[The sight of Mettaton with a smile like that- he knew he'd seen it before, but he was just as certain that he never got tired of it, never got used to it. That it never stopped affecting him. Even when everything was echoes and impulses, feelings he knew but couldn't place, seeing the robot with an expression like that could touch him. What it was like to be in love with him... it felt like he was remembering that too, in expressions at a time.]
I don't think there was any threat of us running out.
[The better they knew each other, the more there was to know. The closer they became, the closer they could yet manage to be, and the more they wanted it. And... the more they wanted each other. The more they were willing to inscribe their feelings, even if the Ascian was the only one with a body that could be marred. It wasn't just exuberance, or a pleasure in pain that drove them (even if there was plenty of both of those things too), but something more. A recklessness out of fear, out of bitterness and defiance....
Even beyond the danger of dying to a careless bite, Emet-Selch was sure there was something else going on in their arrangement that threatened them. Something that unsettled and plagued him, that ate at him. With his lack of real magic and presumed inability to take a new host, that did put something of a time limit on their involvement due to his body inevitably aging, but... it felt worse than that.
But how they'd loved one another throughout it all, despite arguments and differences that he still couldn't recall. But what had happened to them, in the end, to guide them here? Did he need to be marked anew to remember, to see bruise and bite blossom upon his throat, to be able to look into a mirror and remember it all--
It was too easy a thought to get caught up in, the tangled memories of tangled bodies, of touches desperate and affectionate both. How often had they brushed hips, shoulders, had touched arms or faces, had held one another, in increasingly deeper ways?
There was some illusion of privacy here, in this tucked-away corner of Nara in the evening, shaded by trees, with the quiet arukibake the most polite sort of entourage. But even had this been a busy street, with voices and noise that wasn't from either of them, Emet-Selch would've been able to tune it out, as he thought upon his companion. Their legs close, leaning for one another, one hand against the Ascian's neck, with the robot's other slipping along his thigh.
But it was more than a hand that was attentive to his body, he could tell. It wasn't that he minded being stared at. Not at all, especially not by him, though as he realized the direction of Mettaton's gaze, what he was gazing at, it was hard to ignore the rush of heat that coursed through his body. Which surprised him, even though it also didn't strike him as unfamiliar, but it was just a look. It sounded unlikely, but if he weren't careful, it felt like he could respond to that alone (though was it really alone, with the hand on his thigh to further his imagining?).
If they had been lovers, it wasn't as though Mettaton hadn't seen him unclothed before, on many, many occasions. Yet the idea and experience of being gazed at still felt... enticing.
His own gaze unfocusing, he has to blink several times to meet the robot's own shock, startle. (But it amused a little, to realize how easily caught up they both were.) With effort, Mettaton manages to vocalize the- complication. The aspect that didn't quite match up to what they were both sure had happened.]
Ah. [That. Emet-Selch's eyes dip lower for a moment themselves, even though he knew entirely well that nothing was there but smooth silicone. The ambient light from trees as well as Mettaton himself were more than enough to see every lack of detail. Yet he could remember slipping low on his body, to do more than mouth at silicone....] I'm having some trouble explaining it as well.
[His hand reaches out to touch Mettaton's own thigh, fingertips starting at the knee, and stroking upwards. But his eyes return to his face, enough to catch the sight of the robot's tongue, enough to think about his lips, his mouth, the heat of it that he knew... which was all very distracting. That was one way the robot could have him, and he was very, very certain that he had- but it also hadn't been the only way.
Refocusing wasn't made much easier when what he was trying to remember was also steeped in arousal. It still made for a surreal conversation.]
--Yet I also have memories where you were... not inconsiderably equipped.
[Was this also something Mettaton had grown, like ears...? Was having a functional cock considered required puca-equipment? Perhaps they were rabbit-like in more than appearance, and with a libido to sate, the world had been kind enough to provide him the means. (Considering the way they were reacting to each other now, stumbling through memories, he suspected that most of their ardor was somehow their own doing, though.)]
no subject
I don't think there was any threat of us running out.
[The better they knew each other, the more there was to know. The closer they became, the closer they could yet manage to be, and the more they wanted it. And... the more they wanted each other. The more they were willing to inscribe their feelings, even if the Ascian was the only one with a body that could be marred. It wasn't just exuberance, or a pleasure in pain that drove them (even if there was plenty of both of those things too), but something more. A recklessness out of fear, out of bitterness and defiance....
Even beyond the danger of dying to a careless bite, Emet-Selch was sure there was something else going on in their arrangement that threatened them. Something that unsettled and plagued him, that ate at him. With his lack of real magic and presumed inability to take a new host, that did put something of a time limit on their involvement due to his body inevitably aging, but... it felt worse than that.
But how they'd loved one another throughout it all, despite arguments and differences that he still couldn't recall. But what had happened to them, in the end, to guide them here? Did he need to be marked anew to remember, to see bruise and bite blossom upon his throat, to be able to look into a mirror and remember it all--
It was too easy a thought to get caught up in, the tangled memories of tangled bodies, of touches desperate and affectionate both. How often had they brushed hips, shoulders, had touched arms or faces, had held one another, in increasingly deeper ways?
There was some illusion of privacy here, in this tucked-away corner of Nara in the evening, shaded by trees, with the quiet arukibake the most polite sort of entourage. But even had this been a busy street, with voices and noise that wasn't from either of them, Emet-Selch would've been able to tune it out, as he thought upon his companion. Their legs close, leaning for one another, one hand against the Ascian's neck, with the robot's other slipping along his thigh.
But it was more than a hand that was attentive to his body, he could tell. It wasn't that he minded being stared at. Not at all, especially not by him, though as he realized the direction of Mettaton's gaze, what he was gazing at, it was hard to ignore the rush of heat that coursed through his body. Which surprised him, even though it also didn't strike him as unfamiliar, but it was just a look. It sounded unlikely, but if he weren't careful, it felt like he could respond to that alone (though was it really alone, with the hand on his thigh to further his imagining?).
If they had been lovers, it wasn't as though Mettaton hadn't seen him unclothed before, on many, many occasions. Yet the idea and experience of being gazed at still felt... enticing.
His own gaze unfocusing, he has to blink several times to meet the robot's own shock, startle. (But it amused a little, to realize how easily caught up they both were.) With effort, Mettaton manages to vocalize the- complication. The aspect that didn't quite match up to what they were both sure had happened.]
Ah. [That. Emet-Selch's eyes dip lower for a moment themselves, even though he knew entirely well that nothing was there but smooth silicone. The ambient light from trees as well as Mettaton himself were more than enough to see every lack of detail. Yet he could remember slipping low on his body, to do more than mouth at silicone....] I'm having some trouble explaining it as well.
[His hand reaches out to touch Mettaton's own thigh, fingertips starting at the knee, and stroking upwards. But his eyes return to his face, enough to catch the sight of the robot's tongue, enough to think about his lips, his mouth, the heat of it that he knew... which was all very distracting. That was one way the robot could have him, and he was very, very certain that he had- but it also hadn't been the only way.
Refocusing wasn't made much easier when what he was trying to remember was also steeped in arousal. It still made for a surreal conversation.]
--Yet I also have memories where you were... not inconsiderably equipped.
[Was this also something Mettaton had grown, like ears...? Was having a functional cock considered required puca-equipment? Perhaps they were rabbit-like in more than appearance, and with a libido to sate, the world had been kind enough to provide him the means. (Considering the way they were reacting to each other now, stumbling through memories, he suspected that most of their ardor was somehow their own doing, though.)]