they lacked. Leaning in, he presses a kiss of his own to Mettaton's neck.] Thank you for bartering all the same, for luxuries you barely need.
[Running water wasn't quite as useful to a robot. And electricity, with charging apparently not an issue anymore (a small mercy), in a similar extraneous position. But organic bodies needed water, and benefited from being able to cook their food.
But they both needed more than that, things outside of a roof above them, or a bed underneath them, but which benefited from both. Where Mettaton barely resists stripping him, Emet-Selch barely resists dragging him tight to his body again, in kissing him hard. Instead he slips back to the bed, even if it meant pulling away from his arm, to sit down at the side of it, facing him.
Leaning over to quickly unfasten and remove his shoes, in preparation for getting into bed properly, he sighs another time.]
Once more, we start over from nothing.
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Even if, on that particular evening, Emet-Selch was possessed by fits of unconsciousness. It was the more unfortunate part of the time, but Mettaton regarded it fondly all the same.
The two lovers found themselves here, an island in space and time and supposedly locked in the realm of dreams. But they were together, and Mettaton couldn't be more thankful.
With a small smile, he answers Emet-Selch's gratitude with a small nod, and a bend to press another whisper of a kiss against the corner of Emet-Selch's lips. Need is barely contained, and teased in the brush of lips, as the robot sighs a push of heat.]
We've already begun. We're here. Together, you... you and I.
[Emet-Selch may be pulling away, removing his shoes (which seemed much easier than his boots ever had, these charming little shoes, simple in design), in answer to the restraint they barely possessed. But Mettaton responds to their heat all the same, a tension in his voice of eager, tight desire, the sort that would inflict leaning rabbit ears if he possessed them. Lips parted, he ogles Emet-Selch's figure in the meantime without a shred of shame. Why should he have that, when he was enjoying the sight of his husband?
Heels click upon weathered wooden floorboards in Mettaton's advance, and his fingertips graze along the bed. He'd so recently awoken here that he wondered if it would be warm where he'd been... And he felt anything but groggy. As soon as the mage has his shoes removed, Mettaton slinks onto the bed knees-first, hands reaching to slip 'round his waist in a gentle hold.]
We'll make this place our own retreat. And as I ever have... I will watch out for you, Hades-darling. [He pecks the side of Emet-Selch's head.] Just as I know you always will, me.
[There were no dangers to keep track of for now. All they had was the promise of each other's bodies, and Mettaton licks his lips as he pines for the warm figure beneath clothing that he could prod and touch. His digits slip underneath, coaxing Emet-Selch closer, with fewer articles of clothing preferred. His fingers pick at fabric near Emet-Selch's hips.
He smiles at him, sunny and warm.]
And... I'm here for you, dearest. We'll take care of our desires. One by one.
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Shamelessly, they gaze upon each other. There had never been any lack of hesitation there, nor self-consciousness. And no reason for it to start, when need was only ever tempered for the sake of something more. Mettaton slips onto the bed with all the grace he was familiar with, and no less affected by- as there was no coaxing required for the mage to lean towards him, to seek out his arms and body.
Interest was certainly alight, between them. And distraction with it; already, Emet-Selch was less conscious of his various less-pleasant aches and sores. And if he wasn't as well-rested as Mettaton, he was about as awake as he ever was, all his consciousness focused on the man beside him.
There were no dangers, for now, and no telling when the next crisis would arise. For right now they were together, and that was all they ever seemed to have. Only the present, for as long as it managed to last.]
Then... stay with me, this time.
[The bed underneath might very well have some remnant of robotic-heat left on its covers. Clothed as he was, Emet-Selch couldn't tell, but there was an easy solution to that problem. The plucking at the fabric at his hips could easily transition to a removal of it all. And while he wasn't impatient for his greater touch, there was no hiding that he dearly wanted it.]
You can't take care of anything if you're not here. [His voice is quiet, lifting a hand to cup the side of his husband's face- no longer rent by anyone's claws.] But I don't think we'll ever catch up, like this.
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Emet-Selch is on the bed and Mettaton is on his knees, encircling the smaller man in an embrace. Interest was electricity, and the two of them were equally charged, a contagion that intensified as it bounced between them, as they infected each other over and again. Crises seemed to follow them... but Mettaton lived in this moment where there was none, and Emet-Selch was miraculously drawn in with him.
The hand pressed his cheek is leaned into with a curtaining of lashes, a sweet smile pulling the corner of his lips. His face was restored, and the sensation of Emet-Selch's hand there is something he cherishes with his eye closed. With a hum, he cracks open his eye, but only slightly.
He doesn't think they'll catch up like this. His eyebrow lifts; his pupil runs down Emet-Selch's clothes, where his own fingers are.]
How do you mean? We won't catch up...
[He runs over the statement in his head as he scoots closer, straddling Emet-Selch from behind him with knees on either side of his thighs. And from there, Mettaton maintains as much contact as he can with the hand against his cheek as he presses his hands fully against bare skin. Starting from his hips, Mettaton lifts Emet-Selch's clothes off, making deft but desirous work of both shucking fabric, and giving Emet-Selch a good feel-up. Up and over his head comes flowing fabric, baring Emet-Selch's torso to the air. Contentedly, he sighs.]
Hmm... If you mean to say that we'll never truly conquer the full of our desires, yes. We won't. [He leans in, kissing the back of Emet-Selch's neck as he sidles his entire body flush to Emet-Selch's.] But that's because you keep encouraging more and more in me.
[... And there would be regrettable desires more that would go un-cared for. Mettaton tries not to think about his lacking body for the moment. Someday... someday, he would be in possession of an anatomy, of powers that suited him—and enabled him the same sexual indulgence they'd once enjoyed. He holds fast to the confidence that he still wants Emet-Selch carnally; that Emet-Selch had always been able to drive him mad.]
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Beyond the fresh scarring above his heart, there's the sign of lesser injuries on the mage's body. Bruises that were turning towards the greenish-yellow were scattered across him, along with patches of scabbing. Places where fur had grown, and that he'd torn out. None of it was serious, but it added a bit of soreness to him.
Which he's not thinking of too clearly when Mettaton was kissing his neck, when he could feel his body against skin, a sensation he stretches into with a small sound.]
I would do more than encourage. More and more that....
[--would they even be able to fulfill? Emet-Selch can't help but recall that unfortunate aspect of their combination currently. It wouldn't be for the first time, but for far longer than otherwise, Mettaton had been more than able to match him in the ability to demonstrate arousal. He looks down towards the bed, even as he rests against his body.]
You'll have to learn to shapeshift properly. Soon.
[Mettaton wouldn't be the only one frustrated, at this rate. Though he would admit that the former-puca would have it worse, in not having a cock at all... he wouldn't pretend otherwise that so much of his own pleasure was tied up in the robot's. Not only when it came with the sensation of being filled by him, but just being in the company of his aroused state was enticing.
Though Emet-Selch was already getting hard, a firming line notable within his trousers, he tried to temper his expectations. Which mostly led to a dampening of them, in actuality, and his exhale is as sad as it is interested.]
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