[Pain was easy to share, something that Emet-Selch could feel settle in him so naturally, as though it belonged there. Even if he'd never drive Mettaton entirely towards despair, just as the idol couldn't influence him towards excessive positivity- there was a sort of reassurance in feeling the effect they did have on one another in regards to their moods. That the puca could not only withstand his despair, but not seem to resent it- Emet-Selch appreciated it, though he might have a harder time understanding the sort of appeal Mettaton took in it, that it was possible to want that sort of heaviness, to appreciate that manner of intensity without being broken by it.
But he knew Mettaton's own attitude had a similar effect on himself. Though there was little that Emet-Selch felt that could ever be considered light, that it was possible to enjoy some things at all without immediately countering it with something darker, that there were times when he could feel something other than abject misery- that was entirely due to the robotic puca's influence. Even if so much still hurt, it was a different, and often better hurt than before.
(Emet-Selch had noticed that the coat Mettaton had brought for him wasn't one of his own, but that of the puca's... which pleased him as well to recognize, in this case. The idea of being wrapped up in something of his lover's, it did appeal, though on a regular basis such appeal would depend more on what the item actually looked like, and whether it actually suited him at all.)
The defense that Mettaton was only trying to strengthen their Bond- it nearly gets a snort of mingled disbelief and amusement. Oh, they were definitely working on their Bond. They were doing that just by being so close, in constant contact, with their emotions completely open to each other. This... was indulgence. But the sound is distracted, lost to further kissing (though his feelings are tenderized somewhat by the care taken to his stitched lip, as though Mettaton were learning each stage of its healing process), to the awareness of how tightly they were pressed and where, and especially to the squeeze of his ass once the puca's hand creeps that far. His body echoes Mettaton's shudder, and his exhalation carries the whisper of a moan, as he strokes himself against the puca's hip. As his tongue seeks out his lover's, flirting with it, as well as with dips past it, into his mouth.
It was already a bit of a frustration, if primarily mentally, though he knew his body would follow, if they continued on this path. Between the healing they'd already endured, their deaths, and the weeks before which had been too disturbed- how long had it been since they'd last had sex? How much longer would it be before they could manage it? ('When would it be responsible to do', that wasn't relevant information, or a thought that even occurs to Emet-Selch, as they would certainly be drawn to that sort of intimacy the moment they were physically capable of it. At some point after that they would be fully healed and back to themselves, but that was more of a footnote.)
The robot's huff, along with his following nuzzle are both felt against his lips, which briefly quirk in something like a smile. If nothing else, they were in the same amorous boat. A boat that they were tempted to let founder, because they both wanted to drown.]
I know. And yet we lead one another right into wantings that can't be satisfied.
[Who could be left more aching, he wondered. The Ascian was the one capable of physical, obvious signs of it, but that didn't necessarily mean he had it worse, he thought. To have that ache, but not be able to demonstrate it at all, that would be its own sort of torture.
In the end, neither of them were in an enviable position. The returned nuzzle against his lips is slower, as he tries to still himself for both their sakes.]
--More reason to want to heal quickly.
[Another thing to blame Mettaton's influence on. The puca's capability for motivation was... considerable.]
no subject
But he knew Mettaton's own attitude had a similar effect on himself. Though there was little that Emet-Selch felt that could ever be considered light, that it was possible to enjoy some things at all without immediately countering it with something darker, that there were times when he could feel something other than abject misery- that was entirely due to the robotic puca's influence. Even if so much still hurt, it was a different, and often better hurt than before.
(Emet-Selch had noticed that the coat Mettaton had brought for him wasn't one of his own, but that of the puca's... which pleased him as well to recognize, in this case. The idea of being wrapped up in something of his lover's, it did appeal, though on a regular basis such appeal would depend more on what the item actually looked like, and whether it actually suited him at all.)
The defense that Mettaton was only trying to strengthen their Bond- it nearly gets a snort of mingled disbelief and amusement. Oh, they were definitely working on their Bond. They were doing that just by being so close, in constant contact, with their emotions completely open to each other. This... was indulgence. But the sound is distracted, lost to further kissing (though his feelings are tenderized somewhat by the care taken to his stitched lip, as though Mettaton were learning each stage of its healing process), to the awareness of how tightly they were pressed and where, and especially to the squeeze of his ass once the puca's hand creeps that far. His body echoes Mettaton's shudder, and his exhalation carries the whisper of a moan, as he strokes himself against the puca's hip. As his tongue seeks out his lover's, flirting with it, as well as with dips past it, into his mouth.
It was already a bit of a frustration, if primarily mentally, though he knew his body would follow, if they continued on this path. Between the healing they'd already endured, their deaths, and the weeks before which had been too disturbed- how long had it been since they'd last had sex? How much longer would it be before they could manage it? ('When would it be responsible to do', that wasn't relevant information, or a thought that even occurs to Emet-Selch, as they would certainly be drawn to that sort of intimacy the moment they were physically capable of it. At some point after that they would be fully healed and back to themselves, but that was more of a footnote.)
The robot's huff, along with his following nuzzle are both felt against his lips, which briefly quirk in something like a smile. If nothing else, they were in the same amorous boat. A boat that they were tempted to let founder, because they both wanted to drown.]
I know. And yet we lead one another right into wantings that can't be satisfied.
[Who could be left more aching, he wondered. The Ascian was the one capable of physical, obvious signs of it, but that didn't necessarily mean he had it worse, he thought. To have that ache, but not be able to demonstrate it at all, that would be its own sort of torture.
In the end, neither of them were in an enviable position. The returned nuzzle against his lips is slower, as he tries to still himself for both their sakes.]
--More reason to want to heal quickly.
[Another thing to blame Mettaton's influence on. The puca's capability for motivation was... considerable.]