[Emet-Selch's hands round his back to press firmly against his chest, and Mettaton obeys their direction far enough to quit pushing the egg into Emet-Selch's soft middle. His eye blows wide with surprise, as though he hadn't foreseen such a severe rejection out of Emet-Selch.
And then he pouts.]
Waste? You don't like my idea?
[Brow furrowing, Mettaton settles back just slightly enough that at least Emet-Selch isn't being crushed under him/egg. His arms remain slung around his back, and Mettaton clings fast to him, even though he's settled slightly back now.]
I thought it was a fabulous idea! Then, what sort of establishment would you be willing to finance?
[Mettaton is flexible, as he overlooks the fact that it's perhaps the mention of a hypothetical MTT fountain that is what has Emet-Selch ticked. That seems a small detail to him, that would just come as part of the parcel deal- or perhaps something he'd angle for in future, as he refines his vision. With, or without, Emet-Selch's help.
Scooting close, nudging Emet-Selch's thighs well onto his lap, Mettaton gazes at Emet-Selch's face, soaking in his drawn features. Flattening his palms against his back, the robot leans over the egg again, curling around it rather than pressing into it.]
I'm about making profit, so we no longer have to perform odd tasks around town for our keep. And if you'd do it with me... I'd want it to be something you agree to.
[Plus any additional things Mettaton sneaks in there, or otherwise adds on... The idea of stuffing his wait staff into silly costumes, for example, is not something that is stated. There are all kinds of horrors to behold. A labyrinth, outside of the labyrinth... of Bad Decisions.]
[Though he exhales a small relief when Mettaton finally shifts upward, and the solidity of the dragon egg is no longer being leveraged into him, it's not enough to remove his exasperation when the robot persists in all else. When this idea seems to have been premeditated and not something entirely spur of the moment- which doesn't actually persuade him as to its viability or sense.
If anything, he's more put out that Mettaton had apparently been planning to ambush him with this, rather than wanting his shards for anything useful.]
None, I'm not financing any establishment. Where did you even get the insane idea that I would--
[Not now, at least, when it seemed to him that there were far more crucial things to obtain first. Things that actually mattered, rather than a business, which could be done later, if at all (and still without his backing).]
Especially when you say it as though my agreement is already a concession on your part, rather than a baseline. [Even without knowing what Bad Decisions lay just beyond Mettaton's presentation of the idea, he was ready to refuse the concept outright. And the closer the robot scooted, the more he tensed, waiting for the discomfort of an egg being lodged back in his abdomen.] I've better things to do than indulge your whims.
[It could be done later, and is entirely behind the other things they prioritize. But it doesn't stop Mettaton from thinking about it, from talking about it... And from blabbing about his ideas to Emet-Selch rather than holding onto them until they could be center stage. (Besides, Emet-Selch getting his powers first felt like a priority compared to a business, because they could come in ever so much help!)
But it wasn't the first thing he wanted Emet-Selch's help in, as there were other things to finance. Mettaton smiles, sinking comfortably into his spot. The egg gets more of his weight, but it's not so much that it's dug into the Ascian beneath this time.]
Such a shame. I was looking forward to it! [To his help; to his input. He really was, and he decides it's still not a lost cause when he shrugs.] We'll see how you feel later. When you don't have better things to do. Such as... team up with me to alter my body, and regain your powers. You'll still do that, hmm?
[Mettaton has decided that Emet-Selch's exasperation could be addressed directly. He doesn't view even his shard-and-fame-generating ventures to take precedence over these two important tasks- which he would see to, with or without Emet-Selch's help.
Withdrawing one hand from his back, Mettaton reaches for Emet-Selch's fingers. He weaves four digits in with five, sure that they were together on these ventures to start. From there, he could see if Emet-Selch was willing to work with him- and even then, the idol would see his own desires to fruition on his own. (He still had other business ideas, though, and would gladly air them out.)]
[A nearness he only tolerates, still sore, still waiting for a careless shift to displace organs with eggs, doing nothing to encourage the contact. And though he permits Mettaton his hand, he doesn't return his grasp, and only stares at him. Warily, humorlessly.]
Given that your first impulse was to detail some nonsensical business plan, with all else a distant consideration, [As he readily assumes that this was Mettaton's priority, given that it was what he immediately pressed on, after putting out the idea of combining their shards.] no. I won't have you become distracted or change your mind half-way through the request, wasting all I've collected.
[Which was even assuming that shards could be pooled, which was in itself an assumption... and with no feedback from the Crystal itself likely, would a failure mean it wasn't possible, or just that there wasn't enough, even combined? But it didn't matter, in the end; he'd expected to do this on his own, and that hadn't changed. He was just more annoyed over it.]
What?! So you won't collaborate with me, even for that...
[Even for their powers/body, he means, though it goes unsaid. Mettaton's lips part in surprise, as he felt it would be an obvious yes to work together to get something they both really wanted... as if he would change his mind half-way through due to distraction?! Freeing up his hand, he points an accusatory finger Emet-Selch's way.]
Just how little do you think I want all of the things... we've already gone over time and time again? You can't possibly forget just because I introduce a new idea to you. [Insulting! Did Emet-Selch think Mettaton had the attention span of a gnat?? (And so what if he did sometimes, the things he had little attention for warranted it. None of these three things were that!)] I'm just thinking ahead, about ways to earn more shards, faster! Work smarter. Not harder! My business plan is for the future, Hades, darling.
[Smarter, which was... with his own business! Then he'd be ROLLING in shards. But he would have to agree that the biggest priority, especially with Emet-Selch's help, would be getting the two things they want most—and then finding ways to gain riches. And fame, on the side.
Dropping his finger, Mettaton settles his hand on Emet-Selch's middle, at the base of the egg and gently upon his middle. Tempering, he blinks slowly at the mage.]
You should know. My priority is us. Your powers, and my body. Do you really think I can be distracted from that...? And what matters to you, matters to me.
[Time and again they had gone over it- painfully, even. With difficulty. So he felt offended by this change in direction, as though none of it had mattered after all, where those feelings had just been a show. Being told that Mettaton would rather spend his effort opening a business stung, as if all that distress hadn't actually been so deeply felt after all. Even if it was for the supposed purpose of earning more shards, he didn't believe it.
(Having a dragon egg literally dropped in his lap and informed that he was going to look after it didn't help his mood either. He was Done when it came to surprises, to new hassles being sprung on him.)
Mettaton points at him, and the mage's eyes narrow.]
How have I forgotten, when you want it so little that you'll promptly discard everything in favor of whatever new plaything next occurs to you!
[He snaps back, irate, bristling underneath him. He didn't want to explain why he thought it was a poor idea to do first, because that implied that he could be convinced otherwise, were his concerns countered... and he was in no mood to be convinced of anything.]
Your priority is whatever avenue gets you attention. [From heated, his voice chills, looking aside with a disgusted sound.] I don't know why I expected it to be anything else.
Just how have I given you the impression, that I want it very little? Because I mentioned anything else?
[Mettaton's not snapping, even though he's quick to reply, his retort passionate and direct. Tension still works its way through his body, as he braces the dragon's egg against himself, pressing his hand against Emet-Selch's middle as he keeps his seat on the couch. He'd claim Emet-Selch's flaring temper didn't make sense—but it did, and Mettaton begins to regret mentioning his thoughts at all, even though he wanted to share them, even if they wandered toward what-ifs and could-bes.
He closes his eye and takes a breath. Shaking his head, he opens his eye and fixes his attention on Emet-Selch levelly, softly.]
... You know I'm also going to do what it takes to continue to pursue my own dreams, in the long run. I just thought to tell you about it. [To... hassle Emet-Selch into contributing—and even Mettaton knew, at least in retrospect, that it wasn't called for right now. He glances down at the egg in their laps, then up to Emet-Selch.] I've discarded nothing, Hades. You know that.
[Mettaton cants his head, opening his eye and meeting Emet-Selch's gaze, no matter how chilled, with the openness of his heart—and the determination of his course. Confident, he knew what mattered most to himself, and what ways he'd entertained getting there.]
Not a shard is going to be spent in the direction of my venue, nor my business... until you and I are more comfortable. You don't really, truly think I'm so fickle?
Yes, because you brought it up- just as you always do when you want something.
[He's just as quick to reply, and it is snapping, sharp. Though he holds still in his place on the couch, there's no settling, no relaxing. He felt aggrieved, and in no temper to let go of it. This had been no different than any other time Mettaton flirted and cajoled him into doing something for him; he didn't believe that it'd been intended for the future.
Did he know that Mettaton hadn't discarded their original goal? Did he think he was that fickle? Silence hangs after that question, silence an answer in itself. Even if Mettaton claimed that nothing would be used on his business just yet, was that only because he'd received a verbal pushback from him, with his original intent laying elsewhere? The Ascian stares fixedly aside, ignoring his gaze; it didn't matter, ultimately. He wasn't going to help now, and he'd do what it took on his own to get back what he wanted. His tone cools more into deliberate idleness.]
Pursue whatever you wish. Consider me informed.
[In possibly the worst way possible, but he was now informed, just as he'd been told he was going to raise a dragon.]
Unless there was more that you wished to drop on my lap?
[It was true. He had wanted Emet-Selch to hear it—to not concede, as he expected, but to hear it. Strategically, Mettaton knew it would come up again when times improved for them—and then, could he get Emet-Selch to allocate some of his shards toward his cause? It's strategic, in its way. Deceptive, underhanded, and it's something Mettaton does with Emet-Selch often... but it was one too many proposals, too many unexpected launches, for him to handle, he realizes by casting a look down to the egg.
Mettaton chews on his lip. It had been intended for the future, but he can tell Emet-Selch still believes he'd been attempting to talk him into now. No, that hadn't been the intent, unless the Ascian had somehow suggested they go through with it quicker... to which he'd have to endure some of Mettaton's questioning about their current priorities—and who knows how that conversation would've gone. Similarly explosive?
Emet-Selch: informed. Indeed, in possibly the worst of ways, he realizes. Mettaton decides that's that, best as it can be. His business ventures would wait; the egg somehow takes priority over even that, somehow. Because Mettaton had felt drawn; because Mettaton had felt impacted by its plight. He still does.
Bracing the egg further against his body, Mettaton shifts some of his weight onto the back of the couch while he watches Emet-Selch. He ddn't think they had to split their efforts all due to this misunderstanding, but he decides not to press on it for now. Until he felt ready to try at the Crystal for keeps—but the desire to try with his husband's help is similarly known.
He shakes his head, gaze squarely on Emet-Selch.]
That's it! The product of my thinking for the day... And this.
[This, the egg, which took even Mettaton by surprise. Emet-Selch hadn't quite agreed to taking care of it, but Mettaton still believes Emet-Selch would be on board—because he needed the help, and he trusted Emet-Selch most of all with help like this, and he'd more-or-less suggested that he would be the best to help. Without doubt he decides Emet-Selch's on board with this, and to that, Mettatn feels pleased.
Smoothing a hand carefully over the egg's surface just to soak in the texture of its grooves, Mettaton continues lays his head over the back of the couch, cheek against fabric.]
Otherwise... I wanted to see you. To spend time with you. If that counts as dropping something on your lap. [Having his requests continuously unanswered, Mettaton was also the sort to seek out comfortable company—and Emet-Selch is always his go-to.]
[Had their other goals been accomplished, and Mettaton approached him with this, would his reaction have been different? Probably, he accepted. He still might not have helped, not immediately, but the concept of Mettaton running an entertainment venue wasn't anything he was opposed to (even now, he wasn't opposed to its existence, only the idea that it had to happen immediately- and he still believed the idol had intended to cajole him into it straight away). But after their greater needs were taken care of... what use was hoarding shards, to him?
Now, though, Emet-Selch was primed to refuse entirely- not only for the present, but for the next time it was brought up. Whatever Mettaton wanted to create, it could be done without his input- both monetarily, and otherwise.
There only remained the hassle of this egg, and the life it contained... and if it were truly sensitive to the emotions around it, then it was getting its first taste of what life in this household would be like. Not the most comforting or welcoming of atmospheres... and if it decided to give up and remain in its shell for good, Emet-Selch would hardly blame it.
But he'd accepted- or otherwise resigned himself- to the immediate future of egg-incubating, which as far as he could tell involved doing nothing more than what he was already doing: being warm, holding still. All else- including his determination to keep their efforts split, just as they'd been to start with, could wait. His patience was gone, used up for the day. His eyes close, as he rests the back of his head against the arm of the couch, and sighs.]
You see me every day, Mettaton. We spend no little amount of time together.
[Which he'll phrase as though it were a burden... which was in line with how he would normally present it, even when he wanted the company.]
[And they lived together. But they lived together because he loves him, of course, and trusted him with anything he was. Mettaton settles against the couch, one arm still loosely around Emet-Selch's waist and up his back, while the other arm ropes itself loosely around the egg with a clang of shell-against-metal. It's a rigid shell, that's for sure.
That said, he cozies himself up onto the couch between Emet-Selch's legs, adjusting his own beneath his thighs. A shift of them is like an embrace of them, as he draws them closer together, pressing his thighs against the smaller man. His fingers knit themselves into the dark fabric of Emet-Selch's flowing robes, a gentle fisting of it.]
And I was feeling a little... wistful. So I thought about you, and wanted to be with you.
[Wishing, to no avail, left him feeling bereft of the things he wanted. So he thought; he dreamed up future scenarios, including that future endeavor to liven this place up. He didn't mind considering this place home for now if Emet-Selch was with him, and even thinking that way had him wanting the Ascian's company. Daily tasks could be put on hold for the sake of returning home...
And then there was the egg he'd been persuaded, and drawn, to take. Another reason to introduce his charge to Emet-Selch, another thing to show him and tell him. All of which the Ascian wasn't like to take well, as Emet-Selch rarely did, even though it surprises Mettaton in some way how poorly he'd taken his idea. Even if Emet-Selch never wanted part in his business endeavors, he hoped he could still ask him to cooperate with him on wishing for what they desired.
But those were thoughts he could touch upon another day, when Emet-Selch's patience had evidently replenished. He could see it in him- in the draw of his brow, or the particular cant of his sigh. Maybe even the way his eyes close. Mettaton could see it, and knew better than to push his patience if he lacked it.
That the egg was being subjected to this turmoil as a first impression is something he's only distantly aware of. This is just what it would have to weather, if it were to be part of their unit.]
I still wish that I could put this electricity we have to some more use. Such as, with a TV! Then we could watch something together... [Which sounded nice to him, sitting on this couch.]
[He answers blandly. Of course, they lived together because they liked to see each other, and because they were in love. That much he knew, and where he doesn't respond to Mettaton's shifts and squirms, his own body a prop for an embrace, and nest for a dragon, he doesn't try to escape the couch either. Annoyed still, but calmer now, he sighs more quietly. Wistful... a mood he was familiar with, and on this star, who else was there to turn to?
Emet-Selch did not consider this place, this world, any sort of 'home'. Not in the short term, and not in the long term. Its welfare was irrelevant to him, and all that mattered was surviving it (and regaining what shouldn't have been taken from them in the first place). Where to go from there was its own problem.
For now, there was navigating what each month strove to throw at them, which at this point included an egg that Mettaton had decided to get attached to. (Emet-Selch didn't think anything of his lover being 'drawn' to this charge, that he'd picked it up for reasons other than whim, on finding one that suited his aesthetics.) An egg that was an awkward lump between them, of similar durability to Mettaton, it seemed; the mage would be the only one to give way, between them.
Not that he was currently being crushed. Not even figuratively, with Mettaton relenting on any attempt to convince him of anything right now. Instead he felt a degree of tension only, agitation always slow to settle, even when it wasn't being provoked.]
Add it to the list of things to plead for. [His voice is a lazy rumble; the way he waves it off, similarly languid.] Along with something to watch....
[Cozying up to a blank screen didn't sound very entertaining... but he wasn't rejecting the idea. It did sound nice.]
[The only response Emet-Selch gets from Mettaton at pointing out the obvious: "Mmhmmm." They live together, too, because-- well, they knew why. They love each other; they want to see each other. To see Emet-Selch every morning brought Mettaton joy that he doesn't take for granted- and anywhere he could wake to him felt like it could be a home, no matter how temporary or unwanted. (It is a weird place, that much is for sure. ...He felt somewhat glad that whatever event everyone underwent last month was one he didn't experience, somehow, but he had a bad feeling about it. These weird interdimensional pockets and their quirks...)
...Quirks, like eggs. Mettaton settles deeper into the couch, which is comfortable enough for him. But he makes a mental note that it could be cushier, somewhere he could envision Emet-Selch sinking into and not wanting to leave... Not that that would be difficult to attain, since Emet-Selch wasn't like to leave if he was trying to be still. He untenses his balled fist, stroking along Emet-Selch's spine shortly, kneading his fingers into the muscle on either side- but with a gentle touch.]
The ever-growing list... Ka-sigh. [It really is a list. Like a new couch. A TV. And...-] Something to watch along with it. Yes... [Closing his eye, Mettaton dreams about the things they could watch together.] Some of my favorites from home. I still want to show you the movie version, of that book I found. But I'd also enjoy sampling some of what other worlds have to offer, or something I haven't seen before.
[And just think. With some more TVs... Mettaton wondered if he could start up a film industry here. He had seen someone on the network talking about TV, even when he hadn't bothered to pay it all of his attention... Could there be more opportunities for TV here?
But those were other dreams, other whimsies, other wistful hopes for a future that stretched out for an unknown amount of time, no matter how long or short. And Mettaton sighs, grounding himself on the couch right here, right now, with only the shards they have between them and the avenues the sleepy town has to offer for the grueling ways to get them. It felt like even if he just existed, his shards increased one way or another... But definitely they increased when he participated in the town's antics. For that, Mettaton would involve himself in it.
Shifting his hand, Mettaton admires the one ring he has here, showing it off to Emet-Selch vaguely.]
Including all of our rings, which I also want back. [Where do those slot in with priorities? Emet-Selch isn't wearing one of his wedding rings, and that sucked. None of his jewelry came with, and Mettaton reaches to touch at his earlobe.] And if we can get rings... This is the chance we've been looking for, to get back our earrings. ...Even though I have no ears to put mine on...
[With no rabbit ears as a permanent feature, Mettaton wouldn't really have a spot to adorn with an amethyst drop. He wanted it no less, though. He would keep it on his person, would wear it out of sentiment.]
[He couldn't take it for granted either, every time that he awoke (or was woken), to find Mettaton there. Even when he grumbled about it, he would simultaneously reach for him (or burrow tighter), seeking company along with sleep. Every day, to still have him was some small relief.
(What had happened last month...? He wasn't sure whether it was the collective that was delusional, or whether it was them, but he was similarly glad to have missed it. Considering that he'd spent the time barely able to breathe, managing whatever dangerous nonsense that had cropped up would have been one more nuisance that he would not have appreciated needing to handle.)
This egg, as of yet, carried only the potential for greater disruption. One Emet-Selch still mostly ignored, despite the weight of it on him, nestled up in black robes. Mettaton's wish to inflict entertainment on him would be its own disruption, if one (probably) not as terrible.]
Considering the amount you're after, perhaps you can obtain a discount by ordering en masse.
[Somewhat dryly stated. But those luxuries were a distant thought, the same as getting a better couch, or more furniture was, to him. Something even better to sink into... something that could fit both of them more comfortably. But this would do for now, and he grudgingly begins to relax as Mettaton kneads along his spine, the contact pleasant.
But when Mettaton moves his other hand, he glances up, finally. Their rings, their earrings- yes. He would agree those were a priority, and he hums quietly when the other man toys with his bare earlobe. Not a priority that would surpass their powers, but one all the same. And since Mettaton had already been able to regain one of their rings before he arrived without any trouble, that suggested that such items were more affordable than magic or sense. (Was the sentiment behind them not so valuable...?! But no, he assumed it had only to do with the practical nature of each request. Touchingly felt as their jewelry was, they provided no power, no advantage. Unless the magic on their earrings persisted...)
Mettaton's absence of ears, though, has him gazing up at him, as though he needed to make sure that yes, the robot still did not natively have any ears (a strange oversight, honestly, even if they would be just for show).]
Mm... you'd have to find some other place to affix it, [Somehow, even though the robot's body wasn't exactly made to be pierceable. Not easily. Even when he'd been a werewolf, it had taken effort.] or turn it into some other type of jewelry.
[Affordable indeed. Even though Mettaton didn't know the exact price tag on his ring, it still struck him as affordable, given how quickly he was able to request the ring. Why didn't these things have price tags that could be easily divined, anyway? It was all a guessing game... But if Mettaton had to guess, the earrings would be pricier than rings- if he wished to obtain them with their enchantment intact. Something about that seemed to cost more, even if MTT would agree that their rings were priceless.
Would the crystal afford him a bulk discount? Another thing to ponder... Mettaton genuinely gives it thought, humming as he glances toward the ceiling in wonder. Maybe he could request all of their jewelry, enchanted and not, all at once.....
Their mutual notice over Mettaton's striking lack of ears has Mettaton thumbing Emet-Selch's affectionately. His is pierced; Emet-Selch's has potential always, even if they never managed to obtain their beloved jewelry again. The choices Mettaton could make, the chances he could take advantage of... Could he find a suitable earring here, and could he find some other enchantment for it? (An enchantment to bond their souls... Oh, if only such magic existed. Somehow, Aefenglom seems that bit more technologically advanced, and Nippon even moreso.) Still, the sight of his ear without jewels imbues MTT with the desire to rectify it by his own power, and he hums at it, as well as the mention that he should figure out a new place to apply his earring.]
I wish I had ears. Just to wear that earring. So classic! [To wear an earring always seemed so nice. Maybe he's biased, because Emet-Selch has worn an earring for as long as he's known him. It looked good.] I may not be the sort to wear a necklace all the time, but for that earring, I'll have to become one.
[It could become a pendant. Mettaton couldn't think of any other place to put a piercing... His silicone features were technically piercable, but with a hoop-with-a-drop like that, there didn't seem to be many choices. Or any choices, really. Converting it into something else was all that could be done, for all that the idol fancies himself with a tall rabbit ear to wear it on, at all times.
Shifting closer, Mettaton keeps his thumb against Emet-Selch's earlobe, fondly stroking up the shell of his ear. He looked forward to seeing it adorned by his own touch... just as much as he longed to see his wedding ring banding the Ascian's finger. To see him absolutely decorated.]
And if we can ask for items... Hades, do you know what horrifying truth I've discovered, while shopping in town? [Grave. Mettaton's face grows serious.] It's not hard to find eccentric fashion. It's no trouble, coming across trinkets. But is it just me... or is this town utterly devoid of people who have sex??
[The floor is open for questions. But the answer is this: there is not a single object intended for sexual use. No toys. No lube. No nothing.]
[How much would it cost? The system really needed some hard numbers, or at least some way to communicate with the damned rock they were praying to. As it did appeal to his sentimental heart, to have all of their treasures back, even if the earring would have to be modified for Mettaton's use.]
It seems the only choice, should you wish to keep it on you. Unless you want ears to be your next wish.
[Even as he nudges into Mettaton's touch of his own ear- indeed pierced, though he wasn't wearing anything at the moment- he wondered if his lover would be granted fleshy ears or silicone ones, if asked. Hopefully the latter... considering the absurdity it would be otherwise (he still wasn't sure how wishing for a functional cock would work either, given that Mettaton was completely unmodified, inorganic).
Settling bit by bit, appreciating Mettaton's increasing nearness once again, the question he poses, for all that Emet-Selch hadn't expected anything actually serious with that intro, still comes as a surprise. Taking a breath, clearly gearing up to refute it- he's silent for a long moment instead, as he realizes he can't think of anything to refute it with. The mage looks aside instead, brow furrowing.
He hadn't hunted very thoroughly, or with that as a specific aim- but he had kept an eye out. And by now, he's sure he's canvassed the entire village, small as it was.]
...Are they prudish, or simply unimaginative...?
[Because it was true, he hadn't seen anything as basic as lubrication.
For all its otherwise antiquated mores, Aefenglom had no shortage of sex shops. If not shameless, there was plenty available, from the straightforward to the custom-made and enchanted. And in Nippon they'd had no trouble either (though he was also free to create anything they needed, with his powers intact). But here, they were in a sex desert.]
Unless someone's running a private business out of their home and fail to advertise, then we might be on our own.
[Aefenglom was perfectly base. It was somehow even kinkier than the more open Nippon, simply because of how they hid behind propriety, thought Mettaton. With an entire district dedicated to the cruder side of the city's interests, catering to kinks of both mages and monsters, it was the worst-kept secret that witches were horny for their monsters, and vice-versa. Nippon, on the other hand, kept things... quite accessible, as though sex were part of the culture. Mettaton still remembers when he first chanced upon a peep show- and with Emet-Selch there to condescend at him for it, an event which he now looks fondly upon for all that he hadn't known that he was his damned husband. Weird times all around.
But here... There wasn't a single sign of any sexual inclinations, aside from townspeople wooed over kisses or enjoying exclusive attentions. That was about as intimate as it got. And Mettaton's brow furrows as the mage begins to see his point, disappointed that he couldn't refute him. Prudish or unimaginative, Mettaton wished it was neither.
Could it be a private business...? Mettaton hums, considering this possibility with a slow, small nod, as he rests his cheek even more firmly against the back of the couch, as he curls even more around the egg. Really, he's deflating.]
On our own... See, this is what I mean, about our shards. [Are they going to have to wish proper lubricant into existence themselves?? Mettaton pouts.] How long do we have to wait to have basic amenities, such as lube? We may as well cash in entirely on your powers... [To make lube, infinitely. And anything else. Closing his eye, Mettaton continues with a sigh.] That, or we get creative with what we have...
[Which was his original idea. Mettaton fixes his attention on Emet-Selch, casual in voicing his solutions to their problem.]
The kitchen is full of slippery things. Such as, butter. Is that the way of these people? [Kinky cooking... It has a nice ring to it, thinks Mettaton, who will never perform some sultry, slutty kitchen smut in a million years. He may be sexy, but these performances are VIP!]
[Aefenglom was surprisingly horny, perhaps even made more so by its pretense of public restraint. By its rigidity in what it expected from its witches and monsters, each to understand and to conform to their place in society. That is, with monsters docile and condescended to, with their witches expected to keep them in line. But in the privacy of the bedroom, how often did those roles reverse...? (Not that they'd kept up any pretense themselves, on either front.)
Here, though. Even though Emet-Selch had arrived in the middle of a celebration of love, it had all been reasonably chaste. He really hadn't been looking, then, but nothing in his memory stood out as being explicitly sexual either....
A return of the Ascian's powers would solve all their problems in that regard. He'd even claim that it would be cheaper in the long term, considering the amount of lube they went through, the number of accessories they used (not that it had been an issue as of yet, considering everything that kept them from indulging as they were accustomed). Which didn't solve their problems in the short term....
A situation that Mettaton proffers a solution to, as reasonable as anything.]
...Butter. [As though he hadn't quite heard him or understood him correctly. His own gaze is fixed right back on him.] You want to use... butter, as a replacement for lube?
['You've thought about putting butter on my cock' is something he thinks but doesn't say, doesn't wish to actually voice and realize the truth of it.]
Butter. Or cooking oil. Or! Oooh, icing. [Mettaton brightens up at the thought of icing, even though it really doesn't make a difference to a robot who cannot taste.] That sounds good...
[Licking his lips as though he could taste the icing, or that he favored it for being icing alone, Mettaton's smile is cheeky and playful, in good humor. His hand drops from his ear and gives the mage's shoulder a rub and a squeeze.
Mettaton does not see anything wrong with this.
In his mind, it doesn't require justification. It's a slippery substance; it wouldn't cause a rash or anything, surely. People ingest it. It's food-safe, and therefore surely skin-safe. Mettaton Knows Product. But instead of justifying this absolute madman idea, Mettaton snuggles into place, curled around the dragon egg and sidling ever closer to his husband, fingers groping their way down his bicep.]
Unless you can come up with a substance preferable, that would offer optimal glide. Butter seems the easiest!
[So, 'yes, I've thought about putting butter on your cock.' Premeditated.]
[As Mettaton imagines the flavor of icing, Emet-Selch imagines being slathered in all sorts of things that didn't belong anywhere near his cock. Experimentation he wasn't excited to be on the receiving end of.
Then again, it wasn't as though Mettaton could fuck him... so the questionable and otherwise insufficient slicking potential would come to less harm for him. If it was just to make a stroke or mouthing along his own cock more smooth, it would work, probably.
It was just somewhat off-putting. Where Mettaton curls closer to both him and the egg, Emet-Selch deflates into the couch, his muttering towards the grumpy.]
I'm not anywhere near aroused enough to resort to your creativity.
[He wasn't aroused at all. Even if in Mettaton's company it was easier to think with his dick than at any other point in his life, right now he was at a starting point of 'no' and 'absolutely no'.]
As the people of time long since past did... using food products is a convenient fix for soothing the libido. [A small smile, playful at its edges.] Is it my creativity, if it's been done before since olive oil was invented?
[Mettaton maybe knows something about the use of olive oil in sex, but he also may not. He doesn't volunteer this information, as he continues to settle into his gradually deflating husband.
And not discouraged, either, as he closes his eye and nods shortly.]
I'll have my chance to work on you yet! When the moment strikes... we'll need to use something. And I believe in my ability to convince you, sweetheart.
[Truth be told, MTT wasn't the most fond of using an inappropriate product for lubricant unless it was part of the foreplay. Whipped cream? Icing? Yes, as part of the show! But when they had so little to work with, and if the moment struck, he was not above doing what was needed—and he knew Emet-Selch could be convinced.
A low curtaining of his lid, he does open his eye, if barely. His fingers smooth their way over Emet-Selch's shoulder, palpating his chest, pressing gently into giving muscle appreciatively. His body continues to attract Mettaton, for all that he lacks the avenues to show it—and the want for him was more than alive.]
Like I said. I'm open to similarly creative alternatives.
[He knew and accepted that sometimes it was entirely the case that one was made to... make do with whatever materials were currently at hand. Especially in all his years of having to maintain a particular facade, where he couldn't create something more useful without inspiring questions. Instead, he'd learned what worked and what wouldn't; he'd endured.
And now he was living that magicless facade for real, with a lover on top of him suggesting olive oil and icing... probably at the same time, knowing Mettaton. His libido was libidone.
If Emet-Selch could deflate any more, he would, but his eyes close again for a moment, not feeling especially inspired or encouraged by Mettaton's enthusiasm, by his willingness to offer one kitchen product after another. Not even at the way he was being touched, handled, groped. Though he tolerates it, it's with something of a flattened look that he eventually regards him again.]
Convincing as you think you are, I wouldn't try your chances now.
[He'd roll over and bury himself into the back cushions if he weren't being topped by: 1. egg, and 2. Mettaton. Even if he knew he wasn't supposed to reject the robot's advances... it was difficult to feel excited due to: 1. egg (again), and 2. existing annoyance (towards Mettaton).]
Neither do I feel particularly creative, nor motivated to find something with better appeal.
[If the reason for rejecting his advances is due to annoyance, rather than resistance thanks to anatomical disconnect, Mettaton would take it. He could see Emet-Selch's annoyance, and even the existing annoyance wasn't something that would so quickly dissipate. As it is, Mettaton wasn't coming around jonesing for a fuck, but it came up in conversation naturally.
Mettaton smiles, continuing to settle against the couch as he feels the mage up despite warnings to not get sexy with him, not on a couch and not with olive oil. But see, he wants to touch him, even if it's not in a directly sexual capacity and with the aid of oil. He doesn't make any moves to slip under fabric, nor provoke him directly, aside from the desire for touch and contact.
He does think he's convincing, though. And he knows he is. Balancing the egg fully in Emet-Selch's lap, Mettaton's other hand moves from the base of the egg and onward to Emet-Selch's hip, swimming in fabric. It's an affectionate grip that he takes, a thumbing that was intended to be familiar rather than provocative.]
Well, we have our options. [Wishing for lube, for powers, or... resorting to makeshift lubricant sourced fresh from the kitchen.] I can't imagine that you'd mind so much, if we were in the moment, darling... But don't misunderstand me. I'd prefer the proper stuff, myself.
[He's just willing to go with alternatives, if that's all they have, and he's making that clear. And he knew he'd be capable of convincing Emet-Selch to agree to slathering some olive oil/butter/icing on his dick, if they were in the right moment. MTT leans, forward and over the bowling-ball-sized egg, to kiss at the Ascian's jaw, before hovering close to his lips—a silent bid for a return kiss.]
[Was Mettaton not encouraging him towards a fuck? Emet-Selch couldn't tell- as both the conversation and the handsiness implied as such to him. He doesn't complain- not yet, at any rate- as he realized he genuinely wasn't sure of his intent. It wasn't as though the other man needed to grab his cock for things to become sexual, but not every bit of closeness was a seduction either.
But he knew their history, when affectionate touches at all... usually were preceding a fuck. Or were during a fuck. And after a fuck. So the grasp to his hip, delivered around the distraction of an egg, is met with a dubious look. No matter his warning, he'd readily believe Mettaton would ignore it in favor of proving how convincing he could be (and how convincing Emet-Selch knew he was).
But the mage doesn't respond anyway, with anything beyond tolerance. Passivity. Apathy. He sighs.]
And our options fail to entice. Given what's awaiting me, a future of inappropriate icings... [A smaller breath, a disgruntled sound.] 'tis hard to imagine ever anticipating that moment.
[The level of arousal or other coercion that would convince him to tolerate particular slatherings felt like a distant memory. It was just one more thing that was off, when there was already plenty to choose from. An infinite amount to be depressed over, and though he'd wanted a kiss earlier, when Mettaton finally moves into range now, he's slow to answer him.
But he does answer it, leaning up for a soft press of lips to his.]
[Nudging him after their kiss, Mettaton can tell Emet-Selch stalled—and he affectionately presses their noses together, before coming in for a follow-up kiss of his own.]
Come on. Is it really so bad, imagining me pleasantly licking up your shaft... chasing dribbles of thick, white icing? [Okay, now he's being forward. Another sigh later, as MTT only barely skirts away from imagining it too vividly, too deeply, as well as evading the need to detail too far.] I would enjoy it, for one. Both cleaning you up...
[Pulling back just far enough to meet his gaze, Mettaton's hand wanders from Emet-Selch's chest and settles, fingers wound against the back of his head. He strokes warmly and slowly over the back of his neck, a comfortable proximity where another kiss felt more than achievable to follow, if he so wanted it—and he finds he does, as he licks his lips idly.
But he has more to say, and he smiles. Not quite flustered, but self-aware of his own impossible wants, he still enjoys the thought of how the two of them could engage in a kitchen setting.]
...And seeing you in a cute apron. Just shy of covering too much of your lap. Oh la la... Talk about a dream come true! [With a smile, Mettaton leans in to nuzzle Emet-Selch again, his lips a breath against Emet-Selch's.] Of course, I'd love the reverse, too... Wouldn't you like me, wearing barely anything for you and suggestively marked up in icing?
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And then he pouts.]
Waste? You don't like my idea?
[Brow furrowing, Mettaton settles back just slightly enough that at least Emet-Selch isn't being crushed under him/egg. His arms remain slung around his back, and Mettaton clings fast to him, even though he's settled slightly back now.]
I thought it was a fabulous idea! Then, what sort of establishment would you be willing to finance?
[Mettaton is flexible, as he overlooks the fact that it's perhaps the mention of a hypothetical MTT fountain that is what has Emet-Selch ticked. That seems a small detail to him, that would just come as part of the parcel deal- or perhaps something he'd angle for in future, as he refines his vision. With, or without, Emet-Selch's help.
Scooting close, nudging Emet-Selch's thighs well onto his lap, Mettaton gazes at Emet-Selch's face, soaking in his drawn features. Flattening his palms against his back, the robot leans over the egg again, curling around it rather than pressing into it.]
I'm about making profit, so we no longer have to perform odd tasks around town for our keep. And if you'd do it with me... I'd want it to be something you agree to.
[Plus any additional things Mettaton sneaks in there, or otherwise adds on... The idea of stuffing his wait staff into silly costumes, for example, is not something that is stated. There are all kinds of horrors to behold. A labyrinth, outside of the labyrinth... of Bad Decisions.]
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If anything, he's more put out that Mettaton had apparently been planning to ambush him with this, rather than wanting his shards for anything useful.]
None, I'm not financing any establishment. Where did you even get the insane idea that I would--
[Not now, at least, when it seemed to him that there were far more crucial things to obtain first. Things that actually mattered, rather than a business, which could be done later, if at all (and still without his backing).]
Especially when you say it as though my agreement is already a concession on your part, rather than a baseline. [Even without knowing what Bad Decisions lay just beyond Mettaton's presentation of the idea, he was ready to refuse the concept outright. And the closer the robot scooted, the more he tensed, waiting for the discomfort of an egg being lodged back in his abdomen.] I've better things to do than indulge your whims.
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But it wasn't the first thing he wanted Emet-Selch's help in, as there were other things to finance. Mettaton smiles, sinking comfortably into his spot. The egg gets more of his weight, but it's not so much that it's dug into the Ascian beneath this time.]
Such a shame. I was looking forward to it! [To his help; to his input. He really was, and he decides it's still not a lost cause when he shrugs.] We'll see how you feel later. When you don't have better things to do. Such as... team up with me to alter my body, and regain your powers. You'll still do that, hmm?
[Mettaton has decided that Emet-Selch's exasperation could be addressed directly. He doesn't view even his shard-and-fame-generating ventures to take precedence over these two important tasks- which he would see to, with or without Emet-Selch's help.
Withdrawing one hand from his back, Mettaton reaches for Emet-Selch's fingers. He weaves four digits in with five, sure that they were together on these ventures to start. From there, he could see if Emet-Selch was willing to work with him- and even then, the idol would see his own desires to fruition on his own. (He still had other business ideas, though, and would gladly air them out.)]
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Given that your first impulse was to detail some nonsensical business plan, with all else a distant consideration, [As he readily assumes that this was Mettaton's priority, given that it was what he immediately pressed on, after putting out the idea of combining their shards.] no. I won't have you become distracted or change your mind half-way through the request, wasting all I've collected.
[Which was even assuming that shards could be pooled, which was in itself an assumption... and with no feedback from the Crystal itself likely, would a failure mean it wasn't possible, or just that there wasn't enough, even combined? But it didn't matter, in the end; he'd expected to do this on his own, and that hadn't changed. He was just more annoyed over it.]
I'll handle what's important to me myself.
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[Even for their powers/body, he means, though it goes unsaid. Mettaton's lips part in surprise, as he felt it would be an obvious yes to work together to get something they both really wanted... as if he would change his mind half-way through due to distraction?! Freeing up his hand, he points an accusatory finger Emet-Selch's way.]
Just how little do you think I want all of the things... we've already gone over time and time again? You can't possibly forget just because I introduce a new idea to you. [Insulting! Did Emet-Selch think Mettaton had the attention span of a gnat?? (And so what if he did sometimes, the things he had little attention for warranted it. None of these three things were that!)] I'm just thinking ahead, about ways to earn more shards, faster! Work smarter. Not harder! My business plan is for the future, Hades, darling.
[Smarter, which was... with his own business! Then he'd be ROLLING in shards. But he would have to agree that the biggest priority, especially with Emet-Selch's help, would be getting the two things they want most—and then finding ways to gain riches. And fame, on the side.
Dropping his finger, Mettaton settles his hand on Emet-Selch's middle, at the base of the egg and gently upon his middle. Tempering, he blinks slowly at the mage.]
You should know. My priority is us. Your powers, and my body. Do you really think I can be distracted from that...? And what matters to you, matters to me.
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(Having a dragon egg literally dropped in his lap and informed that he was going to look after it didn't help his mood either. He was Done when it came to surprises, to new hassles being sprung on him.)
Mettaton points at him, and the mage's eyes narrow.]
How have I forgotten, when you want it so little that you'll promptly discard everything in favor of whatever new plaything next occurs to you!
[He snaps back, irate, bristling underneath him. He didn't want to explain why he thought it was a poor idea to do first, because that implied that he could be convinced otherwise, were his concerns countered... and he was in no mood to be convinced of anything.]
Your priority is whatever avenue gets you attention. [From heated, his voice chills, looking aside with a disgusted sound.] I don't know why I expected it to be anything else.
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[Mettaton's not snapping, even though he's quick to reply, his retort passionate and direct. Tension still works its way through his body, as he braces the dragon's egg against himself, pressing his hand against Emet-Selch's middle as he keeps his seat on the couch. He'd claim Emet-Selch's flaring temper didn't make sense—but it did, and Mettaton begins to regret mentioning his thoughts at all, even though he wanted to share them, even if they wandered toward what-ifs and could-bes.
He closes his eye and takes a breath. Shaking his head, he opens his eye and fixes his attention on Emet-Selch levelly, softly.]
... You know I'm also going to do what it takes to continue to pursue my own dreams, in the long run. I just thought to tell you about it. [To... hassle Emet-Selch into contributing—and even Mettaton knew, at least in retrospect, that it wasn't called for right now. He glances down at the egg in their laps, then up to Emet-Selch.] I've discarded nothing, Hades. You know that.
[Mettaton cants his head, opening his eye and meeting Emet-Selch's gaze, no matter how chilled, with the openness of his heart—and the determination of his course. Confident, he knew what mattered most to himself, and what ways he'd entertained getting there.]
Not a shard is going to be spent in the direction of my venue, nor my business... until you and I are more comfortable. You don't really, truly think I'm so fickle?
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[He's just as quick to reply, and it is snapping, sharp. Though he holds still in his place on the couch, there's no settling, no relaxing. He felt aggrieved, and in no temper to let go of it. This had been no different than any other time Mettaton flirted and cajoled him into doing something for him; he didn't believe that it'd been intended for the future.
Did he know that Mettaton hadn't discarded their original goal? Did he think he was that fickle? Silence hangs after that question, silence an answer in itself. Even if Mettaton claimed that nothing would be used on his business just yet, was that only because he'd received a verbal pushback from him, with his original intent laying elsewhere? The Ascian stares fixedly aside, ignoring his gaze; it didn't matter, ultimately. He wasn't going to help now, and he'd do what it took on his own to get back what he wanted. His tone cools more into deliberate idleness.]
Pursue whatever you wish. Consider me informed.
[In possibly the worst way possible, but he was now informed, just as he'd been told he was going to raise a dragon.]
Unless there was more that you wished to drop on my lap?
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Mettaton chews on his lip. It had been intended for the future, but he can tell Emet-Selch still believes he'd been attempting to talk him into now. No, that hadn't been the intent, unless the Ascian had somehow suggested they go through with it quicker... to which he'd have to endure some of Mettaton's questioning about their current priorities—and who knows how that conversation would've gone. Similarly explosive?
Emet-Selch: informed. Indeed, in possibly the worst of ways, he realizes. Mettaton decides that's that, best as it can be. His business ventures would wait; the egg somehow takes priority over even that, somehow. Because Mettaton had felt drawn; because Mettaton had felt impacted by its plight. He still does.
Bracing the egg further against his body, Mettaton shifts some of his weight onto the back of the couch while he watches Emet-Selch. He ddn't think they had to split their efforts all due to this misunderstanding, but he decides not to press on it for now. Until he felt ready to try at the Crystal for keeps—but the desire to try with his husband's help is similarly known.
He shakes his head, gaze squarely on Emet-Selch.]
That's it! The product of my thinking for the day... And this.
[This, the egg, which took even Mettaton by surprise. Emet-Selch hadn't quite agreed to taking care of it, but Mettaton still believes Emet-Selch would be on board—because he needed the help, and he trusted Emet-Selch most of all with help like this, and he'd more-or-less suggested that he would be the best to help. Without doubt he decides Emet-Selch's on board with this, and to that, Mettatn feels pleased.
Smoothing a hand carefully over the egg's surface just to soak in the texture of its grooves, Mettaton continues lays his head over the back of the couch, cheek against fabric.]
Otherwise... I wanted to see you. To spend time with you. If that counts as dropping something on your lap. [Having his requests continuously unanswered, Mettaton was also the sort to seek out comfortable company—and Emet-Selch is always his go-to.]
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Now, though, Emet-Selch was primed to refuse entirely- not only for the present, but for the next time it was brought up. Whatever Mettaton wanted to create, it could be done without his input- both monetarily, and otherwise.
There only remained the hassle of this egg, and the life it contained... and if it were truly sensitive to the emotions around it, then it was getting its first taste of what life in this household would be like. Not the most comforting or welcoming of atmospheres... and if it decided to give up and remain in its shell for good, Emet-Selch would hardly blame it.
But he'd accepted- or otherwise resigned himself- to the immediate future of egg-incubating, which as far as he could tell involved doing nothing more than what he was already doing: being warm, holding still. All else- including his determination to keep their efforts split, just as they'd been to start with, could wait. His patience was gone, used up for the day. His eyes close, as he rests the back of his head against the arm of the couch, and sighs.]
You see me every day, Mettaton. We spend no little amount of time together.
[Which he'll phrase as though it were a burden... which was in line with how he would normally present it, even when he wanted the company.]
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[And they lived together. But they lived together because he loves him, of course, and trusted him with anything he was. Mettaton settles against the couch, one arm still loosely around Emet-Selch's waist and up his back, while the other arm ropes itself loosely around the egg with a clang of shell-against-metal. It's a rigid shell, that's for sure.
That said, he cozies himself up onto the couch between Emet-Selch's legs, adjusting his own beneath his thighs. A shift of them is like an embrace of them, as he draws them closer together, pressing his thighs against the smaller man. His fingers knit themselves into the dark fabric of Emet-Selch's flowing robes, a gentle fisting of it.]
And I was feeling a little... wistful. So I thought about you, and wanted to be with you.
[Wishing, to no avail, left him feeling bereft of the things he wanted. So he thought; he dreamed up future scenarios, including that future endeavor to liven this place up. He didn't mind considering this place home for now if Emet-Selch was with him, and even thinking that way had him wanting the Ascian's company. Daily tasks could be put on hold for the sake of returning home...
And then there was the egg he'd been persuaded, and drawn, to take. Another reason to introduce his charge to Emet-Selch, another thing to show him and tell him. All of which the Ascian wasn't like to take well, as Emet-Selch rarely did, even though it surprises Mettaton in some way how poorly he'd taken his idea. Even if Emet-Selch never wanted part in his business endeavors, he hoped he could still ask him to cooperate with him on wishing for what they desired.
But those were thoughts he could touch upon another day, when Emet-Selch's patience had evidently replenished. He could see it in him- in the draw of his brow, or the particular cant of his sigh. Maybe even the way his eyes close. Mettaton could see it, and knew better than to push his patience if he lacked it.
That the egg was being subjected to this turmoil as a first impression is something he's only distantly aware of. This is just what it would have to weather, if it were to be part of their unit.]
I still wish that I could put this electricity we have to some more use. Such as, with a TV! Then we could watch something together... [Which sounded nice to him, sitting on this couch.]
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[He answers blandly. Of course, they lived together because they liked to see each other, and because they were in love. That much he knew, and where he doesn't respond to Mettaton's shifts and squirms, his own body a prop for an embrace, and nest for a dragon, he doesn't try to escape the couch either. Annoyed still, but calmer now, he sighs more quietly. Wistful... a mood he was familiar with, and on this star, who else was there to turn to?
Emet-Selch did not consider this place, this world, any sort of 'home'. Not in the short term, and not in the long term. Its welfare was irrelevant to him, and all that mattered was surviving it (and regaining what shouldn't have been taken from them in the first place). Where to go from there was its own problem.
For now, there was navigating what each month strove to throw at them, which at this point included an egg that Mettaton had decided to get attached to. (Emet-Selch didn't think anything of his lover being 'drawn' to this charge, that he'd picked it up for reasons other than whim, on finding one that suited his aesthetics.) An egg that was an awkward lump between them, of similar durability to Mettaton, it seemed; the mage would be the only one to give way, between them.
Not that he was currently being crushed. Not even figuratively, with Mettaton relenting on any attempt to convince him of anything right now. Instead he felt a degree of tension only, agitation always slow to settle, even when it wasn't being provoked.]
Add it to the list of things to plead for. [His voice is a lazy rumble; the way he waves it off, similarly languid.] Along with something to watch....
[Cozying up to a blank screen didn't sound very entertaining... but he wasn't rejecting the idea. It did sound nice.]
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...Quirks, like eggs. Mettaton settles deeper into the couch, which is comfortable enough for him. But he makes a mental note that it could be cushier, somewhere he could envision Emet-Selch sinking into and not wanting to leave... Not that that would be difficult to attain, since Emet-Selch wasn't like to leave if he was trying to be still. He untenses his balled fist, stroking along Emet-Selch's spine shortly, kneading his fingers into the muscle on either side- but with a gentle touch.]
The ever-growing list... Ka-sigh. [It really is a list. Like a new couch. A TV. And...-] Something to watch along with it. Yes... [Closing his eye, Mettaton dreams about the things they could watch together.] Some of my favorites from home. I still want to show you the movie version, of that book I found. But I'd also enjoy sampling some of what other worlds have to offer, or something I haven't seen before.
[And just think. With some more TVs... Mettaton wondered if he could start up a film industry here. He had seen someone on the network talking about TV, even when he hadn't bothered to pay it all of his attention... Could there be more opportunities for TV here?
But those were other dreams, other whimsies, other wistful hopes for a future that stretched out for an unknown amount of time, no matter how long or short. And Mettaton sighs, grounding himself on the couch right here, right now, with only the shards they have between them and the avenues the sleepy town has to offer for the grueling ways to get them. It felt like even if he just existed, his shards increased one way or another... But definitely they increased when he participated in the town's antics. For that, Mettaton would involve himself in it.
Shifting his hand, Mettaton admires the one ring he has here, showing it off to Emet-Selch vaguely.]
Including all of our rings, which I also want back. [Where do those slot in with priorities? Emet-Selch isn't wearing one of his wedding rings, and that sucked. None of his jewelry came with, and Mettaton reaches to touch at his earlobe.] And if we can get rings... This is the chance we've been looking for, to get back our earrings. ...Even though I have no ears to put mine on...
[With no rabbit ears as a permanent feature, Mettaton wouldn't really have a spot to adorn with an amethyst drop. He wanted it no less, though. He would keep it on his person, would wear it out of sentiment.]
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(What had happened last month...? He wasn't sure whether it was the collective that was delusional, or whether it was them, but he was similarly glad to have missed it. Considering that he'd spent the time barely able to breathe, managing whatever dangerous nonsense that had cropped up would have been one more nuisance that he would not have appreciated needing to handle.)
This egg, as of yet, carried only the potential for greater disruption. One Emet-Selch still mostly ignored, despite the weight of it on him, nestled up in black robes. Mettaton's wish to inflict entertainment on him would be its own disruption, if one (probably) not as terrible.]
Considering the amount you're after, perhaps you can obtain a discount by ordering en masse.
[Somewhat dryly stated. But those luxuries were a distant thought, the same as getting a better couch, or more furniture was, to him. Something even better to sink into... something that could fit both of them more comfortably. But this would do for now, and he grudgingly begins to relax as Mettaton kneads along his spine, the contact pleasant.
But when Mettaton moves his other hand, he glances up, finally. Their rings, their earrings- yes. He would agree those were a priority, and he hums quietly when the other man toys with his bare earlobe. Not a priority that would surpass their powers, but one all the same. And since Mettaton had already been able to regain one of their rings before he arrived without any trouble, that suggested that such items were more affordable than magic or sense. (Was the sentiment behind them not so valuable...?! But no, he assumed it had only to do with the practical nature of each request. Touchingly felt as their jewelry was, they provided no power, no advantage. Unless the magic on their earrings persisted...)
Mettaton's absence of ears, though, has him gazing up at him, as though he needed to make sure that yes, the robot still did not natively have any ears (a strange oversight, honestly, even if they would be just for show).]
Mm... you'd have to find some other place to affix it, [Somehow, even though the robot's body wasn't exactly made to be pierceable. Not easily. Even when he'd been a werewolf, it had taken effort.] or turn it into some other type of jewelry.
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Would the crystal afford him a bulk discount? Another thing to ponder... Mettaton genuinely gives it thought, humming as he glances toward the ceiling in wonder. Maybe he could request all of their jewelry, enchanted and not, all at once.....
Their mutual notice over Mettaton's striking lack of ears has Mettaton thumbing Emet-Selch's affectionately. His is pierced; Emet-Selch's has potential always, even if they never managed to obtain their beloved jewelry again. The choices Mettaton could make, the chances he could take advantage of... Could he find a suitable earring here, and could he find some other enchantment for it? (An enchantment to bond their souls... Oh, if only such magic existed. Somehow, Aefenglom seems that bit more technologically advanced, and Nippon even moreso.) Still, the sight of his ear without jewels imbues MTT with the desire to rectify it by his own power, and he hums at it, as well as the mention that he should figure out a new place to apply his earring.]
I wish I had ears. Just to wear that earring. So classic! [To wear an earring always seemed so nice. Maybe he's biased, because Emet-Selch has worn an earring for as long as he's known him. It looked good.] I may not be the sort to wear a necklace all the time, but for that earring, I'll have to become one.
[It could become a pendant. Mettaton couldn't think of any other place to put a piercing... His silicone features were technically piercable, but with a hoop-with-a-drop like that, there didn't seem to be many choices. Or any choices, really. Converting it into something else was all that could be done, for all that the idol fancies himself with a tall rabbit ear to wear it on, at all times.
Shifting closer, Mettaton keeps his thumb against Emet-Selch's earlobe, fondly stroking up the shell of his ear. He looked forward to seeing it adorned by his own touch... just as much as he longed to see his wedding ring banding the Ascian's finger. To see him absolutely decorated.]
And if we can ask for items... Hades, do you know what horrifying truth I've discovered, while shopping in town? [Grave. Mettaton's face grows serious.] It's not hard to find eccentric fashion. It's no trouble, coming across trinkets. But is it just me... or is this town utterly devoid of people who have sex??
[The floor is open for questions. But the answer is this: there is not a single object intended for sexual use. No toys. No lube. No nothing.]
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It seems the only choice, should you wish to keep it on you. Unless you want ears to be your next wish.
[Even as he nudges into Mettaton's touch of his own ear- indeed pierced, though he wasn't wearing anything at the moment- he wondered if his lover would be granted fleshy ears or silicone ones, if asked. Hopefully the latter... considering the absurdity it would be otherwise (he still wasn't sure how wishing for a functional cock would work either, given that Mettaton was completely unmodified, inorganic).
Settling bit by bit, appreciating Mettaton's increasing nearness once again, the question he poses, for all that Emet-Selch hadn't expected anything actually serious with that intro, still comes as a surprise. Taking a breath, clearly gearing up to refute it- he's silent for a long moment instead, as he realizes he can't think of anything to refute it with. The mage looks aside instead, brow furrowing.
He hadn't hunted very thoroughly, or with that as a specific aim- but he had kept an eye out. And by now, he's sure he's canvassed the entire village, small as it was.]
...Are they prudish, or simply unimaginative...?
[Because it was true, he hadn't seen anything as basic as lubrication.
For all its otherwise antiquated mores, Aefenglom had no shortage of sex shops. If not shameless, there was plenty available, from the straightforward to the custom-made and enchanted. And in Nippon they'd had no trouble either (though he was also free to create anything they needed, with his powers intact). But here, they were in a sex desert.]
Unless someone's running a private business out of their home and fail to advertise, then we might be on our own.
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But here... There wasn't a single sign of any sexual inclinations, aside from townspeople wooed over kisses or enjoying exclusive attentions. That was about as intimate as it got. And Mettaton's brow furrows as the mage begins to see his point, disappointed that he couldn't refute him. Prudish or unimaginative, Mettaton wished it was neither.
Could it be a private business...? Mettaton hums, considering this possibility with a slow, small nod, as he rests his cheek even more firmly against the back of the couch, as he curls even more around the egg. Really, he's deflating.]
On our own... See, this is what I mean, about our shards. [Are they going to have to wish proper lubricant into existence themselves?? Mettaton pouts.] How long do we have to wait to have basic amenities, such as lube? We may as well cash in entirely on your powers... [To make lube, infinitely. And anything else. Closing his eye, Mettaton continues with a sigh.] That, or we get creative with what we have...
[Which was his original idea. Mettaton fixes his attention on Emet-Selch, casual in voicing his solutions to their problem.]
The kitchen is full of slippery things. Such as, butter. Is that the way of these people? [Kinky cooking... It has a nice ring to it, thinks Mettaton, who will never perform some sultry, slutty kitchen smut in a million years. He may be sexy, but these performances are VIP!]
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Here, though. Even though Emet-Selch had arrived in the middle of a celebration of love, it had all been reasonably chaste. He really hadn't been looking, then, but nothing in his memory stood out as being explicitly sexual either....
A return of the Ascian's powers would solve all their problems in that regard. He'd even claim that it would be cheaper in the long term, considering the amount of lube they went through, the number of accessories they used (not that it had been an issue as of yet, considering everything that kept them from indulging as they were accustomed). Which didn't solve their problems in the short term....
A situation that Mettaton proffers a solution to, as reasonable as anything.]
...Butter. [As though he hadn't quite heard him or understood him correctly. His own gaze is fixed right back on him.] You want to use... butter, as a replacement for lube?
['You've thought about putting butter on my cock' is something he thinks but doesn't say, doesn't wish to actually voice and realize the truth of it.]
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[Licking his lips as though he could taste the icing, or that he favored it for being icing alone, Mettaton's smile is cheeky and playful, in good humor. His hand drops from his ear and gives the mage's shoulder a rub and a squeeze.
Mettaton does not see anything wrong with this.
In his mind, it doesn't require justification. It's a slippery substance; it wouldn't cause a rash or anything, surely. People ingest it. It's food-safe, and therefore surely skin-safe. Mettaton Knows Product. But instead of justifying this absolute madman idea, Mettaton snuggles into place, curled around the dragon egg and sidling ever closer to his husband, fingers groping their way down his bicep.]
Unless you can come up with a substance preferable, that would offer optimal glide. Butter seems the easiest!
[So, 'yes, I've thought about putting butter on your cock.' Premeditated.]
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[As Mettaton imagines the flavor of icing, Emet-Selch imagines being slathered in all sorts of things that didn't belong anywhere near his cock. Experimentation he wasn't excited to be on the receiving end of.
Then again, it wasn't as though Mettaton could fuck him... so the questionable and otherwise insufficient slicking potential would come to less harm for him. If it was just to make a stroke or mouthing along his own cock more smooth, it would work, probably.
It was just somewhat off-putting. Where Mettaton curls closer to both him and the egg, Emet-Selch deflates into the couch, his muttering towards the grumpy.]
I'm not anywhere near aroused enough to resort to your creativity.
[He wasn't aroused at all. Even if in Mettaton's company it was easier to think with his dick than at any other point in his life, right now he was at a starting point of 'no' and 'absolutely no'.]
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[Mettaton maybe knows something about the use of olive oil in sex, but he also may not. He doesn't volunteer this information, as he continues to settle into his gradually deflating husband.
And not discouraged, either, as he closes his eye and nods shortly.]
I'll have my chance to work on you yet! When the moment strikes... we'll need to use something. And I believe in my ability to convince you, sweetheart.
[Truth be told, MTT wasn't the most fond of using an inappropriate product for lubricant unless it was part of the foreplay. Whipped cream? Icing? Yes, as part of the show! But when they had so little to work with, and if the moment struck, he was not above doing what was needed—and he knew Emet-Selch could be convinced.
A low curtaining of his lid, he does open his eye, if barely. His fingers smooth their way over Emet-Selch's shoulder, palpating his chest, pressing gently into giving muscle appreciatively. His body continues to attract Mettaton, for all that he lacks the avenues to show it—and the want for him was more than alive.]
Like I said. I'm open to similarly creative alternatives.
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And now he was living that magicless facade for real, with a lover on top of him suggesting olive oil and icing... probably at the same time, knowing Mettaton. His libido was libidone.
If Emet-Selch could deflate any more, he would, but his eyes close again for a moment, not feeling especially inspired or encouraged by Mettaton's enthusiasm, by his willingness to offer one kitchen product after another. Not even at the way he was being touched, handled, groped. Though he tolerates it, it's with something of a flattened look that he eventually regards him again.]
Convincing as you think you are, I wouldn't try your chances now.
[He'd roll over and bury himself into the back cushions if he weren't being topped by: 1. egg, and 2. Mettaton. Even if he knew he wasn't supposed to reject the robot's advances... it was difficult to feel excited due to: 1. egg (again), and 2. existing annoyance (towards Mettaton).]
Neither do I feel particularly creative, nor motivated to find something with better appeal.
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Mettaton smiles, continuing to settle against the couch as he feels the mage up despite warnings to not get sexy with him, not on a couch and not with olive oil. But see, he wants to touch him, even if it's not in a directly sexual capacity and with the aid of oil. He doesn't make any moves to slip under fabric, nor provoke him directly, aside from the desire for touch and contact.
He does think he's convincing, though. And he knows he is. Balancing the egg fully in Emet-Selch's lap, Mettaton's other hand moves from the base of the egg and onward to Emet-Selch's hip, swimming in fabric. It's an affectionate grip that he takes, a thumbing that was intended to be familiar rather than provocative.]
Well, we have our options. [Wishing for lube, for powers, or... resorting to makeshift lubricant sourced fresh from the kitchen.] I can't imagine that you'd mind so much, if we were in the moment, darling... But don't misunderstand me. I'd prefer the proper stuff, myself.
[He's just willing to go with alternatives, if that's all they have, and he's making that clear. And he knew he'd be capable of convincing Emet-Selch to agree to slathering some olive oil/butter/icing on his dick, if they were in the right moment. MTT leans, forward and over the bowling-ball-sized egg, to kiss at the Ascian's jaw, before hovering close to his lips—a silent bid for a return kiss.]
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But he knew their history, when affectionate touches at all... usually were preceding a fuck. Or were during a fuck. And after a fuck. So the grasp to his hip, delivered around the distraction of an egg, is met with a dubious look. No matter his warning, he'd readily believe Mettaton would ignore it in favor of proving how convincing he could be (and how convincing Emet-Selch knew he was).
But the mage doesn't respond anyway, with anything beyond tolerance. Passivity. Apathy. He sighs.]
And our options fail to entice. Given what's awaiting me, a future of inappropriate icings... [A smaller breath, a disgruntled sound.] 'tis hard to imagine ever anticipating that moment.
[The level of arousal or other coercion that would convince him to tolerate particular slatherings felt like a distant memory. It was just one more thing that was off, when there was already plenty to choose from. An infinite amount to be depressed over, and though he'd wanted a kiss earlier, when Mettaton finally moves into range now, he's slow to answer him.
But he does answer it, leaning up for a soft press of lips to his.]
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Come on. Is it really so bad, imagining me pleasantly licking up your shaft... chasing dribbles of thick, white icing? [Okay, now he's being forward. Another sigh later, as MTT only barely skirts away from imagining it too vividly, too deeply, as well as evading the need to detail too far.] I would enjoy it, for one. Both cleaning you up...
[Pulling back just far enough to meet his gaze, Mettaton's hand wanders from Emet-Selch's chest and settles, fingers wound against the back of his head. He strokes warmly and slowly over the back of his neck, a comfortable proximity where another kiss felt more than achievable to follow, if he so wanted it—and he finds he does, as he licks his lips idly.
But he has more to say, and he smiles. Not quite flustered, but self-aware of his own impossible wants, he still enjoys the thought of how the two of them could engage in a kitchen setting.]
...And seeing you in a cute apron. Just shy of covering too much of your lap. Oh la la... Talk about a dream come true! [With a smile, Mettaton leans in to nuzzle Emet-Selch again, his lips a breath against Emet-Selch's.] Of course, I'd love the reverse, too... Wouldn't you like me, wearing barely anything for you and suggestively marked up in icing?
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