[A request that could make his heart leap, if he had one. Mettaton closes his eye, basking in the pleasure of having a tangible body and soul next to his own. And one who felt so familiar at that... He recalls their conversation about being Bonded in Aefenglom and wonders, with his eye closed like this, if he could just feel what it might've been like to have his soul combined with Emet-Selch's. But it wasn't... quite like that, was it? It wasn't that they combined, as they craved (he remembers they wanted to be closer), but that they were tied together, laced like the white and red of a candy cane. Twisted up in each other, they could feel each other so intimately that it became too natural to lose.
And he feels so confident that if he ever lost that feeling, it would have certainly left an impression that lasted lifetimes. (So, what happened to them?)
He can't bear to think about it right now. Emet-Selch squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back, opening his eye and gazing into the little beady eyes of the Arukibake watching them. There's a touch of melancholy that works itself into his smile, pitying... not just Emet-Selch, but himself. They were truly star-crossed, weren't they? It felt too good and too terrible to be true, their romance fated to be lost. Just beholding the crowd of ayakashi reminds him how lonely this man is, and how lonely he seems fated to be.
But there was a time and place where he was with Mettaton's company. And here, too, he was with him. This was... another chance, perhaps. Another opportunity given to them to be together. (Was the continuity of their worlds thrown into chaos because of their adamant stay in Aefenglom, perhaps? Mettaton's cocky enough to think he's important enough to throw time itself off-kilter, anyway.) Right now, they were here together. Unmarried, and back closer to square one... but not entirely there. They remembered enough to know that they were inexorably drawn, and still attracted to one another. That attraction grew rapidly.
Emet-Selch's voice is so soft, and it felt fragile. The man himself felt fragile, in his way. Perhaps it was the lack of bite, the drop in his defenses that settles him against the black silicone of his throat, the two of them nestled into each other. But comfort could feel fragile, especially when it was so rare to attain.
Mettaton turns his head to press his lips upon Emet-Selch's scalp. He imagines what he might smell like, coming up with colors instead of actual scents. Red; a bit of blue, both there to combine into something rich, but soft. He searches his memory for a smell, but he can't wrap his mind around it.]
I can spare some time for you, darling.
[... He could spare a lot of time for Emet-Selch, he thought. He could spend the whole evening with him, the whole night... How many hours did he spend with his Bondmate in Aefenglom? How many days, years? Both in the long-term, and as a collective? He hadn't taken himself to be someone so inclined to keep company so intimate and so dear, but... to consider that he had it felt good. He felt safer than he thought he ever would or could, in this memory of his marriage.
It was no small wonder that they could spend this evening feeling comfortable like this, settled in each other's company. Mettaton had readily flipped on his ability to heat up externally, giving Emet-Selch someone warm to lean against, as he reaches up and around to settle his free hand against the back of Emet-Selch's neck.]
no subject
And he feels so confident that if he ever lost that feeling, it would have certainly left an impression that lasted lifetimes. (So, what happened to them?)
He can't bear to think about it right now. Emet-Selch squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back, opening his eye and gazing into the little beady eyes of the Arukibake watching them. There's a touch of melancholy that works itself into his smile, pitying... not just Emet-Selch, but himself. They were truly star-crossed, weren't they? It felt too good and too terrible to be true, their romance fated to be lost. Just beholding the crowd of ayakashi reminds him how lonely this man is, and how lonely he seems fated to be.
But there was a time and place where he was with Mettaton's company. And here, too, he was with him. This was... another chance, perhaps. Another opportunity given to them to be together. (Was the continuity of their worlds thrown into chaos because of their adamant stay in Aefenglom, perhaps? Mettaton's cocky enough to think he's important enough to throw time itself off-kilter, anyway.) Right now, they were here together. Unmarried, and back closer to square one... but not entirely there. They remembered enough to know that they were inexorably drawn, and still attracted to one another. That attraction grew rapidly.
Emet-Selch's voice is so soft, and it felt fragile. The man himself felt fragile, in his way. Perhaps it was the lack of bite, the drop in his defenses that settles him against the black silicone of his throat, the two of them nestled into each other. But comfort could feel fragile, especially when it was so rare to attain.
Mettaton turns his head to press his lips upon Emet-Selch's scalp. He imagines what he might smell like, coming up with colors instead of actual scents. Red; a bit of blue, both there to combine into something rich, but soft. He searches his memory for a smell, but he can't wrap his mind around it.]
I can spare some time for you, darling.
[... He could spare a lot of time for Emet-Selch, he thought. He could spend the whole evening with him, the whole night... How many hours did he spend with his Bondmate in Aefenglom? How many days, years? Both in the long-term, and as a collective? He hadn't taken himself to be someone so inclined to keep company so intimate and so dear, but... to consider that he had it felt good. He felt safer than he thought he ever would or could, in this memory of his marriage.
It was no small wonder that they could spend this evening feeling comfortable like this, settled in each other's company. Mettaton had readily flipped on his ability to heat up externally, giving Emet-Selch someone warm to lean against, as he reaches up and around to settle his free hand against the back of Emet-Selch's neck.]
I couldn't say no to you.