[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.]
[There it is, in plain air between them. Mettaton knew it was something that would become addressed at some point, either nor, or at the peaks of desire as Mettaton squirmed and ached and pleaded for something he'd actually had, a mirroring experience to the time that he'd wished for it before ever having had a cock. Some way to demonstrate his arousal in a way like Emet-Selch...
He doesn't frown, but his eye meets the same spot as Emet-Selch's, without knowing it. He rests his cheek against the back of his neck, white strands of hair meeting jet black. Wrapping his arms totally around Emet-Selch's waist, his hands crawl up his front, prodding hungrily at skin. Where he stops is at his chest: Mettaton brushes his fingertips over the Ascian's nipples, before settling with each palm over his chest. Grabbin his plentiful bosom. Nice.
They'd both end up frustrated, if Mettaton weren't capable of manifesting a hard erection that hurled him toward desperation. He knew they both thrived on that. It felt like a treat to be granted this sort of explicit demonstration and all of the relief it brought with it, and even those veins in his very body felt that relief in release. It felt like it should've been a part of him.
A sort of bodily dysphoria settles in over Mettaton, and he lets it rather than banishing it. After all, this was the safest place to feel the entire breadth of his feelings. To think, that the robotic body of his dreams lacked something so crucial, overlooked... And he hadn't even asked Alphys to make good on some of these more practical upgrades! It's not as though they haven't talked about it before, but after making it to the Surface, Mettaton either had no time, or... he was a Puca. She would've done it, too. Something something about not making a fuckable robot...
He hums. Mettaton handles Emet-Selch's chest, feeling for the suppleness of muscle and flesh. It felt nice. He wondered if he could be a human like some of the other robots he'd met here.]
Too true, darling. Too true. [A breath of a laugh couples his lament.] It's maddening, going back. I can't begin to describe it to anyone else, what I've lost... Nor would I like to give up my body.
[He chews on his lip, lifting his head from the back of Emet-Selch's neck. One of his hands daringly, but carefully, roams over Emet-Selch's chest blindly, trying to find the damage done before he sees it with his eyes- a sort of way to connect with their bodies deeply, where his tactile sensation's become slightly dulled. At least he had any. This body was a blessing, in that regard.]
... I did meet a robot here, who had been turned into a human. [Even as he speaks, Mettaton runs a hand over the expanse of his chest; each time a finger drifts against his nipples, he is sure to prod, to flick, to drag digits along, as his arms are warmly pressed to his sides. His voice is low and sleek.] For some reason, I was not treated to the same fate.
[It was something inevitable. It wasn't as though neither of them were unaware of the issue, that certain limitations to Mettaton's beloved body ran contrary to how they were used to expressing themselves. A functional display of ardor, that they both adored tending to....
It was better than no body at all. The smaller man accepted that much, was even grateful for that much, that his lover was spared the discomfort of feeling nothing, of not possessing a shape that suited how he saw himself. (And more selfishly, Emet-Selch was relieved to be able to hold him at all, something that wouldn't have been possible had he been a ghost with nothing to hide in.)
And he appreciated with it, that Mettaton was touching him now, was presumably feeling something of the skin underneath his fingers, of the tension he could inspire in his muscles. Temperature, the warmth of his body, those details would be lost, but Mettaton hadn't had much of that to start with.
So Emet-Selch manages a pleased noise, despite his discontent. An approval reflected in the way he presses back to him, assuming that Mettaton would continue handling his chest. His nipples too, react immediately to touch, hardening from even a brush of attention. And arousal comes with it, a warmth that gathered in his body, as it so often did in Mettaton's company.
Though there were multiple reasons to temper it. There was the more immediate of fingers reaching and inspecting for wounds. Gently so, and while it wasn't too uncomfortable physically, it was a reminder of what had happened that night. They'd found each other only to hurt each other- but there was nothing new about that, it was only a matter of degree.
But more reason was their conversation, this addressing what they needed to, when it came to what Mettaton had lost, in arriving here. In being an unaltered robot.
That another robot's body had changed was a surprise, and his brow furrows. Was it because Mettaton wasn't a true robot, that he'd been neglected, somehow? Even as Mettaton toys with his nipples, he couldn't get too distracted, one of his hands moving to brush against a freshly grown hand.]
...Would you have preferred to become human?
[Was this something Mettaton would wish for? Emet-Selch wasn't sure how he felt about that. It would depend entirely on whether it would be a permanent change that would somehow carry across worlds, making Mettaton no longer a monster- and unbearably mortal.]
[He so adores it when Emet-Selch stretches into his touch. Mettaton smiles wider, pleased at the demonstration of proneness to his touch and presence. Emet-Selch's vulnerability in his presence made it easy to be fully, wholly himself, including any of those bits of himself he'd otherwise be too uncomfortable to mention. With him, he could. With him, it felt productive and even soothing, even if in the moment it left him uneasy.
The love he feels for Emet-Selch is something he longed to share. Another thing lost is their Bond... but the robot feels confident that he can share that love in actions. Pressing into Emet-Selch, he makes a small noise as he nuzzles against his neck, burying his face there and breathing him in. He could just barely smell him, the scent of him occurring to Mettaton in impressions from memory...
It's there that he knows his reply.]
I already told you once before, Hades. It's an appealing thought... but after meeting you, I think my decision's different than it would've been. And besides.
[Tightening his arms against Emet-Selch's sides, the robot winds each arm around Emet-Selch's person tight, all the way until he's right back around again and gripping firmly over each pectoral. His thumbs roll gently over the firming flesh of his nipples, and Mettaton sighs fondly over their response to his attentions.]
Can a human do this...? I find my body is uniquely mine. To dip my toes in and experience what it's like to be human is one thing... and I like that. But I like myself as I am. There's a reason I corporealized with this body. This is me.
[Confidently he answers, having already dwelled on this before. If he were confronted with the option here, if it were the only way he could properly have sex with Emet-Selch... and if it were guaranteed that it wasn't his forever body, maybe. He knew he'd miss the silicone, the metal, the durability and the absurd things he could do with this body that humans could not. The feeling of organs in his chest was also still something he felt hyper-aware of sometimes... and while he knew he could adapt, he simply likes this way of being.
But the touch. The sensation. The sensuality. Organic beings promised so much... and it was a temptation too great to ignore. He wanted those things one way or another, and if there were a way to obtain them, he knew he would take it.
Pressing forward, Mettaton's sure to roll his hips, to grind his crotch against Emet-Selch's back with a sigh. He presses entirely flush, curling around him as he tightens his grip, pinching his nipples in the process. Sloppy kisses that would've been surely damp are applied along his shoulder.]
I rather like being me... and having the sensation and the equipment of a more organic being. Mind, darling. I haven't lost heart. One way or another... these are attainable goals, with the right resources. [He pecks his shoulder before lifting his head, hovering slightly over him enough that they can meet eyes.] If I can't find someone to augment my body in this more sexual direction, why... there will be a way. A more magically-inclined way.
[A wish. Emet-Selch's powers, returned to him. Mettaton knew there were ways, and he'd have to impatiently work for it.]
[The relief he feels at that answer is more than he expected, as he'd assumed in himself more ambivalence. But he relaxes, even snuggles back into his lover's embrace, even managing a half-smile as Mettaton demonstrates one of those features he could only have this way.]
Good. I would miss this body.
[Though he would adapt to whatever Mettaton had, this one, with its sturdy features capable of crushing him, with winding arms capable of constricting him- this one, he was already attached to. (If not in the literal way Mettaton was attached to it.) And he squirms, pleased to be caught, to be wrapped up, encouraging the security of his hold- and the way his nipples could be played with at the same time. Even so--]
Though your puca variant was...
[He doesn't even conclude that statement with anything but a sigh. He missed that. All the robotic benefits, plus many of the organic ones. He'd found the claws, the ears, even the fur- endearing. Pleasant to touch. And with full shapeshifting at his disposal, Mettaton could take a break from those features as wanted. Could try on a fully organic body... or at least a semi-organic erection.
Since the grinding against his back, erotic as it was, was less of a tease than it should've been, as there was nothing more there to look forward to, right now.]
We'll find some way of restoring you the pertinent details.
[Though resolute, his tone was a bit tired too, to think on all they would have to reobtain. (Their Bond he simply grieved for.) Kisses against his shoulder too weren't quite the same, though he liked the sensation anyway. It wasn't as if he missed precisely Mettaton drooling on him as he sometimes did, but he was conscious of the dryness of silicone. Soft and warm, but dry- and incapable of neither tasting nor feeling his own heat.
Which was altogether nearly as much of a downer as the lack of cock.]
Though that doesn't change the now. How much will you- can you even feel of me?
[Mettaton can't help himself. Brightly he laughs, beside himself at Emet-Selch's appreciation for his body. And while he knew he appreciated it because he had a thing against the mortal failings of human bodies,]
You'd better miss it, honey! This body's as good as yours, and I expect you to love it as much as I do.
[And though it's a playful comment... there was perhaps some truth to it, as Mettaton knew Emet-Selch was fond of his form for a good many reasons. It made Mettaton more vulnerable than he would've been without a body—but thinking of himself without a body is simply abhorrent, and Emet-Selch knew that, too. It gave Mettaton so much more. It gave him clarity, confidence, and ways to interact with the world that he'd never had before.
It just wasn't equipped. And that fact is glaringly obvious between them, as between Mettaton thighs is a whole lot of nothing. His puca variant had at least brought with it the enhancement of sensation, if disturbing in its ways. The flesh and veins and organs that crept beneath the surface of silicone and metal... It would disturb any good mechanic, particularly the sorts who wanted to see no cyborgs.
Mettaton was a mess inside, even though he'd felt better and more vividly than ever. His puca variant was something to miss; to that, Mettaton hugs him tight. Against his skin, he interjects with a mutter.]
... I didn't mind it, either. All of the little things...
[... He does have that, anyway. Even if it's not quite so detailed, anatomically, and more of a magical manifestation. Mettaton partially shapeshifts into a rabbit—but it's only that much, with fur upon his hips, claws on fingertips, ears upon his head... and rabbit feet where heels once were. They'd find a way, and Mettaton nuzzles Emet-Selch deeply with an appreciative sound.]
Right now, [he starts, ears folding back;] It's about as much as I'd gained from corporealizing, dear. More than I used to have. Less than what I gained in Aefenglom. The harder the touch, the more I feel it.
[Pressure that increased also increased in sensitivity, and things outright painful felt the most intense he could get it. Mettaton sighs, thinking about the very first time he'd ever felt anything so bright that it blinded, which was... Wow. Fighting against Frisk. Unfortunate.
And now, that was about as intense as it got. Emet-Selch had introduced him to so much more, and Mettaton snorts, giving the Ascian's nipple a departing pinch before smoothing over his chest, letting the tips of claws graze along in his wake.]
I have a feeling my memory of all you've done to me will leave me aching for dizzying, increasing madness, as I am. It's a bit restrictive... But you know me, Hades. I derive pleasure in ways beyond touch.
[With a kiss to his jaw, Mettaton recalls how good at pulling Mettaton under Emet-Selch had been even when they first started going to bed together. They were effective on each other, and Mettaton shivered to think of how much he just loved Emet-Selch, and found their combining attractive.]
[Which counted as ownership, though his haughtiness over it is half-hearted. He did love it, and loved besides what it meant to Mettaton to have it. Even if it stayed permanently limited like this, he would love it and restore it any time anything happened to damage him (which would hopefully be infrequent).
There weren't any convenient mirrors in sight, so it's only when he feels the faint graze of claws, the suggestion of fur against skin, that he realizes that he'd changed. Twisting his neck a little, he catches the familiar long ears atop his husband's head, before settling back, into those nuzzles.]
Do those changes add to what you can feel? I don't want to have to become a wolf again to get you to notice me.
[He mutters, remembering how Mettaton had cried out when he'd bitten him. Even if he couldn't remember what he'd said, some sounds didn't require translation.
But he knew that touch wasn't the sole component in their effectiveness on each other. (Or taste, or scent...) Yet he'd been spoiled by it, and though their first times together in bed hadn't included any ability to shapeshift, they had included heightened sensitivity on the puca's part. And... they hadn't known any better. They'd still been exploring one another, deepening their investment by degrees.
And even then they'd ached for more.
Turning his head slightly into that kiss, he tries to defer that sense of being disheartened already. He wasn't even the one lacking sensation... but he was the one aspected to negativity. Holding back a sigh, trying to focus on the elevation of his pulse, the firmness of his own cock, the interest in his body for the other man. His love for his company.]
[Delivered a bit flatly, as Emet-Selch's enthusiasm is evident. But Mettaton understood the ache, and he presses his cheek to Emet-Selch's shoulders for the moment. In answer to his question, though, Mettaton attempts to squirm closer. His presses impossibly flush to his body, testing himself for sensation, but finding it hard to tell how he'd respond to pain. Pain, the thing he found most intense of all... But he even liked that after he'd regained sensation.
Were his senses enhanced? He tries to smell. He tries to taste, kissing slow and deliberate, a soft, silicone tongue flicking out to press against the Ascian's flesh. And then...]
...If these changes do, I haven't mastered that aspect of it yet. They do not. Though they add to the real estate of places to feel from. Ears, and tail, and all.
[His rabbit-like toes curl. He could feel the bend in their movement, but they felt just as insulated as they should he supposes, given all the fur. He wondered if at some point, they'd enhance his ability to feel.
Though he does offer:] Strangely, if I shapeshift fully into a rabbit... I can feel pets quite vividly! [He smiles.] But, ha. That's not very helpful right now.
[Bunny shapeshifts were not very sexy.
There's a level of self-consciousness that settles heavily in Mettaton, though not sourced from Emet-Selch. It's himself, as he considers all they used to love in his shapeshifted body, and what they lacked now. They were capable of exploring each other and sating themselves on hypotheticals, before Mettaton had ever been capable of shapeshifting properly. But now they knew what love they had for sexual intimacy, exploring bodies conveniently equipped with points of intense arousal.
They would continue to ache for more, more acutely than ever. Mettaton closes his eye again, frustrated by all he lacked. All of the need he felt, impotent. Nails dig into Emet-Selch's chest on reflex, feeling trapped.
But he had Emet-Selch. He had his body. Mettaton breathes him in, imagines his warmth; he feels the firmness and softness of skin alike, swallowing while he drowns himself in the softness of pliant skin beneath his fingertips. Shuddering slightly, he finds his hands wandering lower, prodding his abdomen in a state of both fond fascination, and even envy.]
Even so... With all I am, and with all you are. I will show you my love for you, and reflect it in your body, as well as my own.
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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.]
no subject
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.]
no subject
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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He doesn't frown, but his eye meets the same spot as Emet-Selch's, without knowing it. He rests his cheek against the back of his neck, white strands of hair meeting jet black. Wrapping his arms totally around Emet-Selch's waist, his hands crawl up his front, prodding hungrily at skin. Where he stops is at his chest: Mettaton brushes his fingertips over the Ascian's nipples, before settling with each palm over his chest. Grabbin his plentiful bosom. Nice.
They'd both end up frustrated, if Mettaton weren't capable of manifesting a hard erection that hurled him toward desperation. He knew they both thrived on that. It felt like a treat to be granted this sort of explicit demonstration and all of the relief it brought with it, and even those veins in his very body felt that relief in release. It felt like it should've been a part of him.
A sort of bodily dysphoria settles in over Mettaton, and he lets it rather than banishing it. After all, this was the safest place to feel the entire breadth of his feelings. To think, that the robotic body of his dreams lacked something so crucial, overlooked... And he hadn't even asked Alphys to make good on some of these more practical upgrades! It's not as though they haven't talked about it before, but after making it to the Surface, Mettaton either had no time, or... he was a Puca. She would've done it, too. Something something about not making a fuckable robot...
He hums. Mettaton handles Emet-Selch's chest, feeling for the suppleness of muscle and flesh. It felt nice. He wondered if he could be a human like some of the other robots he'd met here.]
Too true, darling. Too true. [A breath of a laugh couples his lament.] It's maddening, going back. I can't begin to describe it to anyone else, what I've lost... Nor would I like to give up my body.
[He chews on his lip, lifting his head from the back of Emet-Selch's neck. One of his hands daringly, but carefully, roams over Emet-Selch's chest blindly, trying to find the damage done before he sees it with his eyes- a sort of way to connect with their bodies deeply, where his tactile sensation's become slightly dulled. At least he had any. This body was a blessing, in that regard.]
... I did meet a robot here, who had been turned into a human. [Even as he speaks, Mettaton runs a hand over the expanse of his chest; each time a finger drifts against his nipples, he is sure to prod, to flick, to drag digits along, as his arms are warmly pressed to his sides. His voice is low and sleek.] For some reason, I was not treated to the same fate.
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It was better than no body at all. The smaller man accepted that much, was even grateful for that much, that his lover was spared the discomfort of feeling nothing, of not possessing a shape that suited how he saw himself. (And more selfishly, Emet-Selch was relieved to be able to hold him at all, something that wouldn't have been possible had he been a ghost with nothing to hide in.)
And he appreciated with it, that Mettaton was touching him now, was presumably feeling something of the skin underneath his fingers, of the tension he could inspire in his muscles. Temperature, the warmth of his body, those details would be lost, but Mettaton hadn't had much of that to start with.
So Emet-Selch manages a pleased noise, despite his discontent. An approval reflected in the way he presses back to him, assuming that Mettaton would continue handling his chest. His nipples too, react immediately to touch, hardening from even a brush of attention. And arousal comes with it, a warmth that gathered in his body, as it so often did in Mettaton's company.
Though there were multiple reasons to temper it. There was the more immediate of fingers reaching and inspecting for wounds. Gently so, and while it wasn't too uncomfortable physically, it was a reminder of what had happened that night. They'd found each other only to hurt each other- but there was nothing new about that, it was only a matter of degree.
But more reason was their conversation, this addressing what they needed to, when it came to what Mettaton had lost, in arriving here. In being an unaltered robot.
That another robot's body had changed was a surprise, and his brow furrows. Was it because Mettaton wasn't a true robot, that he'd been neglected, somehow? Even as Mettaton toys with his nipples, he couldn't get too distracted, one of his hands moving to brush against a freshly grown hand.]
...Would you have preferred to become human?
[Was this something Mettaton would wish for? Emet-Selch wasn't sure how he felt about that. It would depend entirely on whether it would be a permanent change that would somehow carry across worlds, making Mettaton no longer a monster- and unbearably mortal.]
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The love he feels for Emet-Selch is something he longed to share. Another thing lost is their Bond... but the robot feels confident that he can share that love in actions. Pressing into Emet-Selch, he makes a small noise as he nuzzles against his neck, burying his face there and breathing him in. He could just barely smell him, the scent of him occurring to Mettaton in impressions from memory...
It's there that he knows his reply.]
I already told you once before, Hades. It's an appealing thought... but after meeting you, I think my decision's different than it would've been. And besides.
[Tightening his arms against Emet-Selch's sides, the robot winds each arm around Emet-Selch's person tight, all the way until he's right back around again and gripping firmly over each pectoral. His thumbs roll gently over the firming flesh of his nipples, and Mettaton sighs fondly over their response to his attentions.]
Can a human do this...? I find my body is uniquely mine. To dip my toes in and experience what it's like to be human is one thing... and I like that. But I like myself as I am. There's a reason I corporealized with this body. This is me.
[Confidently he answers, having already dwelled on this before. If he were confronted with the option here, if it were the only way he could properly have sex with Emet-Selch... and if it were guaranteed that it wasn't his forever body, maybe. He knew he'd miss the silicone, the metal, the durability and the absurd things he could do with this body that humans could not. The feeling of organs in his chest was also still something he felt hyper-aware of sometimes... and while he knew he could adapt, he simply likes this way of being.
But the touch. The sensation. The sensuality. Organic beings promised so much... and it was a temptation too great to ignore. He wanted those things one way or another, and if there were a way to obtain them, he knew he would take it.
Pressing forward, Mettaton's sure to roll his hips, to grind his crotch against Emet-Selch's back with a sigh. He presses entirely flush, curling around him as he tightens his grip, pinching his nipples in the process. Sloppy kisses that would've been surely damp are applied along his shoulder.]
I rather like being me... and having the sensation and the equipment of a more organic being. Mind, darling. I haven't lost heart. One way or another... these are attainable goals, with the right resources. [He pecks his shoulder before lifting his head, hovering slightly over him enough that they can meet eyes.] If I can't find someone to augment my body in this more sexual direction, why... there will be a way. A more magically-inclined way.
[A wish. Emet-Selch's powers, returned to him. Mettaton knew there were ways, and he'd have to impatiently work for it.]
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Good. I would miss this body.
[Though he would adapt to whatever Mettaton had, this one, with its sturdy features capable of crushing him, with winding arms capable of constricting him- this one, he was already attached to. (If not in the literal way Mettaton was attached to it.) And he squirms, pleased to be caught, to be wrapped up, encouraging the security of his hold- and the way his nipples could be played with at the same time. Even so--]
Though your puca variant was...
[He doesn't even conclude that statement with anything but a sigh. He missed that. All the robotic benefits, plus many of the organic ones. He'd found the claws, the ears, even the fur- endearing. Pleasant to touch. And with full shapeshifting at his disposal, Mettaton could take a break from those features as wanted. Could try on a fully organic body... or at least a semi-organic erection.
Since the grinding against his back, erotic as it was, was less of a tease than it should've been, as there was nothing more there to look forward to, right now.]
We'll find some way of restoring you the pertinent details.
[Though resolute, his tone was a bit tired too, to think on all they would have to reobtain. (Their Bond he simply grieved for.) Kisses against his shoulder too weren't quite the same, though he liked the sensation anyway. It wasn't as if he missed precisely Mettaton drooling on him as he sometimes did, but he was conscious of the dryness of silicone. Soft and warm, but dry- and incapable of neither tasting nor feeling his own heat.
Which was altogether nearly as much of a downer as the lack of cock.]
Though that doesn't change the now. How much will you- can you even feel of me?
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You'd better miss it, honey! This body's as good as yours, and I expect you to love it as much as I do.
[And though it's a playful comment... there was perhaps some truth to it, as Mettaton knew Emet-Selch was fond of his form for a good many reasons. It made Mettaton more vulnerable than he would've been without a body—but thinking of himself without a body is simply abhorrent, and Emet-Selch knew that, too. It gave Mettaton so much more. It gave him clarity, confidence, and ways to interact with the world that he'd never had before.
It just wasn't equipped. And that fact is glaringly obvious between them, as between Mettaton thighs is a whole lot of nothing. His puca variant had at least brought with it the enhancement of sensation, if disturbing in its ways. The flesh and veins and organs that crept beneath the surface of silicone and metal... It would disturb any good mechanic, particularly the sorts who wanted to see no cyborgs.
Mettaton was a mess inside, even though he'd felt better and more vividly than ever. His puca variant was something to miss; to that, Mettaton hugs him tight. Against his skin, he interjects with a mutter.]
... I didn't mind it, either. All of the little things...
[... He does have that, anyway. Even if it's not quite so detailed, anatomically, and more of a magical manifestation. Mettaton partially shapeshifts into a rabbit—but it's only that much, with fur upon his hips, claws on fingertips, ears upon his head... and rabbit feet where heels once were. They'd find a way, and Mettaton nuzzles Emet-Selch deeply with an appreciative sound.]
Right now, [he starts, ears folding back;] It's about as much as I'd gained from corporealizing, dear. More than I used to have. Less than what I gained in Aefenglom. The harder the touch, the more I feel it.
[Pressure that increased also increased in sensitivity, and things outright painful felt the most intense he could get it. Mettaton sighs, thinking about the very first time he'd ever felt anything so bright that it blinded, which was... Wow. Fighting against Frisk. Unfortunate.
And now, that was about as intense as it got. Emet-Selch had introduced him to so much more, and Mettaton snorts, giving the Ascian's nipple a departing pinch before smoothing over his chest, letting the tips of claws graze along in his wake.]
I have a feeling my memory of all you've done to me will leave me aching for dizzying, increasing madness, as I am. It's a bit restrictive... But you know me, Hades. I derive pleasure in ways beyond touch.
[With a kiss to his jaw, Mettaton recalls how good at pulling Mettaton under Emet-Selch had been even when they first started going to bed together. They were effective on each other, and Mettaton shivered to think of how much he just loved Emet-Selch, and found their combining attractive.]
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[Which counted as ownership, though his haughtiness over it is half-hearted. He did love it, and loved besides what it meant to Mettaton to have it. Even if it stayed permanently limited like this, he would love it and restore it any time anything happened to damage him (which would hopefully be infrequent).
There weren't any convenient mirrors in sight, so it's only when he feels the faint graze of claws, the suggestion of fur against skin, that he realizes that he'd changed. Twisting his neck a little, he catches the familiar long ears atop his husband's head, before settling back, into those nuzzles.]
Do those changes add to what you can feel? I don't want to have to become a wolf again to get you to notice me.
[He mutters, remembering how Mettaton had cried out when he'd bitten him. Even if he couldn't remember what he'd said, some sounds didn't require translation.
But he knew that touch wasn't the sole component in their effectiveness on each other. (Or taste, or scent...) Yet he'd been spoiled by it, and though their first times together in bed hadn't included any ability to shapeshift, they had included heightened sensitivity on the puca's part. And... they hadn't known any better. They'd still been exploring one another, deepening their investment by degrees.
And even then they'd ached for more.
Turning his head slightly into that kiss, he tries to defer that sense of being disheartened already. He wasn't even the one lacking sensation... but he was the one aspected to negativity. Holding back a sigh, trying to focus on the elevation of his pulse, the firmness of his own cock, the interest in his body for the other man. His love for his company.]
We can see how far we get, I suppose.
[Enthusiasm.]
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[Delivered a bit flatly, as Emet-Selch's enthusiasm is evident. But Mettaton understood the ache, and he presses his cheek to Emet-Selch's shoulders for the moment. In answer to his question, though, Mettaton attempts to squirm closer. His presses impossibly flush to his body, testing himself for sensation, but finding it hard to tell how he'd respond to pain. Pain, the thing he found most intense of all... But he even liked that after he'd regained sensation.
Were his senses enhanced? He tries to smell. He tries to taste, kissing slow and deliberate, a soft, silicone tongue flicking out to press against the Ascian's flesh. And then...]
...If these changes do, I haven't mastered that aspect of it yet. They do not. Though they add to the real estate of places to feel from. Ears, and tail, and all.
[His rabbit-like toes curl. He could feel the bend in their movement, but they felt just as insulated as they should he supposes, given all the fur. He wondered if at some point, they'd enhance his ability to feel.
Though he does offer:] Strangely, if I shapeshift fully into a rabbit... I can feel pets quite vividly! [He smiles.] But, ha. That's not very helpful right now.
[Bunny shapeshifts were not very sexy.
There's a level of self-consciousness that settles heavily in Mettaton, though not sourced from Emet-Selch. It's himself, as he considers all they used to love in his shapeshifted body, and what they lacked now. They were capable of exploring each other and sating themselves on hypotheticals, before Mettaton had ever been capable of shapeshifting properly. But now they knew what love they had for sexual intimacy, exploring bodies conveniently equipped with points of intense arousal.
They would continue to ache for more, more acutely than ever. Mettaton closes his eye again, frustrated by all he lacked. All of the need he felt, impotent. Nails dig into Emet-Selch's chest on reflex, feeling trapped.
But he had Emet-Selch. He had his body. Mettaton breathes him in, imagines his warmth; he feels the firmness and softness of skin alike, swallowing while he drowns himself in the softness of pliant skin beneath his fingertips. Shuddering slightly, he finds his hands wandering lower, prodding his abdomen in a state of both fond fascination, and even envy.]
Even so... With all I am, and with all you are. I will show you my love for you, and reflect it in your body, as well as my own.
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