[If he were ever to take on a lover for the sake of it, someone who actually knew him for who and what he was, and who he felt he could understand in turn, someone to meet and to match him... Emet-Selch could disturbingly enough see Mettaton fulfilling that role. But was that feeling there because it had already happened, a proof that justified itself? But the way they differed felt right, a perfect balance of their own extremes, while being even more disturbingly similar in other ways.
It still frustrated to not know what he was basing these impressions on, how much he'd picked up from their limited interactions on this world, and how much was filling in the gaps with a poorly-recalled history. But it wasn't inexplicable that they could have been close, that much at least he felt sure of.
His hand gave as it should (as it had, how many times before?) to metal and pressure, an encouragement to keep his touch firm. And to keep it there at all, even if this was distinctly an intimate sort of contact. Even if Mettaton's body was robotic, and he was touching a metal chestplate, this was still his body, and a touch that he doubted would've been permitted from anyone (and that he wouldn't have been so inclined to give to just anyone either).
But they were both inclined towards it, attracted to... each other, when it came down to it.
The Ascian still snorts lightly, looking between the hand he has on him to his face.]
I'll shoot you down as much as I care to. I don't expect it to stop you for long.
[In another life, the words might've been fond, even in their complaint; there's barely an echo of it now, but he doesn't seem truly bothered by the prospect either.
Nor inclined to stop touching him, to stop wanting to be in contact with him, and he tried to not think too closely about it, lest the sense of wrongness outweigh the comfort of it.]
As for how barbaric I find you... all the instances of teeth in my throat that I recall say something about your potential for savagery.
[Neverminding that the impression he had of those times included not only his tolerance, but his pleasure, his encouragement of that treatment. But that didn't make it any less barbaric, even as he remained somewhat puzzled as to why he'd permitted it at all. Why would he take to that, and especially on a body he couldn't heal or shed easily if things got out of hand?
Speaking of hands... Emet-Selch wasn't distracted by, but conscious of Mettaton's handling of his own, and the familiarity of it. Even if he didn't want to think about how many times they might've done something just like this, sitting close somewhere and observing the world and each other, holding hands they were inclined to play with. But just in itself... it was pleasant, a not at all impersonal investigation of him, by fingers that... he wasn't at all sure what Mettaton's were made of, actually. Not bone, obviously, and the lack of claws (even tidily filed away ones) struck him as unusual.
Comments on savagery aside, Emet-Selch shows no concern over being this close to the robot, even as false lighting flickered over him (Had his memories been intact, how much would he have enjoyed the light show...? This visual demonstration of Mettaton's interest in him. He suspected he would've loved it- or at least been amused by it.). It was a bit eerie still, but what wasn't, when it came to their situation?]
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It still frustrated to not know what he was basing these impressions on, how much he'd picked up from their limited interactions on this world, and how much was filling in the gaps with a poorly-recalled history. But it wasn't inexplicable that they could have been close, that much at least he felt sure of.
His hand gave as it should (as it had, how many times before?) to metal and pressure, an encouragement to keep his touch firm. And to keep it there at all, even if this was distinctly an intimate sort of contact. Even if Mettaton's body was robotic, and he was touching a metal chestplate, this was still his body, and a touch that he doubted would've been permitted from anyone (and that he wouldn't have been so inclined to give to just anyone either).
But they were both inclined towards it, attracted to... each other, when it came down to it.
The Ascian still snorts lightly, looking between the hand he has on him to his face.]
I'll shoot you down as much as I care to. I don't expect it to stop you for long.
[In another life, the words might've been fond, even in their complaint; there's barely an echo of it now, but he doesn't seem truly bothered by the prospect either.
Nor inclined to stop touching him, to stop wanting to be in contact with him, and he tried to not think too closely about it, lest the sense of wrongness outweigh the comfort of it.]
As for how barbaric I find you... all the instances of teeth in my throat that I recall say something about your potential for savagery.
[Neverminding that the impression he had of those times included not only his tolerance, but his pleasure, his encouragement of that treatment. But that didn't make it any less barbaric, even as he remained somewhat puzzled as to why he'd permitted it at all. Why would he take to that, and especially on a body he couldn't heal or shed easily if things got out of hand?
Speaking of hands... Emet-Selch wasn't distracted by, but conscious of Mettaton's handling of his own, and the familiarity of it. Even if he didn't want to think about how many times they might've done something just like this, sitting close somewhere and observing the world and each other, holding hands they were inclined to play with. But just in itself... it was pleasant, a not at all impersonal investigation of him, by fingers that... he wasn't at all sure what Mettaton's were made of, actually. Not bone, obviously, and the lack of claws (even tidily filed away ones) struck him as unusual.
Comments on savagery aside, Emet-Selch shows no concern over being this close to the robot, even as false lighting flickered over him (Had his memories been intact, how much would he have enjoyed the light show...? This visual demonstration of Mettaton's interest in him. He suspected he would've loved it- or at least been amused by it.). It was a bit eerie still, but what wasn't, when it came to their situation?]