You sit in the small chair in front of the mirror, Mettaton straddling your lap. A cool metal hand is under your chin, tilting your head up at just the right angle. You don’t want to stare, but it’s difficult not to with his face so close to yours. Your eyes drift from his own pink ones, to his perfectly curved nose, to his plump lips. Those can’t be metal. He bites at his bottom lip, and the way his sharp teeth press into the synthetic flesh verify your suspicion. They might be vinyl… You’re tempted to touch and find out.
“Close your eyes, darling.” You’re grateful for the escape from staring nervously at the robot. A soft makeup brush swipes over your eyelids, leaving a soft trail of glittery powder behind. The same is done to your brow bone, in what you assume is a more subtle color. More pressure is applied just below the bone, a thick line in the crease, followed by the soft caress of a sponge blending it in.